#swish writes things

[opens-up-4-nobody]

Something something Merlin is Arthur's bane.

[caterpillarinacave]

“In the bathtub” is an underrated spot to put a character to have a conversation

[symbolishplant]

AS LONG AS I JUST KEEP THINKING ABOUT ALL THE FUNNY LITTLE ART PROJECTS I’M GONNA DO, THINGS WILL BE FINE. OK?

[lvminisciel]

kiss me goodnight

Father, me and big brother are home! We bought something for dinner! A carp by the lake, and potatoes from the land! A cut on the back, and fleshes of the dead!

pt.1 | pt. 2

pairing: mallesilmal. wc 2,5k

pls read!! warning: suicidal ideation, angst, mcd, gore. woundfucking, double d mal, deepthroat but instead of d it's malmal's slitted tongue

Their private liturgy continued for weeks, and many moons of crops seems to have passed. Silver will come to the castle every single day without fail, like a devoted loyal servant to its master. Everytime he entered the chamber, may forms of torment ensues, sometimes with different motions, sometimes different organs. His Lord would disassemble his body parts and arrange it back in one piece, of the exact strand and order, all without a miss. Yet none of that seemed to kill him, whether inside nor outside, as his soul seemed to resonate with his Lord as it all felt was only grief, grief, and grief. 

Even as the time goes, all was fleeting. Time went in a blink of an eye, and the longer he stride by the riverbanks of time, the more his life feels less ‘living’. Everyday life felt so dull, and deep down he knows he could never go back to how he once were. Of sunshine in the woods, waiting for his father’s arrival. Of those days they went hunting and foraging the forest for herbs and, much to Silver’s dismay, ‘strange ingredients’ his father likes to pick along the way home. Of evenings after sparring with Sebek by the backyard, hopefully wishing for his Lord’s arrival to join them for dinner so they could tuck his father’s cooking somewhere else or gave it to the forest animals.

Those times of much simpler life,

When his father was around. 

Now, he’s left with nothing but a gaping wound in his heart

Unattended, lacerated and disfigured; those who see the way it is now could even hardly believe it was once a full, beating heart- as the state of it now much resembles a lump of blood clot rather than a formerly functioning organ

Yet, even after all those agony it went through, it still beats

It still beats. 

Oh, how he hated the sound of it

The pounding in his veins. Steady rhythm of blood circulating throughout his bloodstream, intact, splattering only when his Lord’s claws are inside of him. Everytime his Lord disassembles his insides, he would always hoped, prayed that maybe his heart will forget a beat amidst all these bodily pain that envelops him. Perhaps his lung would be oh so kind to stop functioning altogether, or the insides of his skull would self-destruct itself. 

But his heart keeps pounding on and on

A sick reminder that he’s still alive, unable to be reunited with his father

He’s been so, so close to the edge, why can’t he just die already?

Is his Lord’s healing magic too powerful? Why isn’t the reaper here yet? Can’t he just go, all these are making his patience running thin. 

He wonders how many times should he play this twisted tug-of-war game with death, to which he always dreams of losing. 

So when another being sarted being present during their private sessions, it sparked hope inside Silver. 

He knew his time was creeping in closer, because not even His Lord’s omnipotent magic could ever prolong something as sacred as defying mortality. He smiled genuinely for the first time in years, leaving each of their meetings with a content feeling instead of the usual despair. His Lord would question about it someyimes, to which Silver would reply with his signature sincere half-smile

…to which Silver began to think

….what would His Lord became of, once that he is gone? 

Would His Lord be abe to cope with the grief that follows? After such a huge loss he experienced already? 

Silver might not be the brightest in terms of social cues or delving into people’s hearts and peering into their feelings, but one thing he does know: His Lord wouldn’t be able to handle it well

After all, if he did so, then their classified rites wouldn’t happen in the first place. Or turning into a daily basis, for that matter. To top it all, the kingdom would be brought into an even major calamity, lest his Lord were faced for another grief in his sight. That narrows the questions in his head down to a singular one: 

How do he drag his Lord down with him? 

tic-toc, the clock is ticking. As the figure that overshadows their chamber turned clearer each passing day, Silver is vigilant that he doesn’t have much time left. Bearing only one solution in mind, he enters their solemn chamber, preparing for a gamble of life and death. A russian roulette he invented on his own. 

And he finally came down with his own plan. 

Yes, this would surely suffice

The night was cleared of its clouds, moon shining softly amongst the starry skies. The walk to the castle was not long, but Silver decided to slow down for a bit. 

It is his last day after all, as the reaper had been clearly visible to the touch

This night would be the final one, and as dawn rolls he would be graced by his one true love

His took his steps thoughtfully, absorbing the sceneries before him mindfully. The walk from his tiny little cottage in the woods that will soon be abandoned. The owls and crows and other animals cooing him along the way, as if muttering mournful goodbyes. How the castle gates lowered at the sight of him, without him needing to announce his presence. The castle staff & maids that bowed down respectfully, seeing as how they might’ve perceived him as some sort of hero for diverting their Lord’s grief, not knowing the very same person would bring an end to the exact Lord they worshiped

Mustering his resolve, he entered the chamber, where his Lord awaits patiently. A soft breath of flame welcomes him, as both candles and chandeliers alike lit up. Lavish banquet upon the table, grand as always. Everything’s the usual, except for- 

Except for the the eagerness pulsating his chest, as from today onward he would no longer be within despair’s grasp

It ends today

All the pain and anguish, he shall bring it all down with him

Feeling the blade brushed against his thighs, he returned the warm welcome with a smile. That his Lord was taken aback no longer matters, this is the requiem after all! It should be enjoyed to its finest, doesn’t it?

And so their usual liturgy began. Although Silver would prefer calling this one their ‘Rite of Parting’. It had a nicer ring into it, or so he thought. He locked his gaze upon those pair of emerald locket that adorns his Lord’s face, oh such grace it was for being able to witness this lustrous sight before one departs. His Lord, having the time of his life- obliterating all grief and sorrow as his fangs bared upon his chest, talons ripping apart skin to skin. 

Starting off with his undeformed obsidian claws slitting the upper part of his body, as the other slips itself into Silver’s underneath. The moment Silver’s heart laid bare, his Lord proceeds to kiss them gently, lengthy tongue tending every single row of his ribs, slipping beneath to savor the delish taste of iron from its splitting ends. His Lord was always a man of patience, and so he goes, moving supple palms ever so gracefully,

But Silver was not.

Not this time, at least. 

He’s so eager– eager to the touch, to the taste, to the end. His patience is growing thinner by each passing moment, and for the first time in Seven knows how long; he refused to relent. Instead, his hands grazed to his Lord, tracing him all ever so softly and at the same time greedily– as if those touches would suffice his hunger. And his Lord, the ever-so-thoughtful of his people, complies

‘Eager today, aren’t we?’ 

He mutters under his breath, as consciousness gradually grew adrift; drunk by the touch. As much as he enjoyed the delectable taste of his cherished subject, he constantly tasted this mournful flavor from him. Something he probably didn’t realize had been consuming him progressively over the course of time, something he understood so well. He never minded this notion though, as Silver’s mere form was more than sufficient to scrape off  the remaining grief  sadness of his beloved spouse’s parting

However, that is alright

They would surely come back someday, right? They are merely sleeping for a little while. One day they will arise hearty and buoyant like how they always been, thus announcing their presence with the warmest smile as they jumped into his arms, fondling their hands upon his towering form lovingly. And he would lower down, reciprocate their lush affection and pepper them with the gentlest of kisses he’d been saving up these whole decades, centuries even, and—

The gentle caress on his neck, sliding down his throat onto his chest dragged him back to what’s laid in front of him. Just like a prey offering himself to the hunter, although the fondness betwixt them begs to differ.

Observing the alluring blend of colors beneath him that stares straight into his eyes– into his heart, the dragon fae decides to give in. He would take his loyal knight’s offerings of course, as it would be heartless for a master to refuse such sincere. And so concede he did, unrestraining the constraint of his dual cock. Going slow at first, he enters the first into Silver’s hole, pushing its full length in one single thrust. A slight moan slips his ashen lips as he positioned his next one, eyes interlocking with the remnants of saliva dangling between ribs beneath him. Those translucent silk, paving the path into the other’s heart was clearly his invitation to attend; and so as a profound noble that he is, proceeds to fulfill that lustrous invite. 

Gently, he made way between the limbs; and as his first was already spasming between Silver’s tight walls, his second was getting harder by each passing cartilage. They only seemed to grow in size as he goes on, and the more it gets tighter down there; what’s his jostling with Silver’s liver, lungs, and pancreas as he slowly but surely making his way into his heart, Silver giggles

Silver giggles. 

Dear Sevens and the Great Thorn Fairy above, how many decades has it been since he heard those sweet giggles? Was it when Lilia first discovered that humans are ticklish and tried it on his own son, which he later joined during, laughing heartily as the three of them enjoyed Silver’s playtime just as much as him? Or was it oh his birthday, when he got a whole pie thrown at him for the sake of good luck? Perhaps it was when both he and Sebek welcomes them home after their trip into some faraway land, and offers them homemade cookies that was slightly burnt; where Lilia said his cookies are more exceptional and much better, to which Silver only replied with a stifle laugh, giggly smile adoring his petite form

Which one was it?

Does it even matter? 

As his second finally reached its final destination, he let out a hearty laugh, as if reciprocating those once long-lost giggles. But that matters not now, what’s important is how to satisfy the proprietor of those alluring sound. Thus, he picks up the pace, brimming even more enthusiastically with two pairs of fangs procuring first row seat of the show, as moonlit strands gradually grew flushed in span of seconds. The delicate touch of callused hands began to pepper his back, crystal nails flourishing in crimson as they dug deeper and deeper. Those luscious voices only got sweeter the more he progresses, constantly moaning as the other succumbs into the bliss of his holy cock. They both inches closer and closer, both the ones inside & below the ribs, and so does Silver’s which he enveloped in his palms. Shiny black claws fondled with the tip, smothering delicately to the strings leaked from its source, before it finally bursts. and so does his own, outflowing the tight walls that of Silver’s, as the realms between his organs turned into a colorful mixture of sweat, blood, tears and other salty liquids. Both delve into the pleasure of release once more, and they would both be lying if they said that it wasn’t the most passionate one they’ve ever had all these time. 

Their most passionate one

Which would also be the first and the last.  

Silver glance onto his side, and there was them.  The reaper, in all his mightiness and sorrow and glory and whatever hopes it brings for Silver to devour. It’s now or never, so he put up his sweetest smile, one that his father would always sings praises and adore whenever he did

‘My Lord, would you be so kind as to give me one last kiss before we depart? 

A single good night kiss would suffice’

‘Why of course, cherished one. As a gift, I would be glad to fulfill your desire’

So their tongue intertwined, his Lord’s split tongue peered slowly as he opened the gates into throat. He pulled as to lower him and holds him closer, and two tips of dragon tongue dances around. Twirling, enveloping his little one if compared to that of his Lord’s. It goes deeper as the length fulfill every room of his mouth, down into his throat, and needless to say he was satisfied. He towered above him, and so does the reaper: now hanging behind his Lord, creeping in- this is it. This is the time, as he unseath the blade he’d been keeping, and he thrust

Deep. Red. Black. Dripping, waltzing and oozing together ever so beautifully

His Lord was about to laugh of humor, did his loyal subject, all knowing of how robust he was, really think that this mere mutiny could end him? If it did, he would’ve did it himself ages ago

But there was something else

As Silver thrusts deeper, he feel it seeps into his streams, light magic overflowing and tainting his fae blood. There’s no mistaking it- it’s the same magic that emanates from Silver’s passed down ring, one that Lilia stashed along with the greatest gift in the whole world— according to him. The very same that ended his mother. 

To end with the exact same way of his beloved mother he never got the chance to meet

This is beautiful

And so he gave in. Letting go as his magic that cloaks their surroundings dissipates, including the ones veiled Silver’s form. The taller frame finally succumbs and sank. Glints of effulgent hangs upon his head, and in those final moments, pressed a smile onto his Lord’s lips; as warmth slips and bodies deteriorates.

This time, surely, his father would be overjoyed

Father, me and big brother are home! We bought something for dinner!

A carp by the lake, and potatoes from the land!

A cut on the back, and fleshes of the dead!

[sukunasweetheart]

the tiger and his milk! 🐯

in this world, a certain tiger hybrid male keeps a keen eye on a cow hybrid female next door...

warnings; female reader, inaccurate?omegaverse, lactation without pregnancy, animal-human hybrid AU (but theyre more human than animal tbh just imagine them with ears and a tail), heat and rut, breeding, alcohol as aphrodisiac, bullying of the cervix, tit sucking, nipple teasing, biting, dry humping, overstimulation, sexual frustration, neighbours-with-benefits, knotting, f!masturbation, lots of cum, this is straight up just a hxntai oop

word count; 6.5k

dividers by @/saradika-graphics and @/thecutestgrotto

do NOT expect a serious and well-paced writing from this one, i was horny and the end result is just.... this. sorry not sorry, I AM WARNING YALL; this is one degenerate ass fic also forgive me for any inaccuracies in any of the tropes i used, i just cherry picked the parts i wanted and mixed it all together so...

moving to this new neighborhood hasn't been all too easy for you.

being a little low on money aside, there's a certain rambunctious neighbour who won't leave you alone. he playfully terrorises you with threats to eat you up, and makes comments that all go straight to your head, making you feel weak and flustered, leading you to cower beneath him. though you should firmly tell him to cut it out, you struggle to do this when you’re dealing with someone who could be a natural predator of yours, had you been an actual sow and not a hybrid. 

that, and also-

strangely, there's a part of you that doesn't despise the way he treats you. in fact, when you see his large, brutish hands and the veins that run up his arms, you feel yourself squeezing your thighs together. you brush it off as it being a result of your apparent loneliness and sexual frustration. there's nothing good that'd come out from being with such a discourteous man.

setting that aside... there are numerous other problems that you've been having to deal with, recently.

your breasts have been collecting milk faster, and much more than usual, recently.

even for cow hybrids, milk should only be produced when the female is pregnant, and for only a year or two at most after giving birth. for some unknown reason, you produce it all year round, even without needing to have children. doctor after doctor you've visited, and all they've told you is that you're a strange anomaly. there is nothing you can do about it except extract it every now and then, to relieve the pain and swelling.

tonight, that is what you're planning on busying yourself with, once you get home from your shitty office job.

walking towards your porch with a deep sigh, you hear a deep voice call out to you.

"bad day at work, dollface?" your terrible neighbour-- sukuna, he's called, asks you with a cigarette in his hand dressed in jeans and a black tanktop. his tail swishes playfully behind him.

dollface. one of the few nicknames he uses condescendingly to refer to you. it's either dollface, doll, or sweetheart, and you don't recall ever hearing him actually use your name.

"um, work was alright... thank you for asking. have a good evening."

you like to make things short and stop any further conversation from happening, even though it might come off as a little awkward. one of sukuna's ears flick at your dry response, but he doesn't seem to bother you any further as you hurriedly unlock your front door and head inside.

sukuna drops his cigarette bud on the ground, and puts out the flame by stepping on it. you're not very sociable, as per usual...

but your sweet, passing scent makes for a little growl to rise in the back of his throat. sweet milk. that's what you always smell like. how curious. how tempting.

once you're home, you immediately grab your breastmilk pump that sits beside your sink. it hasn't been too long since you last cleaned it. you unhook your bra, and grimace at the wet stains on it, from leaking bit by bit throughout the day.

you press the pump up against one of your breasts and press the on button. it starts doing it's job. you sigh from relief, and watch as it fills up quite quickly. you wonder what you should do with all of it...

you stop the pump to empty it out into a glass bottle. it's a tedious process. sometimes... sometimes you wish you had a partner who could help you with it. sometimes, you wish someone would latch their mouth on and extract you directly-

what if he-- sukuna- did that for you? forcefully held you down and-

your eyes widen and your tail droops with shock at your own intrusive thoughts. heavens, no! you need to get yourself a partner. it's been too long. you hope you're not heading into heat already? it's not time for that yet, at least not according to your usual cycle. shaking your head as you extract the remnants of the milk from your breasts, you finish up quickly.

at least tomorrow, it will be saturday.

you'd forgotten about how overgrown the grass in your front yard had gotten. so, even though it's a saturday, and despite how you'd love to stay inside with all the curtains shut and doors locked tight... an unpleasant duty calls outside.

but despite the meticulous preparation of lathering enough sunscreen over yourself in protection against the sun's rays - the lawn mower suddenly doesn't want to heed to your calling.

your face scrunches up into a frown. darn thing.

the useless machine splutters and makes an obnoxious noise only in the beginning before giving out, no matter how many times you try to rev it back up again.

"goddamn it. you stupid thing," you mutter under your breath, crouching down to inspect it.

"need help?"

sukuna leans against the fence that is shorter than his own height, watching you with amusement. he'd been observing you for quite a few minutes by now.

"no thank you. i'm quite alright..." you respond without turning back. you know damn well whose voice that belongs to.

but does he listen? of course not! you hear the noise of the man easily bypassing the fence by elegantly hopping over it, before walking over towards you. how funny, even the fence fails to serve it's purpose in this moment.

"like that's believable. you think verbally degrading it will make it work?" sukuna snorts, coming around and shooing you away from the lawn mower.

he gives it a nice big rev, but not much happens. you smile slightly, wondering if he was going to make a fool of himself, after all that big attitude.

sukuna brings his foot against the side of the machine and gives it a hard kick. the sound startles you.

and now it's starting up nicely, and beginning to do it's job.

the man begins to mow your lawn for you, without another word. you stand around, not knowing what to do... your ears flicker as you stare at him doing your job for you. it feels odd. what is he up to?

well... no matter the hidden motive, it's true that he's doing you a huge favour. perhaps you should at least make a cold beverage for him, once he finishes with your yard. after observing him for a while, you head back inside to search for what would serve as an appropriate iced drink.

by the time you've stepped back outside, the yard is cut neatly and sukuna is in the midst of returning your lawn mower to your garage.

you silently hand him over his drink, and he takes it with a smirk.

"it's gone..." he suddenly comments.

"what's gone?" you question, with a raised eyebrow.

"that sweet smell that always surrounds you."

he proceeds to down his drink very quickly, not breaking eye contact with you. then, he starts chewing on the ice, tail swishing mischievously behind him.

"i... don't know what you mean." you cross your arms.

"hmm. playing dumb, i see. that's fine, i suppose."

you stand awkwardly with him in silence, simply listening to him crunching away on the ice. the heat from the sunlight gets more and more unbearable.

"if you're done with your drink... i think i'll start heading back inside now. thank you for your help today," you tell him politely, carefully taking your cup back from his hands.

he makes it seem like he's handing it over to you obediently, but then he tightens his grip against it when you're holding onto the glass, making you stare up at him in confusion. he pulls it back, so that you stumble closer to him.

"just letting you know. if you need any help, you can always ask me."

you're a bit nervous, but you try not to show it. does he know something? how much does he know? you feel your tail cowardly fall in between your legs. sukuna's ears give a light flick, but you don't know what that means.

"...we're neighbours, after all."

you look at him with distrust, holding onto your cup tighter. your gaze is unwavering as you meet his eyes.

"sure. i'll keep that in mind," you respond slowly.

seemingly satisfied, he lets go of your glass.

"thanks for the drink. see you."

it's a short backhanded wave he gives you, before he hops over the fence again. you narrow your eyes. just what kind of fence is this useless? can't even keep away one bad, bad man. you're not sure how much he's caught onto, but you sure hope he stops being interested in you with enough time. he easily sends odd tingles down your spine, and you don't like that one bit.

not at all...

the working part of an office job isn't actually that bad.

it's the people involved around you that makes it a living hell. nothing gets your blood pressure higher than your collusive colleagues and snobby superiors - especially the lazy ones who do everything to shove their workload onto other people.

such people are yet also, annoyingly obsessed with get-togethers and teamwork, which makes you laugh.

today is such an unlucky day, that you've been dragged off to an after-work gathering at some cheap restaurant with your shitty coworkers, all because one of them decided that they needed one.

nothing like being surrounded by a bunch of people that you hate, on a wednesday evening. you have to put on a fake smile, and remain the passive, agreeable coworker in this environment. they coerce you to drink more alcohol. you want to decline, but you feel as though you'll ruin the mood if you turn them down. you down a few pints of beer.

you can feel your breasts leaking again.

just let me go home, you think to yourself, for the fifth time in a row.

your wish is only granted after an hour or two later. you're still sober, maybe a little tipsy, seeing as you can feel the heat in your face from the alcohol. your body is probably not taking it very well today.

the first thing you do when you get home is washing your hands and settling down with your little trusty pump. when you undo your bra, you sigh in relief as your chest feels free. and also...

it's probably the alcohol acting as an aphrodisiac - you're a bit more sensitive tonight. you caress the swell of your breast and groan, your horniness overriding how tired you are. your other hand wanders down your panties, and your ears droop down.

you purse your lips together and let your fingers work against your clit for an orgasm that you know will be unsatisfactory, but you chase after such pleasure regardless. your breaths quicken, and you tilt your head back, closing your eyes. nearly there...

just when you were about to reach your first high of the night, a firm knock is heard from your door. just your luck. a ruined orgasm.

who can it be, at this time of the evening? you throw on a cardigan that just barely covers you up, and boldly stomp towards the door, irritated. you could give this person just about any piece of your mind.

but when you open the door, you're met with your most cunning and bothersome of a neighbour, sukuna. maybe it's because you're hornier than ever right now - you feel as though he looks even...hotter, tonight. his scent makes you dizzy.

sukuna had come by because he needed an ingredient for his dinner.

he wasn't expecting to be met with the eye candy that is your slightly disheveled self, with one hand keeping your loose cardigan together, while you're very obviously braless, judging by your nipples jutting out against the fabric. that, and the thick smell of your arousal that hit him right when the door had opened.

"wh-what do you want?" you ask, a little breathless, trying to keep it together.

sukuna looks down at you, trying to keep himself calm. this seems amusing. he doesn't think he'll be able to stop himself from tenting his pants soon, if he stays around you longer...

"you look like you were busy with something... sorry to interrupt," he voices slyly, his fangs showing when he smiles.

"just... get on with it, please," you frown, your legs squeezing together. you can never tell what he's thinking - whether he knows everything or if he's pretending to know everything.

"nothing much, just ran out of salt at home. could i get some of yours?" sukuna shrugs innocently, holding up his empty salt jar.

"hold on a second."

you turn around to button your cardigan up with a sigh of annoyance, and you tell him to come in while you grab your salt from the kitchen.

once sukuna steps inside, he observes a million details at once. the very first thing he sees is your little pump that you'd forgotten to put away there. there's no way that puny thing is enough for you, is it?

in your kitchen, you grab your jar of salt, and attempt to open the thing - but your arms feel like jelly at the moment. you grit your teeth and try harder, cursing at yourself for shutting it so tight the last time you used it. you begin to strain your arms further. sukuna marvels at this excellent opportunity he is granted.

your feelings of irritation are whisked away when a pair of hands gently land on top of yours, against the jar. his fingertips reach the lid through the gaps between your own fingers. you feel the bigger man's body warmth, when he comes around from behind. it makes you feel so weak. your tail is hanging off to the side, raised high.

sukuna applies a bit of pressure, and the jar comes off easily. you note how warm his large hands feel.

"i came here for the salt, but now i'm thinking maybe i won't need it anymore..." he whispers down at you. your ears can't help but flicker from his voice.

"what... do you mean by that?" you ask, not knowing what to think.

he guides your hands to put the salt down on the counter. and then his body presses up against yours a little harder. you can feel his growing boner against your behind, and you feel lightheaded. sukuna peers down longingly at the exposed side of your neck.

your pheromones mix with his, and his fluffy tail curls around your leg, almost possessively. sukuna's hands are still holding onto yours, and you feel your breaths get more laboured by the tension.

"i promised to lend my help, didn't i? c'mon..." he coaxes, speaking closely so that his breath grazes against the skin of your neck.

you feel yourself starting to sweat a little more - his body heat is just too much. your chest is uncomfortably full, and the thought of someone sucking on your sensitive nipples is enough for you to finally cave in, and play the fool for the night.

you break free from his grasp for a moment, and hesitatingly point to your couch.

"...sit. it's probably easier on the couch," you tell him, not looking his way. and now you're even shoving him towards it, impatiently.

"my, how demanding," he comments teasingly. he knows you purposefully broke the tension - to prevent him from taking the lead. but he obediently takes a seat on your couch. following that, you awkwardly mount him and sit on his lap.

sukuna watches with a softer smirk as you unbutton yourself again, revealing your leaky breasts with a flustered look on your face. sukuna's hit with that familiar sweet scent that's always been floating around you all this time - but now, it's right in front of him, in full force. it makes his mouth water. he was right about you lactating.

"....go ahead," you tell him shamelessly, yet still sorely embarrassed, cheeks feeling so warm that you're concerned you might pass out. "just be gentle," you warn him, looking at him with a little hesitation and pursed lips.

sukuna feels his cock twitch against you, and he wonders if you can feel it too, from the way you're sitting right on it. his own face feels quite flushed - any man would be the same if they were in his position. such a pretty thing in his lap, willingly undoing her buttons for him. he's never seen tits more beautiful than yours.

"hurry-" you breathe out, impatient, and moreover, shy from the way he's shamelessly admiring your face and chest with a dumb smirk plastered on his face.

not even a millisecond after you say it, he puts his searing hot mouth around one of your nipples. your brain ceases to function as a zap runs through your body, and you whine without meaning to, your back arching. though you grab at his shoulder, your other hand claps over your own mouth to muffle your moans.

the suction of his mouth does wonders for pleasure, nothing like the dull feeling that your mechanic pump gives. you hear his throaty growls as he sucks on your nipple, getting a mouthful of the taste of your sweet milk. you shudder on top of him, becoming pliant with his touch.

sukuna bathes in your warmth and the softness of your breasts, enjoying how he is able to breathe in your scent from this close. your milk isn't like anything he's ever had before. not too sweet and yet not bland - a taste that is unique to you...

his other hand squeezes your other nipple, making sure it isn't too lonely from his touch. you jerk your hips against him, whole body twitching from the pleasure, the joy of having your tits milked by someone else rather than yourself. you can't hold your moans back any longer.

"fuck... oh please..." you mumble, feeling your breast being drained of it's milk.

he stops sucking for a moment, and you see the beautiful but subtle blush on his cheeks, as he looks up at you like he's intoxicated. he lets his tongue out and flicks it up and down your erect nipple, rolling it around the areola. it makes you whimper and tremble in his lap.

"don't... tease me..." you say through gritted teeth, frowning at him while he merely chuckles at your reaction.

sukuna attaches his mouth to your other breast, as it's leaking so much - as if to beg him to drain it next.

your cunt is pulsing so bad, and you feel yourself drenching your panties already. you subconsciously grind down against him and his obvious boner, trying to relieve yourself, desperate to reach a proper orgasm this time. both of you are in a lusty haze, unconcentrated eyes, you're lost in pleasure and he's lost in the taste of you, your breast milk dripping down his chin as he messily gulps down with greed.

sukuna also bucks his hips up against you, cock straining in his pants - god, he's so hard that it hurts. when was the last time he's felt such a way? he breathlessly sucks and slurps everything out of you, feeling the milk pass down his throat and into his stomach. he could drink this shit forever.

he wants to cum. he's gonna fucking cum. into his pants no less, like a damn virgin. with the way you're rolling your hips around and grinding down on him like a whore, its only a matter of time.

"haah... sukuna... more- do it more," you plead, relishing in the pleasure of having your tits taken care of, while you get yourself off on his very obvious erection - rubbing your clothed cunt against him. it feels so good on your sensitive clit, you're gonna lose your damn mind.

sukuna doesn't pry his lips away from your nipple, but his hands come off your breasts - you feel his arms wrap around your waist instead, holding you down against him tightly, guiding your hips and helping himself dry hump you harder while his face is still all up in your tits.

your breathing quickens even further, and you grab fistfuls of his shirt on his back, shutting your eyes in anticipation-- before letting your orgasm crash over you completely. you gasp as your clit throbs intensely, and you feel slick leaking all over in your panties as you ride your climax out against sukuna's hard cock, shuddering as you do so.

sukuna groans with his mouth still on your breast, his orgasm coming a little later than yours, dick twitching as rope after rope of his cum soils his boxers, hips bucking up into you without control - it feels so restricted in his shorts, and he desperately wants to take it out. his lips finally leave your swollen nipple with a little pop sound. his large hands come to grope the soft flesh as he comes off his high, a dull throb ringing in his cock, one orgasm being far from enough.

"look at you, rubbing your cunt all over my cock to get yourself off, like a proper slut. aren't you a little too eager?" he teases breathlessly, with a weak smirk on his face.

"you're the one... that came onto me so strongly..." you pant, drunk from the waves of pleasure you just received, and from the endless twitching of sukuna's giant cock... he's still hard.

"just admit that you're perverted. arguably, even worse than what i am," sukuna mocks, pinching at your nipples, making you wince.

"shut up, you."

in the spur of the moment, you lift your hips up slightly to shove your hand down his pants to take his dick out due to irritation. sukuna gives the slightest flinch from the sensation of your hand, grabbing onto his now bare erection.

you begin to fiercely jerk him off with a frown on your face, wanting to punish him for his comments a few seconds ago, knowing he's still sensitive from his recent orgasm.

"fuck-! what're you-" he cuts his own voice off with a choked off gasp due to the tight grip of your hand against his twitching cock. he's back to bucking his hips again as you pump up and down with both hands, his dick already being lathered with his own cum making it easier for you. the noises that come out of him almost fills you with pride - and also surprise. you'd never thought that someone like him would ever moan in this way... you jerk him off faster, and a little harder, being fixated on his pretty looking cock that keeps jumping in your hands.

"shit! that's- enough-" sukuna gasps again, chest heaving and whole body jerking, but oddly, not attempting to stop you at all.

you watch in awe, as his cock spurts out several strings of white cum once again, his head tilted back with deep groans, dick pulsing - your hands keep away from it for the first few seconds just to observe, but then you help to milk it dry, grabbing his base and slowly stroking up and down. he shudders from your touch, and the sight of him being so sorely sensitive makes you feel your heartbeat in your pussy again.

he really does cum a shit ton. it goes for what seems to be like ages, never ending pulses of his cock and rope after rope tainting your hands, and his own stomach. the way he shivers before you, how captivating his groans sound, it all makes you want to do it all over again.

you slowly rub his tip against your palm, playing with his dick as if it were a toy - but this time, he grabs your wrist to stop you.

"enough..." he says with a low voice - and the look that he gives you sends a shiver down your spine.

he's beginning to smell a bit different. its not like before. and it's getting thicker by the second...

"ah, fuck.... i'm in rut," sukuna admits with a scowl, and a flushed face.

the realisation hits you like a truck.

"look at what you've done," sukuna growls as he grabs your hips and pushes you closer towards him, his cock impossibly harder. he's breathing heavily, and you see the precum that's gathering on his tip. he won't be able to hold himself back much longer, and you know it.

and curse the omega in you - you're unable to resist him, and you can feel yourself syncing with his rut, a strange swoop occurring in your stomach. his strong pheromones make you lightheaded and feverish, instigating your submissive side as you become obedient - sitting on his lap with an eager shine in your eyes, breathing heavy from his strong scent and your desire to be dominated.

you want to have your brains fucked out. you can't take it anymore.

as if reading your mind, sukuna lunges forward and practically throws you onto your back on your couch - you let out a yelp and watch as he pulls your shorts and panties down and casts them aside, stripping you completely. you feel so vulnerable, but his intense strength and desperation is only adding to your arousal.

he pushes your knees up and rubs his cock up against your clit, and puckering hole.

"look at all this slick. you want me that bad huh?" sukuna remarks darkly, sweat gathering on his temples.

you grit your teeth, fighting the urge to give him a meek response - having the strange desire to provoke and set him off until the end.

"you're the desperate one here..." you tell him breathlessly, sensing how his dick is practically begging to be inside you, with the way it twitches on your cunt.

your blood runs cold for a second, when you see the way he looks down at you, with a vein popping out on his forehead.

"...maybe i am," he relents, with a low voice, grabbing your face.

and then he leans down to shove his lips against yours, while thrusting his cock into you at the same time.

you whimper into the kiss as his tip hits your womb like nothing. you'd ignored how massive he was at the start, but now it's impossible to brush off.

"t-too big..." you mumble when he breaks away from your lips.

sukuna groans as he drags his cock in and out of your sopping cunt, practically holding him in an iron grip from the suction. your endless amount of slick coats his dick with plenty of lubricant to fuck you more easily.

"you can take it, doll. i'll make you take it..."

his eyes dilate as he begins to piston his hips at a fast but uneven pace, groaning shamelessly as his cock ravishes your pussy by hitting all the right places, heavy balls smacking against your ass with every thrust. the pleasure runs through your veins like electricity, and you feel high off the feeling of someone so big and strong using you like you were his fleshlight - to relieve his rut.

you can barely breathe from the way he pounds you, relentlessly pushing you to the limit, tears forming in your eyes and high pitched moans coming from your throat.

"ohh-! sukuna... oh, please please please..." you plead, almost sobbing.

he responds by leaning down to lather his tongue against your scent glands, sucking on them and rest of the skin on your neck. you shudder and let out another set of whimpers - and sukuna's fangs feel antsy, wanting to sink them into your flesh.

sukuna aims for the sweetness from your breasts, to distract himself. you cry out as he roughly latches onto your nipple and begins to suck as he squeezes your soft flesh. his cock feels like it's about to burst.

when he stimulates your nipples a certain way and his tip grazes your g-spot at the same time, you're hit with an orgasm that makes you squeal and has your cunt fluttering uncontrollably.

his dick gives in to the sudden milkings of your pussy and sukuna pushes his hips to settle himself into you as deep as he can - giving a choked off groan from the sudden climax as his cock swells up inside of you, anchoring itself.

the knowledge of him knotting you doesn't seem to matter as you enjoy the feeling of the warm gush of his cum pouring into your womb, his balls clenching with every rope that spurts out, messily coating your walls with white.

sukuna pants so heavily above you, abs flexing as he continues to orgasm in your warm cunt that still has a dull pulse from your previous climax. he nuzzles into the crook of your neck with a soft growl, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders.

your breathing relaxes as you lay still on the couch while sukuna weighs you down and breeds you properly, consequences be damned. you could try and fight him off, but it's been so long since you've been so sexually satisfied that your logical thinking has turned itself off. all you want to do is enjoy bathing in the pheromones of your alpha and let the heaviness of his large body drape over yours as he pumps you full of his babies.

sukuna is usually very careful about who he's around when he's in a rut - and he's always made sure either he or his partner had some sort of protection on before doing anything. he wouldn't want to go around having kids with the wrong people. it's hard to say whether you're wrong or right for him - he doesn't know much about you to judge yet...

but you make him feel so right.

and he's still fighting off the urge to mark you to make you officially his, with drool beginning to run down his chin. his fangs are making it unbearable; he needs to bite something right now.

"you look restless..." you tell him, getting him to tear his gaze away from your neck, to your face instead.

you pull him in for a messy kiss, slipping your tongue into his mouth. he feels the way you brush over his fangs, paying extra attention to them as you make out with him, and it makes him groan. you must have done this with someone else before. sukuna nips at your tongue and lower lip, doing his best not to break skin - trying to relieve himself of the urge to bite.

the swell of his knot is gradually subsiding, but you know that the night is far from over.

"which way to your bedroom?" sukuna asks after breaking away from your kiss, breathlessly.

"farthest down the corridor, past the kitchen.." you respond, feeling a little needy after he abruptly stopped the kiss like that.

"hold onto me."

he lifts you up easily with his arms, and you wrap your legs around his waist, arms over his shoulders. the display of strength makes your heartbeat quicken.

when you're laid upon the soft mattress of your bed, his lips come crashing down again - while his hips begin to give shallow thrusts, cock still hard and throbbing. sukuna kisses you like he's a man starved, and you feel as though he might actually swallow you up at this rate.

the strong grip on your hips tighten as his pace gets rougher. you have to break away to gasp and moan. every time he jostles your body, you feel his previous heavy load sloshing inside you, and it's getting too much. sukuna doesn't look like he's even entirely here, hips moving mindlessly and drool dripping down his chin - it's a terrifyingly arousing sight.

he tries to come down and kiss you again, but you have to push his face away - you're so out of breath that you're afraid you might pass out if he does that again. it's overwhelming, how his thick cock bullies itself against your walls over and over again.

sukuna doesn't seem too pleased that you're pushing him away; he holds you tighter and he adjusts his hips to fuck you deeper. you mewl loudly, but keep your hand weakly against his face - he doesn't force it away, but lets his tongue droop out, caressing your fingers with it. you feel him bite and suck on your hand as his sharp thrusts produce small bulges in your stomach.

you witness his eyes dilating again, and you swear you see hearts in them this time, your fingers still in his mouth.

his dick feels so, so good in your pussy. your intoxicating smell now surrounds him after coming into your bedroom, and it's driving him insane. he grunts above you, balls feeling heavy, dick pulsing as his tip finds its way knocking on your cervix. there's a thick ring of cream foaming on the base of his cock now, a mixed concoction of both his cum and your slick.

his thrusting gets sloppy and his hips stutter, meaning that he's going to orgasm again. sukuna's eyes roll back, as he messily "kisses" your hand, pushing himself balls deep into you at the final moment.

you arch your back at the sensation of his knot swelling up once again, cumming at this moment. sukuna almost topples over from the tightness, as the walls of your cunt flutter around his knot, effectively squeezing everything out of him.

"f-fu-uuck..." he drones, his voice dragging the curse word out.

you feel him dumping every drop into your poor womb, emptying his balls. you're afraid that you'll get addicted to this "full" feeling, the warmth of his seed filling you up, the way your insides can feel his cock twitch violently with every thick string of cum he shoots out. you never imagined being held down and inseminated would feel this good.

sukuna's eyes are half-lidded, pleasure continuing to run up and down his spine. he pins your wrist down against the bed suddenly, and latches his mouth to one of your breasts - beginning to suck immediately, like he's trying to rehydrate himself with your milk. you shudder. it seems as though he's doing nothing but take, take, and take from your body... not that you'll stop him from doing so.

you run your fingers through his soft hair, catching your breath, slightly trembling each time he sucks a little too hard. shortly after he is seemingly content, he completely collapses his body over yours, face all up in your breasts, purring while his knot still sits inside of you.

you sense that it's only the beginning of a long, long night.

once the sun has rolled into the sky, you finally remember the fact that the weekdays haven't finished yet - and that you're supposed to be getting ready for work right now.

problem is, there's a certain someone clinging to your whole body from behind, still purring against the nape of your neck with a hand lazily groping the flesh of your tit. you can feel his fluffy tail curling around yours, possessively. you're sleepy, and his stupid purring keeps coaxing you to take a nap. he's a lot more docile and softhearted than you imagined. you supposed he'd be out of your house by now.

you reach out and feel around to grab your phone, to give your workplace a call to take the day off. while you're on the phone, sukuna places soft kisses down your back. you hope your boss can't hear the excessive vibration in the background. once you're done with that, you shove your phone under your pillow.

"i need a nap... you can use my shower, or go home, whichever you prefer," you tell him sleepily, shutting your eyes.

"is sleeping next to you also an option?" he asks from behind you, snuggling up closer.

"mm," you reply mindlessly, already dozing off. he slips his arm under your head. admittedly, his arm pillow does feel comfortable.

when you next wake up in a few hours time, you don't know what to feel when you notice that he's still next to you in bed.

"finally awake?"

"yeah... i'm surprised you haven't left," you mumble, following that with a yawn.

"i'm surprised you're not chasing me out," he shoots back.

"what would be the point? i'll see you again the moment i step outside the house."

"i bet you love that. being able to see me all the time," sukuna teases, twirling a strand of your hair with his finger.

"ugh, think what you will," you roll your eyes, trying not to be flustered.

you suddenly realise how thirsty and hungry you are.

"i'm starving... i don't remember what's in the fridge," you mumble to yourself.

"hop in the shower with me and i'll take care of all your meals today," he offers, smirking.

you don't really trust his intentions - especially something as intimate as showering together - but you are famished, and you don't think you will be bothered to cook at all today.

"what meals are we thinking?" you ask, curious.

"hm. well, how about steak?"

"... is that a threat?"

sukuna bursts into laughter.

he informs you that the salt he had originally wanted from you was supposed to be for the steak he was cooking last night. who knew that he'd be having a different kind of steak that evening? you look unamused as he makes the joke between chuckles.

unsurprisingly, you do end up in the shower with him, and again, unsurprisingly, he does pay extra attention to soaping up your tits in particular, and making out with you a little here and there. but as promised, you are rewarded with possibly the best meals you've ever had since you moved to this neighbourhood.

after a bit of conversation, turns out the man is a freelance chef, which is something you would've never guessed. from first glance, he seemed like he could've been part of some gang or a shady underground business.

when you sheepishly apologise for misjudging him based on his looks, sukuna laughs once again, and tells you that he'll forgive you if you let him continue to "help you out" from here onwards...

the rest is in dot points bc im lazy!

originally, i had wanted to make this a bit more toxic but i turned it more wholesome bc i felt like ive already posted toxic stuff before this so haha...

btw you do a few pregnancy checks while sukuna is still there after that night, and it turns out negative. it's a big sigh of relief for you and while it should be the case for sukuna too, since he's never really liked the idea of having kids, for some reason there's the tiniest twinge of disappointment...

anyway - after this, their relationship turns into a weird mix between friends with benefits and ?lovers, semi slow burn

often crashing in each others beds and sharing meals, but also having periods where you won't see one another for a week or so when life gets busy

thing is, you always try and tell yourself that you'll only use him to relieve the swell in your breasts, but it's never the case. things always go out of control and you end up bouncing on his cock without thinking of the consequences.

and he can't stop himself from teasing you everytime, those tits of yours could kill a man, he swears. sukuna gets extremely touchy with them, grazing his fingertips over your nipples, groping you with your shirt still on like a lewd old man, life just feels better when he has your tit in his mouth or hands. it hardly feels like he's actually bullying you when he gets hard like a mf while doing it.

and there are moments where he blurs the line between FWB and becoming something a little more, like when he scents you before you leave his place. "...why're you scenting me?" "why not?"

there is an incident that happens in your house one time, where a huge water leak had happened while you were away at work, drenching the floorboards and things requiring a lot of fixing. you had nowhere else to stay that wasn't either a motel or some cheap sauna so sukuna offered you to sleep at his place for the time being.

it really made things between you two feel a lot more intimate and romantic, a lot of tension, especially when sleeping together without the sex and doing all the chores. both of you felt a little empty when the house maintenance was all done and you had to go back to your own place.

"but there's nowhere for you to sleep except for my bed. i'm not bothered to clean out any of the spare rooms and i don't suppose you want to sleep on the sofa for weeks straight?"

a sly method of getting you to sleep next to him.

also, this man is quite loaded with money. freelance chef popular in demand, but he only takes up jobs that he feels like doing. sometimes he'll leave his house empty for longer times because he's busy, which makes you quite lonely and confused, since he doesn't really explain to you where he's going and why a lot of the time.

when he eventually is back again, he is met with you, holding the scent of some other alpha. he finds himself feeling incredibly upset and possessive, even though he's always deemed relationships to be superficial in his life, because it limits his freedom. but he just feels so deeply unhappy about it that he ends up arguing with you

he knows it shouldn't be something he is entitled to feel angry about when he's not even properly committed to you but it's not like he's ever mingled with other omegas ever since he's met you? it just felt so unfair to him in the moment.

shortly after the argument, you end up confessing you didn't even do anything with the alpha anyway, just a boring date and one quick hug. and sukuna also explains that it was his fault in the first place, leaving and coming back without saying anything. turns out that he sometimes works as a chef in places like hotels and when he's preparing food for companies or people who live a distance away, he just spends the nights somewhere nearby for convenience.

the tension is high after both of you are finished clearing things up, and it eventually leads to sex again. he wants to get rid of that scent ASAP, whether it was from just a hug or not, he needs it GONE. and this time, he properly marks you, sinking his fangs into your scent glands like he's always ached to do.

the night ends with you two officially becoming a couple, finally haha, happy days

the end

Masterlist

[bananafieldnotes]

baby love

★ abstract: bo chow’s engaged to the wonderful grace. but seeing you waltz into his shop after so much time apart may change his answer at the altar

content disclosure: smut, black!reader, allusions to segregation, dirty talk, unintentional grace slander, oral (f. receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, spit, canon deviation

author's note: the poll was extremely in favor of a bo chow x reader, and i was feeling inspired to write a little something lusty with a pinch of angst. deviates from canon of course, and the timeline is flexible. hope y'all enjoy! i wrote this quickly and skimmed through to proofread so apologies if i missed anything

Butter. A whole 'nother trip to the store because you didn’t buy enough butter. The cornbread would be nothing without it, and you had no business hosting Sunday dinner without it. And that’s why you pushed through the frustration of stepping back out into the sweltering heat once more, huffing only to yourself so people wouldn’t go around whispering about how grouchy you were. Word ‘round Clarksdale got around like wildfire, and reputations were hard to reconstruct. It’s how the twins kept their status on coldhearted gangsters, and why you kept your lips pursed.

Normally, if you weren’t in a time crunch, you go back to Jiffy’s Grocer on the further side of town. The prices were decent and they treat you like family down there. But it was a hike from your current neck of the woods, and you were racing the clock against the roast chicken you kept in the oven on your dash out the door. Just this once, you’d have to go to Bo’s store.

The people of Clarksdale loved his stores. Business was always booming, and his fiancée knew exactly how to work the whites only storefront. Oftentimes, they’re regarded as the perfect match— and that was exactly why you avoided them at all costs.

It all felt like a million years ago, but it was only eight short years ago when you were calling Bo yours. Every Wednesday for months, you’d swish into his shop, the Black side, ready with money in hand for his priciest vanilla and another sack of flour. He knew you and your grandmother were the ones behind the underground cookie business Mary was running. She got 10% of the profits just for being the face, so that white customers wouldn’t have to contend with the fact that their sweet tooth was being fed by Black women. It was lucrative enough for you not to care.

You were smart with your money, and Bo was too loyal to say anything to anyone. He admired your wit, your drive, your passion. It didn’t take him long to work up the courage to ask you out on a proper date, one with drinking and blues music and half the town watching his hand sneakily graze your derrière. It didn’t matter how different the two of you were under the scorching lights of Mezzanine’s— he was your Bo.

But you should’ve known it wouldn’t have lasted. Bo was too public facing to have a Black wife, and both of you knew it. His white customers would never buy from a Black worker, and he didn’t even like the idea of leaving you to brave the shop on your own. Things were changing in Clarksdale by the day, and he wasn’t gonna gamble on your life.

Choosing the store over you was the end of the whirlwind romance, and the beginning of the whispers from fellow patrons. It no longer served you to shop there, to be reminded of him and his annoyingly handsome face all of the time. And when your grandmother passed, you didn’t dare read the note he sent with the egregiously large bouquet he sent to the house. All curiosity died the second you saw him toting Grace around town, taking her to all the places he took you first. Clarksdale was small, and your only guaranteed respite during the early stages of their relationship was during your grocery shopping.

Crossing your fingers, your gloved hands gently pushed open the front door. It had been years since you last saw him, and today didn’t have to be any different if you were quick enough. You winced at the sharp ding! that alerted your entry. So much for slipping in unannounced. The store was crowded, customers whizzing through pockets of space around others and all the while concealing themselves; your timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

There was a fridge of butter right near the checkout counter, and the line was short enough for you to get out sooner than you could’ve hoped. You grabbed a few extra sticks just to avoid the possibility of repeating history, and you kept your face hidden behind the rim of your hat.

“Here, I’ll take over. Next!”

It was unmistakable, that drawl of his. Goosebumps rippled across your skin as you lifted your chin to see him staring back at you expectantly. He was already searching your every feature when you locked eyes, recognition washing over him in a glacial wave of disbelief. His mouth was left ajar as you placed all the butter in front of him, heat rising to your cheeks. “You’ll catch flies that way, Bo.”

He stuttered, glancing around the room to see if anyone was watching the two of you. “Where did you go?” His voice was just above a whisper, the instability evident is his quiver. Eight years apart and that was the first question out of his mouth.

“You think I wanted to stick around and watch you two live happily ever after? I made changes.”

You were never this stoic with him. Bo was used to the you who couldn’t stand to be apart from him, who couldn’t help but giggle if he looked at you too long. He was used to you using any and every excuse to kiss him, touch him, lick him. Nothing about your cold distance was normal.

Except it was normal. The new normal. He has a new woman in his life to crave him, to love him, to intertwine with him. It couldn’t be you anymore because he’d made sure of that.

“Can we talk?”

You stuck out the exact change for your items, refusing to look him in the eyes again. His eyes were too powerful, their emotion too potent. You weren’t here for him, you remind yourself. Butter. Just butter. “I’d like a small bag if you have one.”

“___. Will you forget about the damn butter?”

You huffed loudly, dropping the money on the counter to grab the butter and make a dash for it. He couldn’t force you to talk to him, and you still had a chicken to baste. “Goodbye.”

Bo knew better than to yell after you. Grace would hear all about his improper power struggle of a woman she knew nothing about. He’d buried his past with you so he’d never have to revisit it; out of sight, out of mind. If only love were truly that easy to manage.

It was nothing but the grace of your ancestors that the chicken hadn’t dried out in the time it took you to get back to your secluded home. You still had about an hour left to prepare for your guests, and it seemed futile against the constant reminder of Bo. These dinners were something the two of you started together as a way of making extra effort to connect with your friends and loved ones. You loved hosting and you loved the glimpse of your future that it brought you. A lifetime of Bo Chow distracting you with kisses and sly touches, helping you clean up since he was a sous chef at best.

The scars on your memories ran deep, but you had mastered the art of pretending they hadn’t. Your friends were careful not to mention his existence which you were eternally grateful for. You healed, you grew new roots. New traditions. A new life, a beautiful one, without. You couldn’t help the Bo shaped storm cloud that lingered every now and then, but you could be ready with shelter.

Gumbo, cornbread, chicken and greens. A freshly baked pecan pie bubbling in the oven. The timer went off just as the first of your friends knocked at the door. You were expecting Sylvie since she was always the first to arrive, but the door opened to reveal no such thing. In front of Sylvie, Annie, Smoke, Simone, Albie, and Michael was none other than Bo Chow. Holding flowers, no less.

“I-I forgot about Sunday dinners.”

Your friends cleared their throats, making their way around him and into your home as he stood at the doorstep gawking at you. “What are you doin’ here, Bo? Don’t you got a store to run?” The hesitation in his response led you to believe Grace was running the store in his place, which only served to make the present moment feel that much more ridiculous. “Say something, don’t just stand there.”

“I shoulda never ended things with us, ___,” he pushed the flowers on you, stepping closer to you underneath the door frame. “Look, I know how this sounds. I know I look like a piece a’ shit comin’ to you like this, but I can’t make the same mistake twice. I still love you, dammit.”

The flowers were the last thing on your mind as he pulled you into his arms and kissed your forehead, sweeping you in his embrace like you were still his. Your friends were surely listening from just around the corner but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. He was holding you again, confessing that he still loves you. Eight years vanished in an instant, all with the soothing sincerity of his voice and the soft juxtaposition of his calloused hands on your body. One dinner wouldn’t hurt.

“I tell ya, I ain’t neva seen nothin’ like it!”

The table erupted in laughter at Bo’s anecdote, silverware chiming against the plates in the background of his story. All was forgiven amidst the chuckles and tears of fellowship, at least it seemed that way. No one took notice of the way Bo was squeezing your hand under the table, or the way he’d whisper a compliment of innuendo in your ear when it was someone else’s turn to speak.

“I like this dress on you,” his breath against your ear made you shudder, eyes threatening to close from the intimacy. “You already know that, though. Bet you remember that night like it was yesterday.”

Time stood still at the memory. The twins invited anyone with a pulse to come celebrate their birthday, and Bo had just bought you a new dress. An elegant sea of lilac satin, squaring your neck and plunging ever so slightly in the back. It cascaded your curves perfectly, framing your physique in a way that made his mouth water every time you moved in it. You’d spent half the night glued to Bo, material of the dress bunched around your hips as he fucked into you frenziedly. Only Stack suspected where you disappeared off to when he plucked a twig from your slightly disheveled hair. You winced at the memory of being so young together.

You felt your nipples harden through the thin material of said dress, the flashbacks of your slippery thighs quivering around his waist too much to bear. It was like you were there again, even just for a fragment of space and time, returning back to the way he ravished you. His lips peppering kisses along the column of your throat, one hand massaging your breast underneath your gown. If anyone saw the two of you it would be the talk of the town, the kind of scandal that was life ruining. But it only fueled the fire between you, thriving on the nerves of someone wandering across you.

It was electric, and it was off limits to think about now. That Bo only lives in the corners of your mind now that Grace has a ring on her finger, and a quick declaration before Sunday night's feast couldn’t change that. It was all talk so far, and it had to stay that way until you saw the walk.

The flush left your face as you sipped on iced tea, pulling the hair away from your neck. Bo could tell you weren’t as unaffected as you feigned, smirking to himself as he took another bite of gumbo. The way you shifted in your seat told tale enough of how the memories had stuck with you, too. Annie chimed in to talk now, looking to Smoke to confirm the details as she drew out her own event.

Bo’s hand rested atop your thigh, discreet and comfortable as he continued talking to your friends. His thumb rubbed against this softer skin of your innermost part, inching dangerously close to the apex but remaining just shy of it. The right thing to do would’ve been to remove it, but you just couldn’t. Your heart hadn’t raced this way since you were last together, tracing every inch of his skin in effort to memorize him.

He slipped into helping you clean up, washing up while you stored away leftovers. Your friends were long gone by the time you finished, and you could feel your heart thrum at the realization that you were fully alone with him. In your house. Hidden under the cover of night, under the protection of magnolia that shielded you from outside judgment.

Bo, who had spent the better part of the night pushing your boundaries, stood across the kitchen towel in hand. The moonlight cast a halo over his bronze toned skin, the Mississippi sun baking him after long days moving shipment. Sun-kissed and lovestruck, he looked up at you.

“I thought my life had to look a certain way, that’s why my parents came to this country. But I don’t want any of that with just anyone, baby love. I’ve been wired to tick all the boxes, and I’ve been racing toward a finish line I don’t even wanna cross no more. Not without you,” he closed the distance between you, careful not to move too suddenly. “This could be our shot. We deserve a second chance.”

It was exactly what you wished he said years ago instead of completely restructuring his life around her. “What about your life with Grace?”

“I told her we were done the moment you left the store,” he tossed the towel over your shoulder to the sink, pulling your hips square against his. “I’d rather be single than with anyone but you.”

His lips ventured forward at a snail pace, eyes darting between yours and your eyes as he waited for you to protest. To push at his chest or turn away. Instead, your breath was baited, anticipating the taste of his mouth on yours again. The exploratory smack of his lips sucking at your bottom one, tugging at it before swooping in for a real kiss. He inhaled sharply as you melted into him, hands cupping his head as you arched against him.

The thin barrier of your dress did nothing to dull the feeling of his chiseled chest against your pert nipples. Something about the warmth of his body on yours clouded your brain with nothing but unholy thoughts, panties dampening as Bo hoisted you onto the counter like you weighed nothing. His tongue swirled around yours as he unbuttoned his shirt, buff arms freeing themselves from the now suffocating article of clothing.

Shirtless under the soft glow of your kitchen lights was a sight for sore eyes. His hair was pushed back, slick with a mixture of product and sweat that made it glisten. “Let me make love to you, baby.”

Bo’s lips abandoned his wet suckling of your lips and trailed down your neck, between the valley of your breast and down your delicate stomach that flipped at the contact. His head disappeared underneath your dress, fingers hooking into your underwear to slide them down your legs. You didn’t know how you ended up sprawled across your kitchen with Bo Chow lapping his tongue at your dripping folds on a balmy summer night. How you went from forcing yourself not to think about him to now, with his head bobbing up and down as his tongue plunging as far inside you as he could reach.

He still knew your body better than anyone who tried to fill his shoes after your heartbreak— and he still derived pleasure from fulfilling you. His whiny groans into your pussy sent vibrations that rocked your nerves as you pulled him flush into the crux of your legs, basking in every lap of his tongue. “Bo” was all you could manage to cry out, gasping as he pried your legs apart to shake his head back and forth as he ate you.

Orgasm was imminent and he knew it in the way your hips rolled, impatient squirms turning into desperate twitching that only climax could subdue. He pulled away with arousal coating his nose and chin, not bothering to wipe as he kissed you just as messily as he was eating you out. You welcomed the kiss, palming him through his trousers as he leaned over your spent frame.

He unburdened himself of those very pants as your fingers thread through his hair, completely taken with the taste of yourself on his mouth. His cock grazed between your lips to gather your wetness before sinking into you, moaning against the side of your jaw. So wet, so warm, so tight. The slick heat of your pussy in the reunion he feared he’d never get.

With all the buildup from Bo’s ravenous slurping, the pressure of him brushing your g-spot tipped you right over the edge, climax pulling you under the current of waves of Bo’s making. The cabinet beneath you shook as he fucked you through the aftershocks, using the creaminess of your orgasm as extra lubricant. He dribbled an extra splatter of spit on your clit just to be safe before stealing forward again, hips rolling in time with his thumb’s circles against your pearl.

Bo was on a mission to make you see the stars, his own high nowhere at the forefront of his mind. “You gon’ cum for me again, honey?”

There were tears spilling out the corners of your eyes as you clawed at his back. “Bo, please, give it to me.” The wet slaps of his skin with each thrust rang throughout the kitchen, enveloping your ears in a vulgar symphony of depravity. He knew better than to switch up anything he was doing, knowing you’d fall apart as long as he kept doing exactly what he was.

And fall apart you did with one last kiss to your sweet spot, muscles tensing up just to go lifeless in the same breath. Bo kept you from falling over the edge of the countertop as your body convulsed with the current of ecstasy running through it. The wind was effectively blown from your lungs in the midst of your rapture, and you gasped for air as you finally cut through the hazy mist of bliss.

“Fuck, ___, I-I’m—” The intensity of Bo’s climax interrupted his own words, heat rippling from his head to his toes as he came in heavy spurts. Rivulets slipped out of you as his cum filled you up more than you could take, adding to the glossy mess that was already there.

He kept his eyes trained on your puffy pussy lips, watching the cum leak out of you as he pulled his pants back on. “D-Don’t…”

Your breath was shaky, heart pounding in your ears from everything he’d put your body through— and what the look on his face told you he was going to do. “Oh, c’mon, baby love. I just miss you ’s all. Lemme give you a couple more.”

And then his mouth was back to sucking at your clit, shamelessly swallowing the salty taste he’d left behind to pull another high-pitched scream from your throat.

Bo Chow was nowhere near done with you.

[after-avenging-hours]

Pollinators Beware: Dante x Reader

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

Word Count: 13,844

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good point,” you laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dante. More! I’m so close!” you cry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get up on the bar.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He finally meets your gaze with a dubiously raised brow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dante, I’m being serious.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part 2

[welostheplot]

── blinging on my hotline

a drabble about phone/facetime sex w/ abby (title taken from doja cat's cyber sex).

content: MDNI 18+, slight dom!reader x slight sub!abby, phone sex/facetime sex, dirty talk, a bit of guided masturbation, reader described as having a pussy

word count: 833 (i'm new to this, okay!!)

author's note: baby's first smut! i'm feeling extremely shy about this... but i figured the only way to improve at writing smut is to actually practice. i hope it's at least halfway decent!

you're on the phone with abby when your ears suddenly pick up on the swish of something moving repeatedly against a bedsheet, huffing breaths, and stifled, choked back groans on the other end of the line.

it makes you pause, your rant about that one annoying coworker (who always seems to be the topic of your on-call catchups with her these days) suddenly way less important.

you ask a tentative "hey, are you alright baby?" and are met with a beat of silence before she groans out "yesjustpleasekeeptalkingfuck–" and then its clear:

the poor thing got so worked up hearing the sleepy lilt of your voice she just couldn't help but get herself off to your voice over the phone as she listened to you yap on about your day.

and you think to yourself why let her have all the fun?

you immediately pick up the phone (that was sat locked on the pillow next to your head, intended to stay like that all night while you very innocently slept on the phone together, mind you) and press the button to facetime.

what greets you when she accepts the facetime request is definitely a sight for sore eyes:

she's naked. at least from the chest up, which is as far as you can see from the angle she's got the phone held at, camera shaking slightly from the efforts of her other arm which is clearly hard at work if the rapid shifting of her right shoulder is any indication. what's going on below her waist isn't shown, but it doesn't take a genius to figure it out and you're already getting wet at the thought of it.

her bottom lip (which looks like it's been gnawed near raw from her attempts to hold back her moans this whole time) is clamped firmly behind her top row of teeth and her eyes are hazy, shifting rapidly across the screen of her phone as she drinks in the sight of you all cozy in your blankets and hair bed-ruffled.

her chest heaves as another choked back groan attempts to punch its way out of her throat— a raw, primal reaction to the mere sight of you.

you weren't even trying to appear sexy (or sound sexy on the call, for that matter). apparently, just your presence alone was enough to get her humping her hand, hips bucking beyond her control as she chased her release.

"holy shit you look so fucking hot baby," she mutters, eyes rolling slightly back into her skull as her shoulder shifts even faster and her movements become more rapid and desperate. "that pretty face is gonna make me cum."

and as much as you'd like to drag this out—make her wait as you slipped your own hand into your sleep shorts so you could cum together—it's obvious that she'd been at it for a while. honestly, it turned you on even more to know that while you were innocent and ignorant, chatting on about the happenings of your day, her hand was shoved into her boxers as she got herself off to the sound your voice.

"yeah?" you tease, and it's said almost mockingly. "is my baby going to cum just from the sight of me? i haven't even done anything!"

you can admit there's an intentional tone to your words; you're egging her on, knowing the hints of degradation are what she wants when she's feeling particularly needy like this, even if she's too proud to admit it out loud.

it sparks a sharp blossom of shame in the center of her chest, cheeks burning as she nods frantically. "fuck yes... yeah.. hah–" she's panting now, "yeah i'ms'closebabyplease–" her words begin to slur together as she hurdles closer to the edge.

"mmmmfff-" you can't help but groan a little in response to that, your own thighs pressing together for some sort of relief. she really must've worked herself up if she's begging like that and it turns you on. "thaaat's it, babe. cum for me."

she seems to momentarily forget herself, letting out an uncharacteristically high-pitched whimper that thins out into silence for one...

...two...

...three beats as she dangles on the edge—

—and then her orgasm slams into her like a freight train.

a gritted, strained "fuuuuuuuck" is heard and her eyes go unfocused, mouth hanging slack as she works herself through it, that ever-shifting right shoulder finally going still while her hips take over, grinding hard into her own palm.

you wait patiently, watching the camera jolt and shake during the come-down process, your hand skimming over your chest and trailing past your tummy to reach and push your shorts down and off.

and you're delighted to see that lazy, post-orgasmic grin slide clean off her face only to be replaced with a heated, lustful gaze when you angle your phone right in front of your pussy, delicately spreading yourself open with the fingers of your other hand.

"it's my turn now, baby."

[writers-potion]

Could I ask for tips on how to write kisses?

Writing The Perfect Kiss Scene

#1 Find the RIGHT moment

We all know what I mean! The "zing" when the character's faces are get close enough must come unexpected (but) when both of them are looking for romance/comfort.

For example:

Tripping over each other in the hallway

Person A covering their face with their hands and Person B prying them off, their eyes meeting...

Sitting next to each other in the library, elbows touching, and they happen to turn around to face each other...

Find a natural way to bring your characters the romantic atmosphere!

#2 Noticing the Other Person

It's natural to to see someone in a different way when there's romantic vibe pulsating in the air. Maybe your character notices that their crush has a speck of green in their eyes they didn't notice before.

#3 Build Ups

Describe how the characters feel moments before their lips touch. This includes things like racing hearts, sweaty palms, unsteady breathing. etc.

#4 Feeling all Self-Conscious

If you're writing a first-person POV or want to portray the nervous excitement of kissing a love interest for the first time, you can afford to have your character be distracted by how they feel inside, or worrying about how they smell/look, etc.

Maybe they feel like it's too early in the relationship to kiss

They're still thinking about that annoying math problem

Did I apply my new cherry-flavored chapstick? etc.

This should come in the same beat as the "notice the other person", heightening the romance tension between the characters.

Once they get closer and the kiss actually happens, these worries will melt away!

#4 Describing the Details

In most cases, it's best to keep things understated (especially in regards to tongues)

tongues cannot "tangle" or "battle" or "swish around"...please, no.

Focus on the lips and how the characters move (like hugging, pushing the other against a wall, breathing, etc.), adding the tongue as an afterthought.

Don't get too exicted about taste.

No, her tongue didn't taste like fresh roses and peaches, unless she was eating peach candy right before the kiss.

Focus on other sensations other than taste: especially touch, heat. the tickle of his breath on her cheekc, etc. Or even the smell of shampoo.

#5 The Pullaway + Reaction

Does the kiss end naturally, or does something else interrupt them?

How do the characters react: do they blush, say something, hug he other person, or run away with a deep blush? For couples, they can even tease the other.

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[nekonaps0]

Your writing has been inspired so far, I'm eating everything up so far 🧡🧡🧡

If you're up for a request, what about how the Freshmen react to, after a studying at Ramshackle, falling asleep and waking up not only in their own bed but with either a lipstick print on their face, or with a vague or dream like memory of the Prefect kissing them good night? (Idk if you prefer to keep the Prefect gn or not when writing) Pre-relationship of possible as well!!!

Good night kiss

✦fem!reader

✦characters: first years

✦Awww that’s so cuuute!!!

Ace Trappola

Ace wakes up with a yawn and a stretch. He slowly crawls out the bed and immediately stops when he notices the faint red lip mark on his cheek.

He freezes. Stares at his mirror.

“…Is that lipstick?”

He flashes back just faintly to the feeling of warm breath against his face, the softness of lips brushing his cheek, your gentle whisper:

“Sweet dreams, Ace…”

His heart punches his ribs. “NO WAY. Did she—?! Did I—?! WAS THAT REAL?!”

Cue him pacing around his dorm, mumbling “I probably dreamed it... right?” but also refusing to wash his face just in case it was real.

The next time you see him, he’s awkward, twitchy, and trying way too hard to be casual.


“So uh… did you, like, put something on my face the other night? Or am I just hallucinating or something?” He laughed nervously

Deuce Spade

Deuce jolts awake in his dorm bed with a start. His face is warm. He blinks at the ceiling.

“I was at Ramshackle… studying… and then…”

He remembers. Your voice. The way you tucked the blanket around him. The feather-light pressure of a kiss on his forehead. Your soft giggle before whispering

“Sleep tight, Deuce…”

His entire face ignites. He shoots upright, smacking his own cheeks.
“No! No way! That must’ve been a dream. She wouldn’t—right?! Unless… unless she likes—no! Get it together!”

He goes to class the next day in a daze, blushing like crazy every time you say hi.


He almost asks you about it… but chickens out. Still, he secretly wonders if he should fall asleep at Ramshackle more often.

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek wakes up in his bed and sits bolt upright, sputtering.

“I-I was at Ramshackle! I recall studying! And then—what… what was that…???”

His ears are red. His thoughts are spinning.

Did you… kiss him? Did you—did you touch his face? And whisper goodnight?

“DO NOT READ INTO THIS. IT WAS MERELY A DREAM. A HALLUCINATION!!” he roars to no one.

But the lipstick of your kiss lingers on his forehead tells others things.

He arrives at Ramshackle the next day, standing at your doorstep with arms crossed and a deep scowl… and a faint pink tint on his face.

“Prefect! If you did, in fact, do something as reckless and inappropriate as… as bestowing a kiss while I was unconscious… then I DEMAND AN EXPLANATION!”

You blink. “So you did remember.”

Cue Sebek malfunctioning.


“I—! YOU—! THIS IS—! GAAAAHHH!!!”

Jack Howl

Jack wakes up unusually warm.

He frowns, sitting up in bed with the vague feeling something happened. Something… soft.

His hand brushes his cheek, and he freezes. There’s a smudge of lip gloss on his face.

He remembers. You leaning over him. A hushed, “Goodnight, Jack.” Then the gentle press of your lips on his temple.

He clutches the blanket and groans into it.


“…I knew your lip gloss smelled like that.”

He spends the entire day with his ears twitching and tail swishing restlessly. Every time you talk to him, he glances away like a flustered puppy.

Eventually, he asks—gruffly, quietly


“...That night. Was it… real?”

When you confirm it with a bashful smile, he goes silent.

“…Next time,” he mutters, not meeting your eyes, “...kiss me while I’m awake.”

Epel Felmier

Epel wakes up confused. He sits up in bed and rubs his cheek. It’s sticky. Strawberry-scented.

“What the hell…”

He rushes to the mirror and sees a soft pink lipstick print right on his cheek.

His face explodes with color.

“Oh my god. Did she—Did I—DID SHE REALLY KISS ME?”

His inner tough guy shatters like glass. He squeals into his pillow for three straight minutes, then immediately texts Deuce:


“Don’t tell anyone but I think I just got my first kiss???”

All day, he stares at you like you’ve grown angel wings. His heart is pounding. He’s too nervous to ask if it was real, but you wink at him across the cafeteria.

He short-circuits and nearly drops his lunch tray.

..............................................................................................................................

[brights-place]

[TWST] First years & Reader

Warnings: Cursing, Stupid Slang Prompt by: bakuhve

A/N: I HAD TO WRITE IT OKAY IT WAS SUCH A GOOD IDEA LOVE BAKUHVE FOR EXISTING YOU GORGEOUS HUMAN BEING! Banner art is by @maenongdeuce on x @/ List: @c0ralrubi , @writingbluerose , @bakuhve, @goose-things, @s0mething27, @kingheinrey, @gracegarnet, @honey-inthe-moon

Summary: [MC] joins the first years on a recent trend in TWST, GEtting the prefect to read off twisted wonderland lingo from a paper meanwhile the others take a gulp of water trying not to laugh. The only thing though that made it funnier was the fact that [Mc] was staring at the piece of paper like it was the most unhinged thing in their grasp

You blinked in surprise, staring down at the sheet of paper in your hands before glancing up at the group of first-years, who eagerly gave you a thumbs-up.

The moment the video started, Ace barely managed a snort before immediately choking on his water, sputtering and coughing in an attempt to recover himself. You haven't even started on speaking, your lips twitching up seeing how Ace reacted before you even said the first thing on the paper, Deuce, caught between concern and stifled laughter, clamped a hand over his mouth, while Epel burst into uncontrollable cackles at how quickly Ace had lost his composure. Meanwhile, Jack stood off to the side, arms crossed, exchanging a puzzled glance with Sebek, who looked equally bewildered by the scene unfolding before them. Ortho, positioned slightly apart from the group, blinked in amusement before letting out a cheerful laugh, muffling it behind his robotic fist. "I DIDN'T EVEN SAY ANYTING YET DAMN?!" You exclaimed smacking Ace who grinned. Grim, who had been lounging off to the side munching on his tuna, barely spared a glance before blinking and going right back to eating.

After a brief pause to let Ace stop dying, the group restarted the recording. You stood in the middle, gripping the paper like it held the secrets of the universe. With a deep breath, you squinted at the words, already side-eyeing the group, who were barely containing their laughter.

Your e/c eyes scanned the paper. “…‘Where the huzz at?’” A chorus of barely restrained giggles filled the air. Epel’s shoulders started shaking violently, and Ortho, standing beside you, blinked as his pupils dilated. His scanners were running at full capacity, desperately searching his database for any form of context. “‘Skibidi… tuah…? Hawk tuah rizz?’” you continued, blinking in confusion. Jack’s tail stiffened, wagging slightly as he tensed, trying not to laugh. The water in his mouth swished dangerously from side to side. Deuce, meanwhile, was already tearing up, his hand clamped over his mouth as he turned away in a last-ditch effort to maintain his dignity water dribbling onto the floor as he sucked it in. Ortho, despite being a robot, looked like he was about to short-circuit from secondhand embarrassment, while your own awkward grin only made the situation worse.

Then came the final blow

“Level 10 Gyatt…?" you mumbled, mispronouncing the word entirely.

That was it. Ace completely lost it. The redhead was gripping your shoulder like his life depended on it, cackling so hard he went limp, before suddenly spitting out another mouthful of water. It dribbled down his chin as he wheezed, clutching onto you tighter for support. Deuce, in sheer panic, smacked Ace’s back probably not to help, but just to distract himself from laughing. Sebek stood stiffly to the side, his brows furrowed as he tried to make sense of the madness. He turned to Jack and Epel, hoping for answers, but found only barely restrained chaos.

“Fine Shite?” Epel, in that exact moment, wheezed so hard he started choking on his water, doubling over and nearly collapsing to his knees. Jack’s tail wagged like crazy as his ears twitched, his restraint barely hanging by a thread.

Sebek, utterly lost, turned to Deuce with the intensity of a man demanding answers to the universe’s greatest mysteries. He gestured wildly, his hands cutting through the air like he was conducting an invisible orchestra of confusion. “EXPLAIN!” his eyes practically screamed.

Deuce, however, was in no state to answer. Face red and trembling from suppressed laughter, he barely managed to choke down his water before doubling over, wheezing "Negative 1000 aura" You uttered with a raised brow.

Ortho knelt beside Ace, patting his back with the solemnity of a grieving widow at a funeral. Ace, still sprawled out on the floor, was wheezing so hard that he looked like he was about to pass into the afterlife.

“N-Negative… 1000… aura…” he gasped between ragged breaths, tears streaming down his face. You surveyed the utter carnage before you, the sheer stupidity of the situation making your brain short-circuit. With a deep, exhausted sigh, you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“…What the hell did I just read?” Epel, positioned beside Ace, let out a laugh so violent it sounded almost inhuman. His legs flailed in the air, kicking wildly as he cackled like a dying horse. Deuce turned to you, still laughing but visibly fighting for his life to not end up on the floor alongside the others. Jack and Sebek, however, remained standing barely. Jack’s shoulders twitched like he was trying to physically restrain himself, and Sebek stood stiffly, looking dangerously close to short-circuiting.

Ortho, ever the curious observer, peered over your shoulder, scanning the paper before pointing at the next phrase with his mechanical finger. “There’s more,” he helpfully informed.

You hummed, looking down before hesitantly reading aloud, “…Raise your ya ya yas’?” Silence filled the room before Jack exploded.

The wolf beastman bent over, gripping his knees as his entire body shook with laughter. His canines flashed in a wide grin before SPLOOSH the water he had been holding in his mouth shot out like a geyser.

Right onto Ace and Deuce’s already suffering faces. Sebek, who had been holding in his composure like a dam about to burst, could no longer take it. His patience snapped like a twig in a hurricane.

“WHAT ARE THESE SAYINGS?! WHAT DO THEY EVEN MEAN?!” he bellowed, eyes wild as he snatched the paper from your hands, shaking it as if that would somehow force it to reveal its secrets.

Jack, still doubled over, was barely holding himself together. The rest of the group was done. Sebek, however, was not.

He stormed over to you, planting himself at your side, his booming voice practically rattling your skull as he yelled at the others, demanding explanations while trying to read the paper. Before anyone could answer, Epel, still weak from laughing, tried to take a step only for his foot to land right on the puddle of water Jack had spat out.

He went down like a crate of spilt apples.

“AH—!”

With an ungraceful thud, he tumbled forward right onto Deuce.

“AGH—DUDE?!—”

Deuce yelped, the sudden impact knocking him clean off balance. He flailed helplessly for a moment before crashing straight into Ace, who was only just recovering from his previous collapse.

SMACK—THUD!

Ace let out a shriek of laughter as he lost his footing, landing square on his ass with a loud oof.

The room fell into stunned silence, everyone processing the absolute disaster that had just unfolded in real-time.

And then

“…‘Ohio Oni-chan’?”

The second the words left your mouth, the room ERUPTED. Ace was gone, his laugh turning into a dying wheeze as he clutched his stomach. Deuce slammed a fist into the floor, absolutely done. Jack had to physically turn away to keep himself from collapsing. Ortho let out a gleeful robotic giggle, his eyes flashing brightly as he recorded everything for future blackmail.

Sebek, however, did not look amused. His eyes twitched violently, his entire body stiff with frustration.

You sighed, lips twitching despite yourself as you took in the absolute mess before you the heap of bodies on the floor, Jack barely holding it together, Ortho just enjoying the show, and Sebek, who looked like he was questioning his entire existence.

Honestly… you couldn’t even be mad. A grin tugged at your lips as you shook your head. “…What a disaster.” you muttered grinning

[jaeminvore]

Credit Card Baby | Z.CL — PREVIEW (read here)

“Who do I gotta fuck for barricade tickets to Sabrina Carpenter around here?”

PAIRING: Chenle x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Four days, three broke girls, two possible outcomes, and one solution. What are you willing to sacrifice in exchange for a night seeing a long-awaited Juno pose five feet away from your eyeballs? Your dignity, probably because it just so happens that one (1) Chenle Zhong could be the solution to your current girl problem. Only, you don’t really do well with charity. Nothing in life was free and everything had a price, but Chenle likes to think differently—that he's simply helping a friend out. Like the many times he did before. There should be sugar-daddy-sugar-baby joke around here somewhere.

alternatively: ‘three dumb bitches telling each other ‘exactlyyyy’.’ — ‘A sugar-daddy (kinda) au with no age-gap, but with a financial gap that no one asked for’.

CONTENT TAGS & WARNINGS: mildly suggestive themes, crack treated seriously, comedy, college au, fluff, friends to a secret third thing, sugar daddy au (kinda).

TEASER WORD COUNT: 770

FULL FIC WORD COUNT: estimated 15K (more or less)

RELEASE DATE: June 26, 2025 — 11 PM PST

TAGLIST: send an ask if you want to be notified when the full fic is posted!

NOTE: if you listen closely, you can hear me screaming because no one is more excited than me, who finally got around to writing a Chenle fic after so long of telling myself that I will. Eventually. And now we're here YAAAAAAAAAAAY!!

“Guess who might have found a solution to our ticketing problem!”

You slid onto the cushioned seats of the breakfast nook—a breakfast nook, Jesus—right across from Minjeong sipping her to-go cup of thai milk tea. She wordlessly slid one towards you. You took a generous drag of the stuff.

“Actually, it was more of Renjun’s idea—which I am effectively stealing.”

Yizhuo, who was in the middle of plating a hefty amount of pad see ew, looked like she swallowed something toe-curlingly sour. “Oh so you were with Renjun-ge.”

An easy smile curled on your lips as you lifted a shoulder to shrug, sweetly batting your eyelashes. “What can I say? The guy gives good head–” (“I did not need to know that.”) “–anyways, my idea.”

“Mine was probably better.”

“Oh yeah?” you drawled, egging Yizhuo on. “Let’s hear it then.”

“Breaking into the thrift store and stealing everything from the cash register.”

“She claimed if her parents found out about her crimes, they’d have to bail her out from prison and then restore her money privileges,” Minjeong glared at the youngest who simply whistled to Espresso as she carried on with the food. “Then I had to remind her of her reputation.”

“Good thing you did ‘cause that’s the dumbest fucking idea I’ve ever heard,” you said and you made sure it showed on your face as Yizhuo wilted underneath your tangible disappointment that she would even risk an integral part of her privileged life when she had used it as a counter-argument to the whole OnlyFans thing. “So we’re going with my solution to our broke-ness—Chenle Zhong.”

Yizhuo did not look pleased whatsoever. “What does Caillou have to do with Sabrina Carpenter?”

You ignored Minjeong shrieking with laughter. “Chenle’s got money,” you said as if you were talking to a toddler barely getting a grasp on words having their designated meanings. “And do you know what we need to get tickets? Money, and Chenle has a lot of it.”

“It took Renjun for you to realize that Chenle could be our solution?” Yizhuo exclaimed in disbelief, head in her hands. “Oh my God—it took Renjun telling you, then you telling us that he could be our solution? How could I’ve been so stupid?”

Her head jerked upwards, ponytail swishing along and gave you a look so sharp and abrupt that you jerked in surprise. You fixed your posture so fast that your grandmother would have been proud. For once. “You’re definitely asking Chenle.”

“Uh—first of all, why me? Don’t rich people have, like, some sort of kinship with one another? Like, hey, can I borrow ten-thousand dollars? I’ll pay you back with five-percent interest.” You were sure that wasn’t how deals between rich people were made, but whatever. “Second, why not you, money bags?”

“He’ll never say yes to me,” she said brusquely, clicking her tongue. “I kicked his ass a bunch of times in PUBG and he’s still bitter about it. It’s not my fault he sucks absolute balls. There’s like, a compilation of him complaining on stream about how I was cheating–” Yizhuo made air quotations “–on TikTok. It’s so funny. Actually, I’ll send you the link—”

You turned your gaze towards Minjeong for help, eyes widened a fraction for an added pathetic flair as the younger one focused on scrolling through the damn clock app.

“Don’t look at me. Chenle’s just cheap with everyone—actually, maybe except for you,” Minjeong pointed a long, black almond tipped nail in your direction. “the favorite.”

“You say it like it’s an insult.” You slurped your milk tea at an obnoxious volume, shrinking in your seat. “Maybe he’s just nicer to me because I’m nice to him unlike you two.”

“Is that what we’re calling it these days?” Minjeong said, eyeing you curiously.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She moved her gaze elsewhere. “Nothing.”

You squinted. “Uh-huh.”

“Anyways,” she said, pointedly keeping her gaze forward. “He started it. I asked him if I could borrow money for my Lyft and he laughed in my face.”

You pressed your lips together to keep yourself from laughing too because, yeah, the image was a little funny. “You’re exaggerating,” you said evenly.

Yizhuo made a half-wince, half-smile sorta thing with her face. “Are we though?”

“Lele’s not that much of an asshole,” you defended. “He drives me home. You could have hitched a ride with us is all I’m saying.”

On the other hand, Minjeong looked like she was heavily debating whether she should smack you upside the head, or not. “For someone smart, you’re real stupid.”

You frowned. “Hey.”

TAGLIST: @jaylaxies @hoondrop @gojosmojodojo @justalildumpling @dammit-jjk @learnthisfeeling @90s-belladonna

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐝𝐮𝐦𝐛 & 𝐩𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜

prequel to juno

part of the short n’ sweet universe

18+ MINORS DNI

a/n: someone asked about this and honestly thank you so much for doing that, i love the idea and have been obsessing over it for weeks now. hope this does the first part justice (also i couldn’t figure out which filter i used on the first fic’s header and now this one pisses me off bc it looks different 😔)

also, i’m totally in love with this dynamic. i might keep writing oneshots about these two specifically because damn 😭 i can’t let them go

summary: college!au, fuckboy!nat and reader trying to get her to commit

warnings: smut, tipsy sex, implied dubcon (very brief, not between reader and nat), exhibitionism, unprotected sex, cheating but not really, vomiting (mentioned)—not sure if there’s anything else, but lmk if you find something so i can add it

word count: 18.5k (ik it’s long and i apologize for that but i promise it’s worth it if i may say so myself)

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

The basketball hits you in the back of your head.

It's not the most painful thing to ever happen to you, but the impact is enough to make you stumble. A dull ache shoots through your skull and you turn around, glaring at whoever the offender is.

Red hair, basketball jersey, hands lifted in silent apology before you can even say anything. Natasha's been walking behind you for about five minutes now and, unbeknownst to you, she's been staring a little too much. Staring hard.

Short white skirt, baby pink lacy top, high heels — it's enough to make her lose her train of thought. Paired with the sun framing your body, the sight is lethal.

It's also enough to make her forget about Clint. Once he'd realized she's staring, he knocked the ball out of her hands and sent it flying.

All she wanted to do was check out whoever's walking in front of her. Suddenly, she has to deal with an angry, no less gorgeous girl staring her down.

Her thoughts falter. Her witty self is gone. All that remains is a mushy brain and the urge to somehow turn things around.

"Say something", you demand, rubbing the sore spot on the back of your head.

"...His fault, not mine."

You tilt your head, briefly glancing at her jersey. Natasha Romanoff — you know her. Not intimately, just in passing. You exchanged names once, during Welcome Week. You’ve seen her in bars, been to some of her basketball games. Usually, she's tangled up with some other girl.

Natasha picks up the ball again. She holds it out to you, almost like a peace offering. Your lips twitch and you lower your hand from your head.

"You ever play?", she asks.

You snort. "I don't think my high heels are gym approved."

"High heels or not, I think you'd look pretty good on the court." She leans in, voice dropping to a murmur. "Or against the lockers. Pick your poison."

Next to her, Clint rolls his eyes. He's seen her do this way too many times before. Find a girl, flirt with her, take her home. Then, complain about a hangover and a phone that's getting blown up with messages and voicemails. All it leads to is another girl who got ghosted by Natasha Romanoff.

You raise your eyebrows, unimpressed. You're familiar enough with her reputation and, truthfully, you like to protect your peace. No need for more drama, right?

But the sweat glistens on her biceps — she must've finished basketball practice not too long ago. Loose strands of red hair curl in the moist heat. Green eyes twinkle. You look away, at the parking lot stretching out next to you. Painfully uninteresting, but you're trying to keep your thoughts from wandering into dangerous territory.

"You're going to the cafeteria?", you ask, finally glancing at her again. Pull yourself together.

"Mhm", she says, tossing the ball into the air and catching it with one hand. "You, too?"

"No." You tilt your head, smiling sweetly. You step back and lift your hand, waving. "Have fun!"

You turn and walk towards the main entrance, skirt swishing and heels clicking against the pavement.

All Natasha can do is stare, eyebrows raised. The basketball drops and rolls away, causing Clint to curse and chase after it, but she's still staring. Only when he returns and punches her arm does she turn around.

"What?"

"You’re not serious."

"Oh, come on. That was harmless."

"That?" He wheezes, tucking the ball under his arm. "With you, it's never harmless."

Natasha lets out a dismissive sound, but her eyes have tracked you again. She's used to girls falling into her lap, not them walking away without so much as glancing back at her.

Nothing about this is, or will be, harmless.

. . .

Natasha's not the type to spend her Fridays studying, but she has no choice. That is, if the prospect of studying includes running into someone who seems to be avoiding her.

The lighting inside the library is dim. Pages rustle, keyboards click, people murmur softly. It smells like old books and the coffee you brought along in your thermos.

On the table in front of you, you've got a real setup — laptop, books, some notes, a few pens. You're distracted, which is good. You don't notice the people entering the library, don't notice the students making a little too much noise. This way, you can study more efficiently.

You also don't notice when Natasha walks in, but she notices you. All it takes is one glance in your direction, and suddenly, she's on her way to your table.

She slides into the seat across from you and stretches out. Her legs bump into yours. When you look up, she grins faintly and crosses her arms behind her head.

"You lost?", you mumble, directing your attention toward the laptop in front of you again.

"I'm right where I want to be."

"Doubt that."

Natasha steals one of your pens and twirls it between her fingers. She stays quiet for a moment, watching you, taking you in. Oversized sweater, off-shoulder. Lacy bralette peeking out from underneath. Hair half-up, slightly messy, and a delicate necklace around your neck.

You look up and your eyes meet. You tilt your head.

"Looks like you're staying."

"Am I not allowed to?"

"As long as you left your basketball at home", you say, reaching for a marker, "it's fine."

"I told you that wasn't me", she points out, stealing the marker from you. She flicks off the cap and draws a crescent on one of your notes. You look up, eyebrows raised and lips pressed together to keep them from twitching. She shrugs. "Matches your necklace."

"I almost got a concussion", you say, grabbing the marker again. "And you were right behind me. So I'll assume it was you."

"That's odd", she says. "Girls usually don't get concussions when I'm behind them."

You scoff, tucking some hair behind your ear. Natasha hums and leans in, arms crossed on top of the table. Her eyes are a deeper green now, courtesy of the dimmer light inside the library, but they shimmer just as much.

You shake your head and shift in your chair, fingers tapping against the book in front of you. "You're here to study or piss me off?"

"A bit of both. Multitasking, you know." She tilts her chair slightly, balancing it on its back two legs, making herself comfortable.

You're still not sure what she wants from you, but you have your assumptions. You know who she is. Everyone does. Star athlete, newest captain of the university's basketball team, current record holder of hooking up with the most girls. At least that's what everyone says about her.

You're certain they have a point, though. You're witnessing it with your own eyes. Natasha Romanoff is a flirt, a fuckboy, and you're her latest victim.

"I'm here to study", you point out.

"I can see that."

"And you...?"

"Keeping you company."

"Who's saying I want company?"

Natasha shrugs. "You haven't made me leave yet."

You sigh, conceding, then lower your eyes again. You skim the vocabulary list of French in front of you. If you'd paid more attention last semester, you maybe wouldn't be struggling as much now.

Natasha leans in, glancing at the vocabulary as well. Se doucher, s'habiller, être d'accord — she glances at you, at the slightly bored look on your face, and taps your arm with a pen. You look at her.

"Ton français est déjà pas mal", she whispers, "mais j'aimerais bien entendre comment tu gémis dans cette langue."

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks before you can stop it.

There's no way she just asked you to moan in French.

"You're way too fucking bold for your own good."

"Yeah?" She hums, getting up from her chair. She walks around the table and you turn your head to keep her eyes on her, but suddenly, her mouth is right next to your ear. "I've found that it works."

You look up, slowly, until your eyes are boring into hers. Her mouth is inches away from yours, heat radiating from her plush lips. Then, your eyes dart lower. You stare at them.

She notices. Of course she does.

A smirk forms on her face. Small, barely noticeable, but irresistible. It convinces you that maybe two can play this game.

"Alors", you mumble, "fais-moi gémir."

Natasha pauses, surprise crossing her features. But then you're packing up — stacking books and papers, putting your laptop into your backpack — and she almost puts her hand on your arm.

"You were being serious?"

"Hm?" You look up, head tilted and glossy lips shimmering. You shake your head. "Oh, no. I'm going home."

"This is the second time you're doing this."

You sling the backpack over your shoulder and glance at her. "Pretty sure it's not the last time, either."

She shifts on her feet, jaw clenched and hands tucked into the pockets of her sweatpants. Before you can leave, she quickly steps in front of you.

"There's this party", she says. "Next week. Pietro's place. Perfect spot for you to reject me a third time."

"Pietro?", you ask, raising your eyebrows.

"One of the Maximoff twins."

"Right." You nod. "Sounds lame."

"It won't be", she insists. "Just...come by. Have a beer. Maybe you know a few French party tricks?"

You exhale, trying to stop yourself from smiling. It's a lost cause, though, and the way your face seems to soften gives Natasha whiplash.

"We'll see", you say, brushing past her. "Guess you'll just have to keep an eye out for me."

"Okay", she mumbles.

You pause, arms wrapped around the books you're holding to your chest. You look at her one last time, then you step out of the library.

. . .

A steep staircase and dim lighting don't pair well.

One hand sliding along the railing attached to the wall to keep yourself from falling, you're slowly making your way down the stairs and into the basement. As soon as you've stepped inside, the stench hits you.

Air thick with smoke, smelling like vodka and sweat. Weed and cheap perfumes, pizza and something not unlike the sourness of vomit. You scrunch up your nose and glance at your friends.

Everything is exactly how you expected it would be. Neon LED strips, worn couches, a dying potted plant in the corner. The bass from the speakers is rattling the walls. Someone's rolling a joint on the coffee table.

In your tiny corset top and silk skirt, you definitely feel a little out of place. Then, you spot her.

Grey hoodie with the sleeves rolled up, basketball shorts, a bottle of beer in her hand. She laughs at something Clint says, then tips back her head to take a sip. As she's moving her lips from the bottle's mouth, she quirks her eyes in your direction.

What comes next seems to be the longest hour of your life.

60 minutes of tiptoeing around each other, of glancing across the room, of trying to distract yourself. You're tense, you both are, you're tipsy, and every time you try to focus on something else it fails horribly — which is exactly why a game of 'spin the bottle' is both a blessing and a curse. Looking at the expression on Carol's face, though, you feel like Natasha may have meddled in this.

You gather on the couches. You sit on the armrest, one leg crossed over the other, and watch Natasha as she sits down on the floor right across from you.

The bottle spins a few times, but you barely pay any attention. That is, until it's your turn.

You spin the bottle. You watch it almost land on Natasha, but then it stops too soon. Before you know it, you're kissing one of Clint's friends.

You're tipsy enough to not care too much, but Natasha's lips form a thin line. She lifts her bottle to her mouth and takes a swig.

The game continues. More kisses, some resembling pecks and others turning into full make out-sessions.

Suddenly, it's your turn again. You spin the bottle, watch it closely — and it lands on Natasha.

First, there's a beat of silence. Someone whistles. Heart racing, you clear your throat and put aside your drink. You get up, approach her, and end up in her lap. Her hands come up to rest on your waist.

"Not rejecting me this time?", she murmurs, looking at your mouth. Your lipgloss has been tempting her all night.

"Third time's a charm", you reply, running your hands along her jaw and up into her hair. Silky red locks, smooth between your fingers.

Natasha exhales quietly. She leans in, closing the distance and pressing her lips to yours.

It's controlled at first. Nothing but a firm press of lips. Beer and weed, lipgloss and strawberries.

Bass that's making the floor thrum. Warm hands and plush lips. You feel her heat against you. Natasha, dazed and undone, pulls you closer until your body is flush with hers.

Her hands sneak higher, fingertips grazing the hem of your top. Your fingers curl into the fabric of her hoodie. Your lips part, and so do hers, and her grip on your sides tightens.

Your thighs are snug around her middle. Her hands move lower, to the part beneath your ass, and grasp at the soft flesh there.

Suddenly, it's desperate. You're tipsy enough to be bold, so you deepen the kiss further and further. Natasha goes along with it, because why shouldn't she? — This is what's she's been wanting for weeks at this point.

At some point, you're forced to remember you aren't alone. You pull away, breathless and flushed, need growing inside your buzzing body. Natasha stares back at you, breathing heavily, her shorts uncomfortably tight. You see a muscle in her jaw tick.

Swollen lips tingle, kiss bitten and slick with her taste. Her fingers twitch against your sides, the suppressed urge to get up and drag you away apparent.

There's no need to say it out loud. You both know you're getting out of there, and you're doing it together.

You get off her lap and sit back down in your spot. She keeps looking at you, her knees tucked against her chest to hide the issue the kiss left her with.

You last five minutes. You shift, glance at her, let your eyes sweep over your friends. Having decided you're done waiting, you get up and disappear in the hallway. Natasha's eyes track you down, then she scrambles off the floor and shoves her beer into Clint's hands.

"Don't wait up", she says, already chasing after your retreating figure.

You glance over your shoulder as you're going up the stairs. Sure enough, Natasha's following close behind.

You start pushing open doors. Bathroom? Occupied. Living room? No way. Anyone could walk in on you.

One of the bedrooms is empty. Judging by the looks of it, it belongs to Pietro. Messy desk, unmade bed, empty bottles on the nightstand. At this point, though, you really don't care.

You hear the door close and turn around. A few seconds later, you're tangled up with her. Hands roam your body impatiently, lips move in sync with yours. You try to walk her backwards, maybe push her against the wall, but she hoists you up by your thighs and carries you to the bed.

You're too tipsy to consider whether this can end well, but you're also horny enough that you wouldn't worry even if you were sober.

Natasha is almost sober — two bottles of beer don't have much of an impact on her at this point —, but she doesn't care, either. You've been on her mind for weeks. You've been that dirty little fantasy she jerked off to, that one girl that somehow managed to catch her attention in a room full of others. This is something she needs.

She spins around and sits down with you in her lap. You pull away for a second, only to tug at her hoodie. She peels it off, revealing a fitted tank underneath. Muscles taut, chest rising and falling rapidly. Her hands reach for your corset top, fumbling with the stubborn fabric.

"Fucking- how do you get this off?"

"Try being less rough", you mumble, smiling, and use your finger to tip her chin up. You kiss her. Her tongue sweeps past your lips.

The corset top comes off, and Natasha moves you onto your back. She tugs down her shorts just enough to get what she wants.

All it takes is one look at her, and you instantly realize this will hurt. You knew she's big — you felt it sitting on her lap. But looking at her now, hard as a rock and flushed and pulsing, your tipsy brain starts to grasp that making her fit will be a challenge.

"You'll be fine", she promises, having noticed you staring. She rolls on a condom and crawls on top of you. Her lips meet yours and she guides herself into place.

You moan into her mouth. Her hips roll against yours, easing it into you inch by inch. It stretches you out. You're soaked, but getting her fully inside you still proves to be difficult.

She keeps her eyes glued to your face, watching every little reaction as she buries herself in your swollen cunt. Your thighs wrap around her waist, trembling, and she bottoms out.

"Doing so good", she pants. She pulls away to bury her face against your neck. She starts moving her hips, fucking her throbbing cock into you. You mewl and whine, manicured nails raking down her muscular back. "Wanted this for so long."

"Yeah?" You moan, nails digging into her skin. Your hips rock against hers. The bed shakes underneath you.

Gripping your waist tightly, she pulls out and thrusts back into you. It's enough to knock the air out of your lungs.

"Yeah", she grunts, placing open-mouthed kisses along your neck. "Wanted you so bad."

Your eyes flutter shut. You lift your hips, meeting each of her thrusts. The orgasm builds up, and you come around her cock.

In the morning, you're up first. Sunlight is filtering through the curtains, the air smells like sex and sweat.

You roll over and see Natasha, still asleep and one arm behind her head. The other is tucked under your body. Once the fog in your head has cleared up, you realize you've just added yourself to her list of disposable one night stands.

'Not that serious.' That's the words she says whenever she's questioned about her hookup habits. Now you're part of that, as well.

You sit up slightly and pause. When she stays asleep, you slip out from underneath the covers and pad through the room. You grab your skirt, your underwear, and put your clothes on.

"Y/N?", she mutters, rubbing her eyes. You look at her as you stand there, slipping your high heel on. "You leaving?"

"It's not that serious, right?", you say.

You grab your purse and Natasha leans on her elbow, studying you. In the early morning light, with your hair messy and your lipstick smudged, you look even more tempting. If she was different, she'd beg you to stay. She'd try to make more mornings like this one happen. Maybe she'd even see if there could be more than sex to this.

But that's not who she is, or at least that's what she tells herself. Still, she clears her throat and shrugs, almost awkwardly.

"Not staying for breakfast?"

"Not today", you say, hand on the doorknob. "See you around?"

"Sure", she mumbles. The door falls shut behind you. Any chance at getting you back into bed with her is gone — for now, at least.

Natasha exhales slowly and sinks into the mattress again. She stares at the ceiling, jaw clenched and one hand fisting the bedsheets. She doesn't know why she's so frustrated. You said it yourself: 'not that serious'. Nothing is ever serious with Natasha.

After a few minutes of silent sulking, she decides it's the lack of sleep that's got her acting like this.

. . .

Natasha doesn't chase.

She tells herself that multiple times — usually when you make fun of her for getting clingy, or soft. When she asks for your number, when she starts texting you late at night. When the hookups become more frequent.

It's still just sex, but something more begins to build. Friendship, affection. Something that feels like love but can't be — or that's what you both tell yourselves.

When you get a text one evening, you expect it to be another booty call. You've been hooking up for a while now, and not a day goes by where you don't see each other.

It's not an invitation to come have sex, though. You look at your phone and raise your eyebrows.

Natasha: please tell me you

know how to take

care of a kitten — 8.37 pm

Natasha: Y/N im

begging you — 8.38 pm

*image attached*

You: what the fuck — 8.40 pm

Natasha: COME OVER — 8.40 pm

The sight you get when walking into her dorm is ridiculous in the best way possible. Natasha — all muscles and basketball shorts — and a little kitten clawing at her hoodie.

It turns out that Natasha, leaving the court after practice, heard something meow pathetically. At first, she wanted to leave — it was pouring rain, and she was tired, and truthfully, she can't take in every stray she runs into.

Then, she saw the kitten. Tiny, partially hidden in a bush, its fur soaked. It meowed again.

She tried to walk away. A few minutes later, she was stuffing the tiny thing into the kangaroo pocket of her hoodie.

"Aw, so cute", you coo, sitting down next to her. "I guess the kitten's cute, too."

She shoots you a glare, but the effect is destroyed by the little feline trying to catch one of her drawstrings. "You could try helping."

"No fun in that." You reach for Natasha's hands and start adjusting them. That little bit of contact is enough to send heat into her cheeks. "It's still wet. You need to dry it."

"I tried! It bit me."

"Yes, yes", you mumble, grabbing a random towel and silently praying it isn't full of sweat or other gnarly bodily fluids. "It fits in your palm, but it's so scary."

"It has knives for hands."

You dry the kitten off together. Once that's done, you show her how to hold it. But then, it knocks.

"Randy here", someone calls. Your resident advisor.

"Wait, let me-"

"No!" Natasha, panicking, grabs the kitten. All you can do is stare, stunned, as she yanks down her hoodie to stuff it inside. The poor creature lets out a pitiful mew, and your eyes widen in horror.

"Natasha!", you hiss.

"Shut up!" She grips the front of her hoodie when the kitten meows again, as if she can physically will it into silence.

You give her a bewildered look. Then, you remember.

Randy hates cats for multiple reasons. Mild allergies, bad encounters when he was a kid, general lack of fondness toward other living beings. Pets aren't allowed in the dorms, either way — but he'll even shoo the strays away. He's awkward, but he's not a pushover. If he finds out about this, he'll rat you out.

Another knock. More impatient this time.

"Uh, guys? It's Randy! Open up?"

"A minute", you call back, smoothing down your hair. Natasha is wrestling with the kitten inside her hoodie. She winces when it buries its claws in her chest.

Cheeks flushed and expression somewhat schooled, you make it to the door and open it. Randy stares at you. Clearly, he expected someone else.

"You", he says.

"Me."

"This is Romanoff's dorm, though."

You step aside just enough for him to catch a glimpse of her. You glance over your shoulder as well. When you see her flushed face and the wiggling hoodie prison, you quickly block his view again.

"What do you need?"

Behind you, you hear a muffled mew.

"Just wanted to pop by", he says, looking over your shoulder again. You cross your arms and lean against the doorframe, chin lifted in silent defiance.

"We're studying", you lie. "So please leave?"

Another mew. Natasha is fidgeting, trying to keep the kitten and her hoodie in place. She could swear she's never sweated this much in her entire life. Her fingers shake as she gently adjusts the kitten.

This is the first time everything between you begins to feel different. You're not sure what it is — the absurdity of hiding a kitten? The panicked looks she keeps shooting at you? Her softer side, so unlike what she's shown you so far? —, but you feel yourself slipping into a dangerous situation.

Falling in love with Natasha can't end well.

Randy frowns and shifts, his head tilting. You scoot to the side, silently cursing his nosiness.

"I got a test tomorrow, Randy."

"Yes, just-"

"No", you say firmly, heart thundering with a mix of anxiety and thrill. He sighs. "Whatever it is, just come by tomorrow. I'm sure we'll run into each other again."

He gives you one last skeptical look, then steps back. You shut the door and turn around only to see Natasha barely holding back laughter. She's still shaking, the kitten finally pushing its head through the neckline of her hoodie. A tiny paw presses against her collarbone and your stomach flips.

Not the cocky athlete. Not the shameless flirt. Just a girl in her dorm, a girl you're starting to like more and more, freaking out over a kitten.

You cross the room before you know it. Hands cupping her face, heart rabbiting with exhilaration, you lean in and kiss her deeply.

It's the first crack that appears in your just friends-facade.

. . .

Most people expect the casual stuff to be less complicated than actual relationships.

In many cases, that's true. In others, it absolutely isn't.

The emotional intimacy is there, but there's no commitment. Neither of you has the right to get jealous, but it happens anyway. There are expectations, but there are no labels. Either of you could walk out at any given moment.

It's thrilling. It's terrifying. It makes every hookup, every kiss, feel like something worth chasing.

Then, you fight. Usually, it's nothing serious, but it sucks anyway. It creates this odd push-and-pull, this combination of cursing each other out only to end up in bed together. It leads to jealousy plays and spikes of irritation, sleepless nights and desperate text messages resulting from being lonely and horny.

This time, it started when Natasha flirted with someone at a bar. You were there with a couple of friends, and when you turned around to order another cocktail, a girl had approached her. Suddenly, you caught her flirting shamelessly.

It wasn't what made you fly off the handle, though. The nudes in her phone, hours after you'd had sex in her dorm, were.

Not that serious, she said. We're just hooking up. Casual, you know. I wasn't even interested in her.

You kept yelling, anyway. She glared at you, but it wasn't too intimidating. You know she's scared of you, for some reason, so you kept bawling her out. The night ended with you blocking her.

Almost a week later, you're still ignoring her. You're pissed, and it'll stay like that until she apologizes, so you keep her number blocked and your bed empty.

Wanda is the one who drags you to a sorority party. Mainly because she likes one of the girls there, but also because she thinks you need to get out of your dorm and find a rebound. Plus, the theme is 'movie characters', and she can't miss that.

The word rebound makes you frown, though.

"It wouldn't be a rebound", you tell her. "We never dated. No wounds I need to distract myself from."

"Y/N, honey, that girl always leaves a wound."

Maybe she has a point. Trusting her judgment, you end up going to that party. You step into the room, and the first person who looks at you is none other than Natasha.

She sees your costume and forgets how to function. A green, short dress, shimmering wings on your back, makeup flawless. Ballet flats with pompons on the toes.

Tinkerbell. Short and sweet — very on point.

Her thoughts are a mess. No way. She did this on purpose. To ruin my night. What if I ruin her, instead?

Fuck, I need to sit down.

Her hand tightens around the beer bottle. Her jaw clenches as she grinds her molars.

But you? You're barely paying attention to her. You're smiling already, talking to Wanda about everything and anything — some concert, the kitten she took in — while Natasha is losing her mind. You're sipping drinks, chatting with people, laughing.

You step closer to some guy in a Joker-costume. He leans in, mumbling, and you giggle. He reaches out to tuck some hair behind your ear.

It's barely something, but Natasha feels like she's witnessing a war crime.

She downs one more shot, her brain fuzzy, and then gets up. You feel her hand on your back, pushing you away from the guy. You're too surprised to react properly.

"She's not interested", she snaps when he tries to stop her.

"Since when do you speak for me?"

"Shut up", she mutters, wrapping her arm around your waist.

You stare at her, frowning. Is she drunk?

Maybe. Not necessarily. She could be completely sober and still act like an idiot.

"I was hoping I wouldn't have to talk to you tonight, you know."

"Sure", she grunts. "That's why you're dressed like this. To piss me off."

You stop and tear yourself away from her embrace. She pauses, blinking.

"Not everything I do is for you!", you snap. "And I'm tired of you acting like it is!"

"Then why are you dressed like that?", she barks.

You glare at her, your back against the wall. She's walked you into some hallway — secluded, dark, but close enough to the party so you can still hear the music. The ground is vibrating, shaking beneath Natasha's feet, and her head spins with a mixture of anger and want.

Your costume isn't helping. The short dress, the sparkling material, the smooth skin of your thighs. Now she's not only drunk and pissed, but can also feel herself harden and twitch in her camo pants.

"Are you kidding? I'm dressed like this because I look good!"

"Obviously", she retorts, stepping forward. The dog tag around her neck dangles in front of you, her alcohol-warm breath fanning your mouth. "You always do."

Her hand comes up to press against the wall beside your head. You look up at her, expression forcibly blank. She leans in closer, breathing heavily. Her lips almost touch yours, but you push your hand against her chest.

"You're drunk", you say.

"I'd want you even if I was sober."

"You don't get to say that", you hiss. "Not after what you did."

"And what did you do?", she says, fingers curling and fist pressing harder against the wall. "I saw you, you know. With that clown over there. What do you even want from him?"

You stare at her, both of you out of breath. Something about this situation is turning you on — how close she is, how she smells like that one cologne you love on her. How you're alone, bodies inches apart. How her hips twitch, and her eyes both search and avoid yours. How, despite it all, she's actually jealous.

"It's just casual, right?", you murmur.

Natasha furrows her eyebrows. Her lips curl into a faint smirk. "That's something you worry about?"

"No."

"Liar."

You shove her. She stumbles closer anyway, grabbing your face and kissing you.

Teeth clash, bodies intertwine against the wall. Your hands grasp at the material of her tank top. Your back hits the wall, again and again, and her hands move to fumble with your dress. She bunches it up around your hips, her fingers quickly finding the front of your lace panties. She groans when she feels how wet you are.

"Who'd you wear these for?", she pants against your neck.

Your hips buckle into her touch, chasing friction. She rubs against you through the thin fabric. You moan and Natasha sees stars.

"Fuck- fuck, Nat-"

"Stop talking", she gasps, pulling you into another kiss. Her fingers nudge past the fabric and slide against slick heat. She works you open, filling the hallway with quiet squelching sounds.

Her fingers fuck into you. You moan, back arching, and reach between you to fumble with the zipper of her pants. You yank the fabric down enough to let her cock spring free. Pink-tipped and veins throbbing, oozing precum.

Natasha's breathing stutters when she feels your hand around her cock. You stroke her, slowly at first, and her head drops against your shoulder. Her fingers are still inside of you, but the movements become more irregular.

"Shit", she whines, burying her face against your neck. You smear precum down her length, lubricating it. Her fingers curl inside you and you almost let go.

She pulls away and tears her pants down. Not willing to waste any time, she squeezes your thighs together and pushes her cock between them. She fucks herself with your plush thighs, the shaft just barely grazing your clit, precum making your skin slick.

Beads of sweat roll down her temple. You stare at her, equally lightheaded and mesmerized.

Finally, she hikes up your thigh and aligns herself with you. She thrusts in, deep, and both of you moan.

Wet, hot, tight. Natasha's losing her mind.

"Tinkerbell, huh?", she pants, snapping her hips forward.

"Yeah", you moan, meeting each of her thrusts. She laughs roughly, pressing her lips to your neck. "Bet you've never fucked a fairy before."

"Can't say I've had the pleasure." She grunts against your neck, then lifts her mouth to your ear. The coil in your stomach tightens. "Wanna cum inside you."

Not thinking straight, you nod frantically. You grab the chain around her neck, keeping her close. Her cock throbs hotly inside you, and your clit is so swollen that it hurts each time her skin rubs against it.

She couldn't stop if she wanted to. She's so deep, so close, chasing it, and your soft moans and whines aren't making it any easier for her, either. Hot spurts of cum shoot into you, your own orgasm milking out every drop as your walls tighten around her.

Natasha sags against you, spent. Her cock twitches inside of you, a white and sticky fluid dripping down your thighs, and you exhale shakily. The noises from the party — muffled music, voices, the bass — takes you back to reality. Back to the dark hallway, the fight, the fact you just had sex without even considering you could be walked in on.

You're sticky, overstimulated. Dizziness is setting in. The music thumps, but it's nothing compared to your pounding heart. Natasha breathes against your neck, her arms still keeping you trapped against the wall, and you finally push her away.

"You still need to apologize."

"I just made you come", she says.

"You really think that's a smart answer right now?"

"No, but-", she says, but you shove her off and the words die on her tongue. She frowns, opening her mouth again, but then it shuts when she sees her cum drip down your thighs. She stares, her half-erect cock twitching once more.

"Don't even think about it", you say, glaring and straighten your dress. "Apologize, or I'm leaving."

"There's nothing to apologize for", she says after a few seconds of silence. She pulls up her boxers and cargo pants and zips up again. "We're not official."

Just like that, you regret everything that happened in the past ten minutes. You regret ever getting to know the feeling of her finishing inside you, of ever thinking things could change. You regret thinking you could be the odd one out, the one who makes her change.

You don't say anything. You step back, using your hands to remove most of the cum sticking to your thighs, and walk away.

Natasha's heart races as she watches your figure disappear. She doesn't chase. And yet, she runs after you.

She catches your wrist just as you're about to leave the house. She spins you around and pulls you into her arms, kissing you.

You want to shove her away. You want to let this go. You should let it go.

An hour later, you unblock her number.

. . .

Popcorn, soda and a horror movie at a flashback cinema.

It was Natasha's idea. She was the one who came up with it, thinking it'd be nice to see you squirm. Maybe you'd clutch her arm, hide your face against her shoulder, make her feel needed. Though, she obviously couldn't tell you that.

You couldn't say no, even if a part of your brain kept telling you to. Two hours, spent in a dark room, hearts racing and bodies too close to ignore the heat burning between you.

You were right. It is dark, and intimate, and you notice her stretch and put her arm around your shoulders. You roll your eyes. Way too cliche.

Her breath fans your ear. Her thumb slips under the shoulder strap of your top. She teases the skin there, listening closely to see if you'll react in any way.

You don't. But then, her free hand pushes up the hem of your top to touch your stomach. Fingers travel higher, graze the lacy bra, and then dip underneath the fabric.

In front of you, you watch Krueger kill Glen. A Nightmare on Elm Street — a classic, one that'd probably leave you with at least a week worth of sleepless nights, but you're barely able to focus.

Natasha cups your breast. Her thumb rolls over the nipple, flicking it, tugging at it, until it's pebbled against her touch.

Then, you feel her mouth on your neck. Her tongue darts out and licks a stripe over your throat.

Your thighs press together in a hopeless attempt at keeping the wetness at bay, but it's no use. You shift in your seat, hoping no one will notice.

On-screen, it's a bloodbath. Between your legs, it's like a dam broke.

"Scared yet?", she mumbles, twisting and rolling the bud until it's raw and almost painfully sensitive.

"Watch the damn movie", you hiss through gritted teeth.

"I've watched it twice", she says dismissively.

You'd ask why she picked it. You don't have to, though. It's obvious — she did it so she could feel you up under the cover of darkness.

You don't fully understand why. You could do this in either of your dorms. You'd have more privacy, more time. You wouldn't risk being caught and getting banned from this cinema.

It's a nice cinema, though. The speakers are loud enough to cover up the moans that escape you.

Your hands grasp the armrests, nails digging into soft fabric. Natasha keeps trailing kisses all over your neck, wet and open-mouthed, and your hips shift desperately.

Fingers curl. You're trying to keep yourself from grabbing her stupid hand and pushing it between your legs yourself.

In the end, you don't have to do that. Her hand comes up from underneath your shirt again. You feel it inside your panties.

Your thighs spread just a little bit. Just enough to allow her fingers to gather wetness before thrusting into you. Your hips nearly jerk off the seat.

She thumbs your clit. Her fingers piston into you, setting a fast, relentless pace.

"Got plans for spring break?", she mumbles, like she isn't fucking you stupid inside a movie theater right now. Like her fingers aren't drenched with your slick. Like she isn't about to rip through her own sweatpants.

You almost laugh, but then her fingers curl just right. You whine, hand jerking and knocking over your popcorn. Natasha gives a breathless chuckle against your neck.

"Taking that as a 'no'", she muses, voice a whisper, and pulls out only to thrust back in. Your hips buckle. "How's Miami sound, baby?"

"Fuck."

"You a fan?", she mumbles. "All our friends are going. Tony said he'd get us a surprise."

Your vision blurs. Your lower belly tightens, heat shooting into it. The pleasure builds up, relentless and overwhelming, and your hips wiggle in the seat.

People are being murdered brutally on-screen. Blood, screams, booming speakers.

The real horror? She pulls out.

The emptiness hits you suddenly. You gasp quietly, feeling the pleasure shift into an aching, throbbing sensation. For a moment, you consider shoving your hand between your legs just to get it over with.

"I'll fucking kill you", you hiss, grabbing her slick hand. "Finish that."

"I'm not a fan of exhibitionism."

"Want to end up like that guy on the screen?"

She snorts quietly and sinks back into her seat, not making a move to help you out.

You shift, again and again, the movement giving you some much needed friction. But it's not nearly enough, and before you know it, your hand is pushing past your underwear.

Natasha watches, wide-eyed, as your hand starts to move. Something about it makes blood shoot into her lower half.

"Jesus Christ", she practically moans, her hand flying down to press against the bulge in her sweatpants.

She watches you squirm in your seat, soaking your own fingers because she left you desperate. Your hips roll up into your hand, chasing that high, and when it finally comes, the noises that escape you are enough to make thick ropes of milky cum shoot into Natasha's boxers.

She wasn't even touched properly. Watching you was enough.

The aftermath is a mess. Both of you wrecked, panting, her boxers drenched and your thighs sticky.

You feel her warm breath against your ear.

"So, Miami?"

. . .

The entire campus — no, the entire city — knows Tony Stark is extra.

Still, you don't expect him to pull up with an entire bus the day you're going to Miami for spring break.

"It's like The Magic School Bus", you say.

Natasha's got her arm around your shoulders. You're both leaning against the wall in front of your dorms, the early morning sun blinding you. You lift your hand to protect your eyes.

The people around you, groggy from waking up at 6am, are rubbing their faces. Oversized hoodies and disposable coffee cups galore, none of you too sure whether this is worth it. It feels more like a school trip than spring break.

"Would love to see him in a Mrs. Frizzle getup", she mumbles.

Clint, standing in front of you, snickers. He's got his arms around his girlfriend. You eye his outfit, which consists of a Hawaii shirt and khaki shorts, and are silently glad Natasha decided to go with something less obnoxious.

Steve grunts as he closes the luggage compartment. A total of 15 people are going to Miami, and he had to haul every suitcase and duffel bag into the bus.

"Done? Took you long enough", Tony says, arms crossed. He nods at the bus. "Come on."

"20 hours", Natasha mutters, walking into the bus with you. You find two seats in the middle and sit down. "I'm going to lose it."

"They're taking turns driving. You can literally sleep the whole way there. You'll be fine."

She grunts and plops into the space next to the window. You sit down and she pulls you closer, hand slipping under your top and resting on your stomach. Smooth, warm skin, her fingers drawing circles.

Your friends are staring. You know they are. It's not everyday that they see Natasha cozying up with someone like this.

A 20-hour bus ride is long enough already, but time really starts to drag when you're spending it next to the person you can never quite figure out.

Hour 1. You talk, quietly, and share earbuds.

Hour 2. Tony apparently managed to find one of the few buses nearby that have a/c. You shiver, Natasha notices, and suddenly, you're wearing her hoodie. You breathe in her scent.

Hour 4. Bored and tired, you both stretch out your legs and accidentally nudge each other. She doesn't pull back, it turns into a mindless little game of footsies, and your feet tangle.

Hour 5. You fall asleep. You didn't mean for that to happen — but she's warm against you, and her hoodie's soft, and a sip of the vodka she brought along knocked you right out.

Hour 7. You wake up, slowly, to find out the seat next to yours is empty.

"Where's Nat?", you ask sleepily.

"Taking a leak", Clint calls from the driver's seat. Wanda turns toward you, a knowing look on her face. You roll your eyes.

A minute later, she's back. She slides into the seat next to you, arm immediately resting over the backrests of the seats, and hands you a little flower. You twirl it between your fingers, studying it, and Natasha gets that dreaded warm feeling in her stomach again.

"Hope this didn't hurt your credit score."

"Be grateful."

"I am."

Her lips press against your cheek before she can stop herself. Everyone stares, and Natasha mutters something about you 'just having fun.' Her words sting.

Hour 9. Golden hour. The playlist is slower, the bus quieter. Her fingers tap an absentminded rhythm against your thigh.

Hour 14. Sleep-deprived and travel-weary, the idiocy is hitting you at full force.

Natasha pulls you into her lap, hands roaming your middle. You curl into her, grinning stupidly. She smiles against your neck and drags her lips higher up, kissing your earlobe. Her tongue darts out, just barely touching the shell of your ear. You laugh, and the others stir in their sleep.

You both freeze for a moment. When everyone stays quiet, she shifts you in her lap until her mouth can press against yours.

Hour 19. You're two hours away from your destination. You're way too honest and tired to keep the walls up. Hands intertwine, breaths mingle. You're sprawled out on the seats, squished together, but you don't mind.

"You ever think about leaving?"

"Leaving?", you murmur.

"Yeah. Just leaving. No plans, no destination. No...bullshit."

You're not sure why she's asking you, of all people.

Hour 21. You finally arrive at the hotel. You each have separate rooms, but it's 5am, and you're exhausted and needy, and Natasha ends up in your bed. Head on her chest, you fall asleep.

. . .

Just friends, you've told the others. Just having fun, you know.

Friends — but you're not kidding anyone.

You spent the first day in Miami sleeping. In your hotel room, on the balcony, and now, on the beach. You're on a lounger, a beach umbrella protecting you from the UV rays. Her face is planted between your boobs, her hand resting on your ass with her fingers under the fabric of your bikini.

You're not alone. Your friends are everywhere around you, either napping or suntanning, drinking cocktails or swimming. You're not sure whether this is what spring break is supposed to be like, but it's nice. Peaceful, slow, quiet.

Natasha grunts in her sleep, nodding her head to push her face further into the plush heat of your body. Your arms wrap around her head.

So much to do, so many things to see — yet it still feels like she'd rather be wrapped around you than anything else.

You see Tony return with a bag of food. Your hand trails down her spine, an attempt to gently coax her into wakefulness.

"What?", she mutters, fingers curling.

"Stark brought cheeseburgers."

"Don't care. Let me sleep."

"I'm hungry."

Natasha looks up, eyes bleary. You smile faintly when you notice the light sunburn on her cheeks.

"I want food", you add.

She stares at you, eyebrows furrowed. Then she sighs and sits up, raking one hand through her hair. It's curled at the ends from the saltwater, with little grains of sand in it. She gets up like going to grab you some food is the most obvious thing to do.

You lean back, watching her. You're so lost in thoughts that you almost don't notice Daisy poking your side. Your head turns.

"What?"

"Her? Really?"

You shift, looking away again. "What about her?"

She shrugs, but silently, she immediately comes up with an entire list of reasons. At the top — the fact that Natasha's slept with basically every girl on campus and hasn't had a relationship last longer than a week so far. It's happened to her as well, but there's no way she'll tell you that.

"Nothing", she says evasively. "She's just got this whole...dumb and poetic-thing going on. Like, she has no clue what the fuck she's saying, but it sounds good anyway."

Natasha, crouched down in front of the greasy paper bag, grabs two burgers. Your head lolls to the side and you almost sigh when she looks up and puts her jawline on full display. It's too easy to want her, even if you maybe shouldn't.

"She's not dumb", you say, glancing at Daisy again. You hesitate. "But she's not poetic either. I mean, that sex joke she made yesterday?"

"You laughed, though."

"Huh?"

"You laughed", she repeats. You give her a deadpan look. "Seriously. You laugh at all her jokes."

You scoff, shaking your head. Internally, though, you're wondering whether she's right.

You watch Natasha return, two burgers and a soda in her hands. You scoot forward and she plops down behind you, letting you sit between her legs. Daisy doesn't say anything, but the look on her face is telling enough.

. . .

Logs and branches in various stages of burning, smoke curling into the air, sparks drifting upward. Embers glow, stars sparkle mirthfully, tequila burns your throat.

You're sitting on blankets, feet buried in the sand, and watch the bonfire. Natasha's next to you, roasting marshmallows and sipping tequila. You nudge her when she puts the bottle a little too close to the fire.

"Careful there."

"I am", she mumbles, looking at you. Her eyes roam all over your face, drinking in every feature. She has no idea how mesmerized she looks. She has no idea how helpless she looks. She's tipsy, and she's warm, and she's in love. The thought would scare her, but her brain isn't capable of much more than staring at you and keeping her awake.

If she had to choose between the two, she'd pick the former.

People are dancing, swaying around the bonfire. Music is playing on portable speakers. Her hand finds yours. Suddenly, you're stumbling through the sand.

"Hey, my marshmallow!"

"Screw that", she says, turning to pull you in close. There's that stupid little smile on her face, the one that makes you gravitate towards her. She leans in, hot breath fanning your lips. You tilt your head.

Hands smooth down your sides, the fabric of your bodycon dress silky under her palms. She leans in, nose almost touching yours.

"Bet you wanna", she mumbles, drunk and testing her limits. You roll your eyes, but don't pull away. "Don't give me that look."

"What look?"

"Like this is funny."

"It is funny", you say. Her hands grip your waist, pulling you even closer. "You're ridiculous."

She scoffs, hands sliding down your sides. Hooking her thumbs under the hem of your dress, she starts bunching it up around your thighs. You swat at her hand.

"Not here", you say, glancing at your friends. Another knowing look from Wanda. You flip her off.

Natasha doesn't respond. Her head dips into the crook of your neck, peppering the perfumed skin with kisses. Wet, warm, worshipping. She's smitten and drunk and hard, and the ocean is right nearby, and if she tries enough...

"No."

She groans, her fingertips digging into your thighs. She presses against you, already straining against the fabric of her shorts.

"They're not even watching."

"They are", you insist. "You're the one who keeps telling them we're friends, anyway. So let's not go overboard."

Another noise of disapproval. She's drunk, and you're soft and warm, and she'd probably fuck you right here in the sand if given the opportunity.

Also, enough guys have been staring at you all night. She wants to give them something to stare.

You pull back and cup her face. You look right into her eyes. Her heart skips a beat. She's a goner.

Now everyone is staring. This time, neither of you notices.

(Because even drunk, she knows it's you.)

. . .

It's rare that you and Natasha part during that week in Miami, but it does happen.

She's at the bar, you're in your hotel room. She's ordering drinks, you're making sure your hair looks nice. She's chatting up some girl, you're twisting and turning in front of the mirror to see every angle of your body.

Natasha doesn't even know how it started. All she remembers is waking up alone, the memories of last night fresh in her mind.

A beach concert. You, in front of her, complaining about not being able to see. In hindsight, she knows you must've been exaggerating; in that moment, however, she didn't care. She grabbed you and hoisted you onto her shoulders.

People stared. Her shoulders felt like the top of the world. When you slid down, she didn't let go.

A few hours later, at 4 in the morning. You, tipsy, in her lap. Strong arms wrapped around your middle. A heart that beat a little too fast.

It's overcompensation. She's desperate to prove to herself that what she has with you still isn't anything serious, but she knows that's ridiculous. Looking at the girl in front of her — tiny bikini, full lips, messy eyebrows — she feels nothing. Just months ago, she would've done everything in her power to get her to sleep with her.

Now? Static. Boredom. Emptiness. It's frustrating and it's terrifying.

The girl leans in. She brushes her fingers along Natasha's bicep, down to her forearm and to her wrist.

Natasha swallows, trying to focus. Much to her dismay, she can't remember a single trick. She feels like she doesn't even know how to flirt anymore.

Then, you walk past. Black strapless bikini, a net wrap around your waist, tan lines on your shoulders. You walk past, barely noticing them, but Natasha jumps up and pretty much dumps the girl she was talking to.

You don't pay her any attention. It only makes things worse.

You round a corner, and Natasha puts her hands on your waist. You turn your head to look at her.

"I thought you had somewhere else to be."

Her thoughts falter. Then, she shakes her head.

"Nowhere else", she promises, kissing the back of your neck. "Where you going?"

"The pool", you say, adjusting the tote bag you've got slung over your shoulder. You weave through the crowds of half-naked people.

An hour later, you're both in the water. You haven't forgotten about her flirting at the bar, but she has. The second you walked by, that other girl was off her mind.

You're in the water, a drink in your hand and Natasha standing behind you with one arm circled around your waist. Her fingers slip under the strap of your bikini top, and she pulls at it to let it snap back. You glare at her, but she just smirks.

You're surrounded by your friends. Wanda is sitting on the edge of the saltwater pool, a cocktail in hand. Clint is snoring on one of the loungers. Sam jumps in headfirst, making Wanda squeal when she gets splashed with water.

Natasha leans in, lips against your wet shoulder. Water glistens on your skin. Hours pass, and the sun dips lower. Everything is washed in orange and gold. You're facing her now, arms wrapped around her middle. She runs her hand up your back and gently tugs at the clasp of your bikini, but this time, she doesn't let it snap. She just holds it.

You're staring. You both are. She's in way too deep.

The group asks whether you want to go to some club. You agree and go back to the hotel the change.

It's just the two of you now, hands brushing and skin sun-kissed, barely clothed. You both prefer this, but neither of you says it out loud. You step into the elevator, only in swimwear and with your hair damp and smelling like saltwater. Natasha so close, skin still damp from the pool.

The numbers on the panel tick. She watches your reflection in the elevator's mirror. You catch her eye and tilt your head. She pushes her hands into the pockets of her swimming trunks and looks away.

"You okay?"

"Fine", she mumbles. She's not one to get scared easily, but she's terrified.

You hum, unconvinced, but don't press further. It dings, the elevator doors slide open, and you step out. Natasha trails after you, noticing way too much. The strap of your tote bag sliding off your shoulder shouldn't be important. The water drops rolling down your spine shouldn't be important.

You shouldn't be important. This started as a fantasy, a hookup. Nothing that should've lasted more than a night or two. And yet, here she is. Not walking past your hotel room to get to her own, but stepping in right after you.

Inside, it's cool from the air-conditioning. Natasha plops down on your bed, hands tucked under her head and legs stretched out. She watches you as you dry your hair with a towel, and your eyes meet. It's quiet, way too quiet, and you clear your throat.

"We're leaving in ten", you remind her.

"We have to?", she asks. You glance at her, already in front of the mirror and changing into a dress. She swallows.

"You told them we'd go."

"Changed my mind."

"Well, I didn't." You adjust the straps of your bra. "What, you want to miss out on a night in Miami?"

"We have other nights."

You slip into a dress, but internally, you've slammed your foot down on the brakes. Natasha shifts on the bed, turning her head to look at the ceiling instead. You watch her through the mirror, something inside you twisting. You're not sure you want to leave, either.

"You okay?", you ask quietly.

Her head lolls to the side. "I'm good."

You hesitate. "We don't have to go, you know."

"It's fine. We said we would."

"I mean it." You pad to the bed and sit down beside her. She rolls onto her side, her hand trailing over crisp white bedsheets and coming up to rest on your thigh. "We'll order room service."

"No more cheeseburgers", she says.

You smile faintly. Tony has been in charge of getting everyone food a few times too many.

"No", you say, brushing some hair away from her face. "Anything else."

She hums. She glances at your face, then averts her eyes. Her head tips forward and her lips press against your knee. You reach out absentmindedly, running your fingers through her damp hair.

"Don't tell me you're tired", you mumble, smiling.

"Not tired enough", she says. She tugs at the hem of your dress. "So we're not going?"

You sigh. "Apparently not. Why?"

"May as well take this off."

You laugh, swatting at her hand. It's no use, though — she grabs you, pulls you down with her, keeps you trapped with her arms. You squirm.

"That's the real reason, huh?!"

"Maybe", she concedes, grinning. She kisses you, her hands moving to bunch up the fabric of your dress around your thighs. Hands roam bare skin, slowly, memorizing it. She pulls away and presses her lips to your shoulder, then her eyes drift.

For a moment, she just stares.

You nudge her.

"Natasha."

She blinks, meeting your eyes. Right — keep moving.

You're not used to her being this slow. Hands seem to move in slow motion. Lips drag across skin. Her nose brushes against yours.

The dress comes off and is tossed aside. You roll on top of her, feeling how warm and damp from the pool she still is.

"I should've gotten you a towel", you mumble, cupping her face. "You'll get a cold, with the a/c on."

Natasha just smiles. She tucks you against her body, forehead leaning against yours, and reaches into her swimming trunks. Hand around her length, she lazily palms herself before starting to pump herself to full mast. Not that much is missing, anyway.

"I'll be fine", she replies.

Her lips brush against your forehead. She keeps her hand around herself, but doesn't rush it. Her movements are lazy, unhurried. For the first time ever, you feel like your time isn't limited. It's a nice feeling. Maybe you'll let yourself get used to it.

She tugs off the swimming trunks, the fabric clinging to her skin. Finally, she rolls on a condom. Nudges your thighs apart, moves one to rest over her hip.

"Come here", she mumbles, one hand cupping the back of your head. "Let me feel you."

The head of her cock taps against your entrance, teasing you. You do have all the time in the world.

A breathless little moan escapes you. Her skin is cool from the a/c, with an undercurrent of heat beneath it. You press closer, making her strokes deeper. Her hips roll into yours, her arm stays wrapped around your waist. You meet every thrust, eyes slipping closed.

"Fuck", you breathe.

"You're good, baby."

Defined abs flex with every roll of her hips. You tug her closer, even deeper, and she grips your hip in an effort to stop herself from rutting into you mindlessly.

Your hand slips between your bodies. Your thumb finds your clit, swollen already, and circles it. Breathless little sounds escape you.

Natasha moans. She kisses you, traces your spine with her thumb, gently presses you down into the mattress. It's lazy, soft, and you've found a steady rhythm that works for you.

You're slick with arousal, but pulling out and rocking back in is still a challenge for her. Natasha grabs your thigh and pushes your knee to your chest, opening you up more. You whine and break the kiss, mouths inches away as you both breathe heavily.

"Not gonna last long at this rate."

"We got all night", she pants, thrusting her throbbing tip against something deep — so deep it makes it your hips stutter. "You got plenty of time to last long."

She's in so deep she barely has to pull back. She just grinds in deeper, cursing under her breath whenever you clench around her. Her cock is swollen, aching and twitching, and she can feel herself get closer to the edge as well.

Your hips jerk off the mattress when she rotates them with her hands. She laugh, voice rough, and kisses your throat.

"Yeah?"

You nod, clutching her biceps. "Right there-"

"You got it, baby. You got me."

Another roll of her hips. The pleasure builds, making all your nerve endings tingle with the approaching orgasm.

Breathy pants against your neck. A hand maps out your side, your thigh. Groans in response to whimpers, the sun outside disappearing from the horizon. A hotel room, darkened by the lack of sun and cold from the air conditioning.

The heat increases. She starts pounding into you, her nose nuzzling your neck. More kisses.

"I'm close."

"Me too."

"Wanna cum in you."

Your mind jumps back to the first time you did that. Back at the sorority party, after you'd had that fight. You remember the feeling, and a part of you craves it, but you also know you got incredibly lucky back then.

"Don't want to be a mom yet", you say, words punctured by little grunts.

Natasha whines at the mere thought. She loses rhythm before you do, her thrusts becoming sloppy and desperate.

She comes first — hard. You feel the way the condom swells when she spills into it. You feel her throb, feel the continuous twitching against your walls. It pushes you over the edge as well.

Thighs trembling and hips rutting, you moan. Natasha catches your mouth, swallowing every sound, and keeps rolling her hips until you stop.

Her hips twitch. She's wrecked, but there's no way she's pulling out. She kisses your collarbone instead, dazed and spent.

"Nat", you mumble, aftershocks coursing through you. "I'm full."

"Fuck", she pants. Her head drops forward and her forehead comes to rest on your shoulder. "Feel so good."

"Better than the club."

"Agreed."

You spend hours like this. Intertwined on your bed, in the shower, over the table. When you finally decide to call it a day, Natasha's too tired to think properly.

Her face is tucked against your side. Her hand is on the inside of your thigh. She nudges your ribs with her nose.

Two words make everything better and worse.

"You're different."

. . .

Things go both up- and downhill. Sometimes, everything seems perfect. She kisses you in front of others, tipsy and clingy. She sleeps in your bed. She washes the salt out of your hair and kisses the underside of your thighs.

Red lipstick on her shirt colors, her nails painted with your favorite nail polish. Risky snaps and smelling like your perfume. Secretive kisses, messy kisses that end in spit-slicked lips, smiling into kisses before pulling away just to hear you whine.

She loves every second. Every second of it terrifies her, but she loves it.

She doesn't know why she ends up ruining it.

There's something that feels way too serious about waking up under you every morning. About how defensive she gets. How she uses sunscreen to draw shapes on your back. Your friends teasing her isn't helping, either.

It's harmless at first. It hurts, but it's harmless.

She disappears at a party. You have no idea where she goes, or what she's doing. When she returns, she doesn't tell you anything.

She's always been touchy, and that hasn't changed. Her hand ends up on someone's thigh. Her arm rests over someone's shoulder. You try your best to ignore it.

Then, the text messages. They light up her screen at night, flashing names you don't recognize. Natasha grabs her phone and flips it over. You scoot away from her.

She ignores the people who text her, but she doesn't tell them to stop, and she doesn't block them, either.

During another party, she's without you. It's rare that this happens, and she knows it. But the others know it, too.

"Single again?", Tony asks, handing her a vodka shot. She rolls her eyes but doesn't respond, instead knocking back the shot. "Where's your girl?"

She rubs her eyes. They're tearing up from the alcohol. "Seriously, shut up."

"No, I mean it. Where's Y/N?"

"Maybe they broke up", someone adds unhelpfully.

"Can't break up if you were never dating in the first place."

"Were you dating? I mean, with your track record..."

Natasha averts her eyes, jaw tense. She leans against the wall and starts counting the cigarette butts on the ground. But she's panicking, and she doesn't get far.

"Come on", Clint says, nudging her. He has no idea just how much damage his words are about to cause. "You can tell us, you know. We'd love to know if someone finally got you to dip your toes in the monogamy-pond."

She has two options.

One: admit she's all in with you.

(Not happening. She hasn't even been able to admit that to you, or herself.)

Two: prove that nothing's changed.

(How the fuck is she supposed to manage that?)

Natasha drags a hand down her face. She feels hot all over, her cheeks tingling, her fingers numb. She steps away. They all start talking at the same time, a chorus of we weren't being serious and come on and take a joke, man.

She edges past a small group of men and bumps into some girl. Natasha barely pays her any attention, but the girl's eyes linger. She watches her slide onto a barstool and order a shot from the bartender.

She downs a shot, then another. The girl watches her for a while, then she sits down next to her. Natasha glances at her, barely reacting.

Sun-kissed skin, glowing. Wavy blonde hair. Red dress, barely-there and accenting every curve. Exactly the kind of girl she used to go for.

Glossy lips tug into a smile. She touches her bicep and runs her fingers down to her forearm.

"Alone here?", she asks quietly. Her head tilts. Natasha curses silently when the simple mannerism reminds her of you.

"Nobody else around me, is there?"

"I suppose not." The girl leans in. Her breath is sweet and fruity, with notes of alcohol woven into it. "Oh. But now there is."

Natasha smiles reluctantly. The girl is flirting, and she's about to let it happen. This is her opportunity to prove she's still herself, prove that nothing's too serious yet.

Too many shots. Too much alcohol, even for Natasha. She's not someone who likes to feed into stereotypes, but she's Russian, and she's been drinking for way too long. She can hold her alcohol — still, she ends up drunk and with some girl in her lap.

Natasha doesn't even know her name. She comes up with the genius idea to call her Blondie.

More alcohol. Suddenly, she feels unfamiliar lips press against hers. Ignoring the nauseating feeling of guilt in her stomach, she kisses her back harder. Her tongue gets sucked into the girl's mouth, hands squeeze and roam her biceps.

"Wanna get out of here?"

Natasha, drunk but still able to think, hesitates. Blondie cups her jaw.

"Getting shy on me?", she teases. That hits her right where it shouldn't.

They get up. They stumble to the hotel. They burst into the room.

Lips clash, hands unbuckle a belt. She hardens slightly, but it's nowhere close to what you manage to do to her. Blondie starts peppering her jaw with kisses, and her hand dips under the waistband of her boxers. Natasha's head is spinning, drowning in panic and vodka.

She wants to tell herself this doesn't mean anything. That this just proves she's still herself. But she knows the truth.

She feels her hand around her half-erect cock. She grabs her wrist.

"Wait", she says, swallowing. "I don't-"

The girl pouts. "I thought you wanted this."

Natasha shakes her head. Does she want this? No. Does she know what she wants, though? She's not sure.

She looks away. The girl starts moving her hand inside her boxers. Natasha's stomach turns.

The door clicks open.

For a moment, all you can do is stare. You don't even process it at first. It's too surreal. Natasha wouldn't do this. She's known for sleeping around, but those last few months couldn't have been in vain.

And yet, the air smells like alcohol and sweat. Natasha and some girl are half-naked, and they're clearly in the middle of something you don't want to know about. Hand still in her boxers, wrapped around her, touching what you had in your mouth just hours ago.

Your heart stops, then slams against your ribs. First, you feel nothing — then it's just pure anger. The other girl glances at you, lazily, and you'd love to do some serious damage with that chair to your right.

Natasha, immediately sobering up, curses and pushes the girl away. You're out of the door already, storming down the hallway. You hear footsteps behind you, and you change your mind about taking the elevator. Instead, you take a turn and rush down the stairs.

"Y/N, wait! Fuck-"

You shake your head, running faster. She's close behind.

You make it into the lobby. Natasha's running, shoving people aside. Her heart is racing, and for the first time ever, she feels like she truly fucked up.

She's done similar stuff before. Slept with girls only to ignore them literal hours after, ghost people, lie and cheat and hurt the ones around her. It feels different now. Worse.

Finally, she makes it. She reaches for your wrist, fingertips grazing your skin, but you whip around and pull away.

"Don't fucking touch me!"

"Please, please just listen-"

"Listen? I'm supposed to listen? Go on then, explain!"

Natasha stops in her tracks. She starts babbling, face flushed and hands shaking. You're still in the lobby, and people are looking at you weird, but you block them out. You block everything out, everything except the hot, boiling feeling of disappointment in your veins.

You knew it from the beginning — falling in love with Natasha can't end well. Here you are now, four months later, and you realize just how right you were.

"Look, I- I regret this, okay?", she says, desperately, pathetically. "I didn't want it to happen. I just- I drank, I drank too much, and she was right there, and I was terrified-"

You let out a bitter, hurt laugh. "Oh, you regret it? Well, that changes things. I'm sorry for assuming."

"No, baby, I mean it", she says, eyes pleading, and grabs your hand. You draw back as if singed by her touch. "Please."

"No", you say. You can feel the moisture forming in your eyes, the tears way too close. "No. Seriously. Fuck you."

"Y/N..."

"You're so full of yourself", you spit, stepping back. She steps forward again, but you rebuff her attempt once more. "You really think you're worth any of this? That any sane person will keep playing this game for you?"

Her face falls. She shakes her head, trying to pretend like your words didn't cut to the bone.

"You're not worth it", you say. "You're not worth any of it."

Natasha has to agree. All she can do is watch as you leave.

. . .

You ignore her. You block her. You stay away from her.

And still, somehow, she's everywhere.

On campus, at parties, outside the library. In basketball shorts and hoodies, an iced tea or black coffee in hand. Apologies lay on her tongue, ready and waiting to be served to you, but you're not in the mood to listen to any of them.

Natasha knows she's being pathetic. She's gone from 'the girl who doesn't chase' to 'the girl who's sadder to look at than a blind puppy'. She used to get any girl she wanted, no matter who, but now, the one girl she likes can't even bear to look at her.

She's aware you don't want to hear it, but she keeps trying, anyway. In the hallways, when you're on the way to class (you start regretting ever telling her where your seminars take place), in the cafeteria (which you start to avoid going to), in the parking lot.

"Can we talk?"

"No."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't care."

"Y/N, please."

You whip around. "Can you quit that?!"

Natasha freezes, hands lifted. Your chest twists at the sight — almost half a year ago, not too far away from where you're standing right now. A basketball and a girl that was a little too cocky. If you'd known, would you've still taken that same route? Or would you have taken a detour?

"I'm sorry", she repeats, more quietly. "I don't know what to say. I don't know how to make it better. But I miss you, and I'm sorry, and..."

And what?, she thinks. And please take me back? And I've never been this miserable over anyone before? And I love you?

She still can't say any of it out loud. She just rubs the back of her neck and shifts on her feet.

You stare at her, waiting, not saying a word. You're letting her sweat because she deserves it. You're letting her hope that you might forgive her.

Then, you turn around. You leave abruptly, not even bothering to give her the satisfaction of a response. Natasha stands there, staring, before finally reacting.

"It wasn't that serious, anyway!"

You flinch. Just barely, but she notices anyway, and her blood runs cold. She can't fathom why she'd even say that — all of this is her fault.

You leave. Again.

. . .

It's midnight when something hits your window.

You're in bed, not doing much. Staring at the ceiling, scrolling through whatever social media app your finger clicks on first, trying to somehow fall asleep.

It's quiet, aside from the rain outside. It's been storming for hours at this point, but the heavy downpour has turned into a slightly gentler hissing.

Then, a thump against your window disrupts the near-silence.

You sit up with a start to look at it. Faint cracks have appeared in the glass, forming a suspiciously circular shape. You hesitate for a second — god knows who's throwing shit at your dorm window in the middle of the night. This is New York, after all. Tons of crazy people running around, even on campus. Maybe it'd be safer not to check.

Then, it hits you. You blink, slowly, before getting up and padding to the window. You open it and look down only to find out it's Natasha. She's standing there, basketball in hand and bottom lip briefly tugged between her teeth, her clothes and hair soaked from the rain.

"Can we talk?", she pleads.

You stare at her. You step back and close the window.

The second you're back on your bed, Natasha exhales in frustration. She's panicking, rubbing her face and clenching her jaw. She has to do this, though. She has to get you to talk to her.

She lifts her hands and aims again. The ball flies through the air and slams against the window again — this time, too hard.

Glass shatters, a basketball shooting straight into your room. You stare at it in disbelief, too shocked to react, before finally jumping up. You grab the first thing you find, which is a half-empty vodka bottle, and step in front of the window to hurl it at her.

Her eyes widen and she barely dodges it. It shatters on the pavement, clear liquid spraying.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!", you yell, grabbing the next object. Another bottle, this time a plastic one. She curses when it hits her shoulder.

"Y/N, please-"

"No!" You search your desk frantically. You grab one of your old French books. Natasha jumps aside.

"Jesus Christ! Can we not make this a pattern?"

"Oh, you're sick of patterns?", you yell. You see a pair of scissors and immediately know what to do. You return to the window, basketball and scissors in hand, and her jaw slackens. "That's funny!"

"Wait", she says, scrubbing her hand down her face. "That thing's damn expensive."

You glare at her, breathing heavily. "That's your priority right now?"

"I'm not saying that, but I do care about it-"

The blade stabs into the rubber. Air hisses. The ball deflates in your hands, and you toss it in front of her feet. Natasha winces.

"That was a limited edition, babe."

"I don't fucking care!"

Natasha looks up. For the first time all night, you feel something close to guilt. She's drenched, defeated, water dripping from her hair and down her face. Her hoodie is completely soaked, and her expression is absolutely wrecked. She's so unlike the cocky girl that hit on you not too long ago that she's almost unrecognizable.

In that moment, you hate her. Still, she's looking at you like you're the only thing that matters.

"Tell me how to fix it", she pleads. "Just tell me what to do."

You glare at her, still out of breath. The anger is making your blood boil, hotly and thickly.

"Get your ass upstairs", you hiss. "NOW."

Natasha looks like she just short-circuited. She's frozen in place, blinking up at you through the rain, water drops catching in her eyelashes. Slowly, she grabs her deflated basketball and starts moving to the front door of the building.

Wet sneakers squeak, her steps heavy. She walks up the stairs and finds your dorm — stickers on the door, ranging from Strawberry Shortcake and Tinkerbell to a lipstick kiss print and a heart with the words 'try me' inside. She hesitates before knocking.

The door opens. She slips into your room, clutching that stupid shell of a ball like it'll save her. You slam the door shut.

Your room is too you. She used to love it, in a way. Pink blankets, vanilla candles, lipstick marks left on your desk from that time she had you bent over it.

She turns around and her thoughts falter. A flimsy blue babydoll dress, lacy and short. Your thighs are on full display, distracting her a little too much.

Why did you have to wear this? How is she going to focus?

"And?", you prompt.

"Uh...", she says dumbly. She's staring, and she's not able to stop. "I, uhm..."

Natasha's soaking wet, freezing and humiliated. She came here to patch things up with you. And now, her biggest problem is that she wants to bury her face between your thighs.

It's too late when she drags her gaze back up. You've caught her staring.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me! You're still thinking with your dick?!"

"No, I-"

Her back thuds against the wall and she winces, but no complaints come from her. She's aware that she deserves this, so she doesn't fight back.

You shove her, again and again, letting her body hit the wall. She's bigger than you, towering over you, strong enough to grab you and haul you across the room. Yet, you've got the upper hand.

"Say something, you coward!"

You need her to react at this point. You need the silence to stop, need her to do anything else but stand there and take your rage like a kicked puppy.

Silence. Barely a reaction. You fist the front of her soaked hoodie and shake her. Your heart is thumping against your chest.

"You had a ton to say when you were hitting on me!", you shout. "Now you'll just stand there?"

She nods weakly. It's enough to make your chest burn as the desperation flares again. She can't be that indifferent.

Tears burn in your eyes, hot and stinging. You continue to shove her, keeping this one-sided fight alive. Because that's what it is — one-sided. It has to be when your counterpart is acting like a damn vegetable.

"Fucking fight me, Natasha!"

An order, or a plea. You're not sure.

She stares at you, gaze trailing to your lips. She shouldn't be thinking about kissing you, or about taking off your dress and letting it slip to the floor. She should stay rational. If she does something dumb, she's done for. She—

"So we're not hooking up, I guess."

Oh.

Eyes wide, heart stopping for just a split second. Oh, she's dead.

If you were mad before, you're livid now. You slam her against the wall, making her let out an 'oof' for the first time since this started. It's not just a spat, it's a full blown fight. The worst one you'd ever have, if you think about it.

Your fists thunder against her chest, then you grip her hoodie again.

"I'll kill you, you fucking bastard!"

The back of her head hits the wall. She grunts, finally grabbing your wrists. But her grip is as gentle as possible, considering you immediately try to break free from her grasp.

"Hey", she says, out of breath and pleading. "I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry."

"Seems to be a common theme with you!", you hiss, tears gathering in your eyes. "Fuck- let go!"

"Only if we talk!"

"Let go!"

She shakes her head. You struggle against her grip, twisting your wrists and kicking and fighting, then the tears break free. You sob, the noises tainted with frustration, and thrash against her.

"I hate you", you sob out. The words hit her right in the chest, like gunshots and needles all at once. "You led me on for half a year, and for what?"

"I wasn't leading you on", she promises, desperate to fix things. But god, it's hard to fix something you think has already shattered. "Please believe me. I just- fuck, I'm bad at this."

You shake your head, breathless and sobbing and furious, and slam your arms against her. "Stop talking! Fuck, just- just-"

Natasha's heart is beating so fast she thinks it'll jump right through her chest. Not a good idea. She's pretty positive that if that happened, you'd grab and squish it until it bursts like a balloon.

"Please hear me out", she begs. "Just for a moment. Fuck, Y/N, I- I-"

You sob, fists managing to hit her chest once more.

"You what?"

"I love you."

You freeze. There aren't many things you're certain of when it comes to her. Everything feels like an illusion, like something that could change tomorrow.

What you are sure of, though, is that she's never said these three words to anyone.

The question now, though, is whether this is an illusion as well. Whether she's trying to find a way out of this by telling you another lie.

"You think I believe anything you say?", you sob, the tears coming harder.

"I mean it", she says, squeezing your wrists and rubbing her thumb across your skin. Her eyes search your face frantically, trying to see if you'll listen for at least a second. "I love you, and it's fucking terrifying, but I do, I love you, and- fuck, I'm not used to this."

You shake your head, unwilling to let her words cut too deep. But they do, they cut, and not only to the bone but through the bone.

"If you loved me, you wouldn't have done that. You wouldn't have slept with someone else, you- you wouldn't have made me stay just friends."

She decides not to comment that, technically, she was about to sleep with someone but didn't go through with it. You're not hitting her anymore, but if she dared voicing that thought, you'd probably straight-up murder her just like you did her poor basketball.

"Because I'm not used to any of this", she says, voice quieter. "I've never been in an actual relationship, Y/N. I don't do that. I sleep with girls and move on. I don't- I don't just fall in love. But I fell in love with you, and I'm too fucking stupid to act right."

You stare at her, breathing heavily and swallowing. She sounds sincere. You feel like an idiot for thinking that, but fuck, she sounds like she means it. And that is the worst part.

You're certain this might end up killing you eventually. But your lips press against hers just as suddenly as she appeared in your life.

You kiss her. Hard, desperate, furious. Natasha, stunned, hesitates before putting her hands on your waist. You cup her face, grabbing it, and tug her closer.

Your lips slam against hers, again and again. You walk backwards. Natasha, confused and hardening amid all of this chaos, follows obediently.

You suck on her tongue. She exhales, shuddering against you. Her hands tighten around your waist.

You push your hand into her shorts. She pauses, startled.

"Fuck me", you say. "Do something right."

"Y/N, you-" Natasha cuts herself off, breathing heavily. Then she's all over you, pushing you down on the bed, kissing and sucking on your neck, teeth scraping against skin. Hands under her damp hoodie, nails raking down her back and drawing blood. Her breath stutters, her face is pressed against your neck.

She wants to fix this, fix whatever's left of you. Return to what you had and make it better this time.

She kisses down your throat and reaches your chest. Latching onto your breast through the thin fabric of your dress, her hands push your legs apart.

Lacy underwear comes off. Her fingers are cold against your slick heat, making them slide in easily. She sucks on your boob, leaving a wet stain on the delicate fabric. Your back arches.

You grind against her, head thrown back. "Not like this", you pant. "Get on the bed."

"What?"

"You heard me." You sit up, grabbing the front of her hoodie. "Come on, asshole."

Natasha doesn't let anyone boss her around. But it's you, and she's done enough damage, so she scoots off you and lays down. You lean over her, your hair creating a curtain around your faces, and kiss her. Your hands trail down her front, right to her shorts. You pull them down just enough to be able to straddle her cock, easing it into you and stretching you out.

You roll your hips against hers, the tears having dried on your cheeks. You stare down at her, both of you out of breath, and fist the damp fabric of her hoodie.

The bed creaks beneath you. Cold gusts of wind enter the room through the broken window. She feels the same — throbbing, filling you entirely, her hips thrusting off the bed — but something's off.

You push the feeling aside and bob up and down, moaning quietly, your breasts bouncing with every movement. Natasha watches you, both mesmerized and worried. The fight was intense. You were sobbing, thrashing — for good reason. But now, you're riding her like a you've forgotten about everything.

She opens her mouth, wanting to say something. You grip her hoodie tighter.

"Don't."

"Y/N, are you-"

"Don't make it worse."

She keeps her mouth shut. She grips your waist instead, fucks up into you, letting you take what you need.

Is this what you need?

It used to be. You're not sure anymore.

A few more thrusts. Natasha thumbs your clit. Watches you fall apart for a second time that night. Comes when you do. You ride it out, pulsing around her, feeling her hot seed spill into you. Three, four spurts, heavy and filling you up.

You shudder, thighs sticky, and lift your hips to make her pull out. Coldness surrounds what was once enveloped in tight heat. Natasha wishes she could make you sit back down, but she's not in the position to ask for anything anymore.

You roll off her and lay down on your back. Shoulder to shoulder, your feet right next to the middle of her calves. You're right next to each other, but there may has well have been hundreds of miles between you.

She hesitates before glancing at you. Your eyes are staring up at the ceiling, face blank, distant.

Her fingers brush your hand. You don't pull away. She intertwines them with yours.

"Nat?"

Your voice startles her, makes her breath hitch. She closes her eyes. "Yeah?"

"You should go."

Despite having anticipated this, her heart drops. It takes her a bit to get out of her frozen state and sit up. Part of her thinks like she'll never feel this again, so she just sits there for a moment.

The various shades of lipstick on your nightstand. The high heels next to your closet. The fucking shards on the floor.

You, in bed, refusing to look at her.

She gets to her feet and falters. This can't be it, but this is it. At least that's what it feels like.

Natasha leaves her deflated basketball where she left it, right near the door. She puts her hand on the doorknob, twists it, and steps out.

This isn't it. It can't be. She'll make sure of that. But for now, all she can do is leave you alone for once.

You look up when you feel her linger. She's watching you, her body already half-concealed by the door. Then, her mouth opens.

"It was serious", she mumbles. "It never wasn't."

The door shuts.

. . .

You and Natasha ending up in the same place is a coincidence.

You were just trying to distract yourself, and Natasha got dragged here by Stark. Clint would kill him if he knew — he's been trying to keep her away from basically every girl in existence. Tony, on the other hand, believes she just needs to get laid.

She's told him that that's the last thing she needs. That that's what got her into this mess. But he doesn't listen. He's very convinced she just needs to 'act like herself again.'

"That one."

"No."

He turns, then points the mouth of his beer bottle at a girl with blue hair. "That one. Dyed hair, meaning she's probably unstable, meaning-"

She kicks his ankle. "Stop being a pig."

He whips around, looking offended. It's a show, though. It always is. "Excuse me? May I remind you of that girl in sophomore year? When you made up that story because she-"

"Okay, okay. Got it, I'm a hypocrite. Now stop trying to hook me up!"

He smiles, eyes sweeping across the room as he tries to find another victim. "You're sure? Give me five and I'll find someone with daddy issues."

Natasha sighs, knocking back a tequila shot. It burns, but not in a pleasant way. Whatever bar Tony dragged her into — the alcohol they serve is cheap, the lights flicker, and it smells like something rotten. But, according to him, it's the least pricey one in the area. Which shouldn't be an issue, considering he's rich and likes to splurge, but for some reason, he enjoys the low quality booze more.

He keeps pointing out various girls. 'Insecure. I can tell by the way she adjusts her dress.' 'Got dumped. Look how she keeps checking her phone.' 'Hey, a slut. Your soulmate!'

She almost rams her elbow into his side. Then, she spots you.

It's been almost two weeks since that night in your dorm. Two weeks of little to no sleep, of resisting the urge to apologize again, of regretting every tiny thing that happened since that night in Miami.

You haven't been doing better. You've been trying to move on, but it's hard. Moving on from someone who feels like home is like trying to move mountains.

There you are now, sipping cocktails and listening to some guy go on and on about something. He's been buying you drink after drink, and truthfully, you've been going along. Getting drunk isn't the worst thing you can think of in that moment.

Natasha blinks and rubs her eyes. Her heart is beating faster, rabbiting in her chest like it's trying to escape and run toward you.

"Oh. Oh, no. Not again."

She turns, frowning. "What?"

Tony gestures in your direction. "Haven't you done enough?"

"Okay, man."

"Seriously. Better find a new heart to rip apart."

She grits her teeth, clutching the shot glass in her hand. You're still oblivious about her being in the same room as you. Although, you seem to be oblivious about pretty much everything else, too.

She's seen the look on your face a bunch of times before. Too many times to not realize. You're drunk.

And the guy next to you? Still talking, still flirting, still pushing drinks in your direction. Still hovering.

You sway. He touches your side, right where your ribcage is, and tries to pull you aside. Natasha snaps.

Shoving her way through the crowd, she's by your side before Tony can tear away his eyes from some strawberry blonde girl. She moves next to you, wrapping her arm around your shoulders and essentially nudging the guy's hand off.

"What the fuck, dude?"

"Take a hike", she barks. "Can't you see she's drunk?"

He scoffs. "She's only had, like, a couple drinks."

"She looks like she's about to pass out!"

"Nat?"

She glances at you, startled and worried. "Hey, baby. You good?"

You look at her lazily, eyes squinted and head spinning. "You're here."

"Yeah", she murmurs, softening.

Whoever that guy was — it takes one look at the two of you to realize that his little plan won't work out. He clenches his jaw and walks off, fuming silently. He'd fight her if he didn't recognize her face. Of course it's Romanoff.

"I'm dizzy."

"Let me get you out of here", she says, looking for your jacket. It's not even May yet, and the nights are cold. She finds it and tries to get you to put it on. When that doesn't work, she wraps it around your shoulders. "Still can't hold your alcohol, I see."

"Fuck you", you mutter. But you're drunk and safe and warm, and for once, you don't mean what you said.

Natasha rolls her eyes and helps you up. She turns around, and thats all it takes — you trip and crash into the bar, knocking over a glass of wine.

"Hey!"

"Oh, hush", Natasha says, shooting a glare at the upset girl and steadying you. "That shit's cheap as hell, anyway."

"Burns, too", you add, grasping the front of her letter jacket.

She smiles faintly, your arm over her shoulders, and leads you outside. She has to bend over a little since she's taller, but she doesn't really care.

The night is cold, and the way to your dorm is longer than it should be. When she's on her own, it takes two minutes. With a drunk you by her side, however, it takes fifteen.

You stumble. You curse her out. You throw up into a hedge.

Going up the stairs is easy. Getting you into your dorm, however, is not. You're on the floor, one hand grasping the metal rods of the railing behind you, and ignore Natasha's attempts to coax you into your room.

"Get inside."

"No."

"Y/N."

"I'm tired."

"Your bed is right there."

Eventually, she just grabs you and hoists you over her shoulder.

Pajamas, water, bed. She sits down, hesitates before tucking you in. You stare at her, still not sobered up.

Wet eyelashes — did you cry? She didn't see you cry —, oversized shirt, smudged lipstick. A mess if she's ever seen one, and you're usually so put together.

"You should sleep", she starts. Your eyes flutter shut. "You need anything, before I leave?"

"You know damn well", you mumble, face half-buried in your pillow. She swallows.

"Painkillers?", she asks, ignoring what you said. "For the hangover. A bucket, maybe?"

"Don't do that."

Natasha exhales, slowly. She rubs the back of her neck and glances at your window. At least that's fixed now. Everything else still seems to be in shambles. Even if she tried to pick the shards up, they'd cut delicate skin and draw blood.

"What?", she asks reluctantly. Absolutely no part of her wants to know the answer, yet she can't help but ask.

"Don't act like you care."

She opens her mouth, but you've passed out already. Guilt churns in her stomach, but there's no way to get rid of it. She can't apologize — you're asleep. And even if you weren't, you probably wouldn't listen.

No apologies, then. Instead, she cleans up after you. Puts aside your dress, your high heels. Orders coconut water and bananas from some local convenience store that delivers this late at night (good for hangovers, apparently, at least according to the internet) and tucks you in.

. . .

There's no trace from her when you wake up. Just a note next to some groceries, saying: good for your hangover.

It takes you a moment to remember last night. You're disoriented, hungover, and the entire room seems to be spinning. Once the memories have fought their way through the mess in your head, you freeze. Everything seems to go silent, even the birds and cars outside.

A guy, putting his hands on you. Alcohol. Natasha. At the bar, in the street, in your dorm. Touching you without actually touching you.

Now, she's gone. No trace from her, except for a random stalk of bananas and a bottle of coconut water.

You stare at it, unsure. You unscrew the bottle and take a sip. Not bad.

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you grab your phone to check it. No message from her, but Daisy sent you a picture of a flyer for the basketball game later that night.

Daisy: you coming? — 8.21am

You: forget it — 8.59am

Daisy: not a question anymore.

you're coming to the game — 9.00am

You: im really not — 9.00am

Daisy: school spirit or something

like that. you can't avoid her for the

rest of the semester — 9.01am

Unfortunately, she has a point. You fight it at first, but you know you have to go. Not for Natasha. Not so you can fix what's broken (though 'broken' is one hell of an understatement at this point).

You'll go. You'll watch. You'll leave. Maybe that'll help you leave things behind.

When you enter the university's gymnasium, you feel her friends' eyes on you. Not too long ago, your friend groups had mixed and mingled — Carol and Wanda, Sam and Daisy, Tony and Bruce. Now, they barely talk. Neither of you made them take sides, but it happened anyway. Everyone else seemed to split when you broke up, too. Though, it wasn't really a breakup.

You slip through small crowds of people, following Wanda and Daisy to a row of empty seats. It's loud already, with some pre-game playlist playing and everyone talking loudly. People throw popcorn, yell, laugh. It's rare that you feel out of place, but this time, you do.

"You really dolled yourself up", Daisy says, handing you a coke. "Is that lace?"

You glance down, realizing the neckline of your top is a little too low. You quickly adjust it. "I threw on the first thing I saw."

"Uh-huh."

"I can still leave", you hiss. She smiles and nudges you.

"Not yet", she mumbles, right as the teams walk onto the court. You follow her gaze and feel your heart speed up. "There we go."

Natasha. In her jersey, hair pulled back into a low bun, green eyes flickering across the stands nervously. It doesn't take long until she spots you. You both freeze, and the entire gymnasium may as well have noticed.

Nobody noticed, of course, except for Daisy and Wanda. They're all caught up in themselves. To you, it still feels like they did, because nobody else matters in that moment. It's you and her, and everything else is a blur.

Daisy doesn't dare say anything. She saw the look on your face, and she's not risking anything. Because even if she knows your relationship with Natasha was a whirlwind — it was still the most genuine thing she'd seen you get involved in.

Natasha averts her eyes. Knowing you still came here is both the worst and best thing in the world.

Carol, also on the team, noticed this little moment between you. She pats her back and tells her to come warm up.

The game starts. Natasha's team wins possession.

You stay in your seat, watching her. She's playing aggressive today, you can see that. Scoring hoops, pushing past defenders, blocking shots.

She's on top of her game today, and you refuse to acknowledge why.

Then, she runs across the court. She gets fouled, hard, and slips. You jump up right when she slams onto the court, a low thud echoing through the suddenly silent hall. But she bounces up like it's nothing.

"You looked worried there."

"She fell", you mumble, arms crossed over your chest. Daisy raises her eyebrows, but says nothing.

Halftime. Natasha's team is slightly behind, with the other team leading at 30-32. She makes her way to the bench and grabs her water bottle. She looks distracted at first, absentminded, but then she finds your face in the stands and you realize what exactly is distracting her.

Maybe it should've been obvious. Maybe part of you doesn't want to believe it, though.

You hold her gaze for longer than necessary. Daisy goes silent next to you, Wanda tilts her head curiously. You finally lower your eyes and fidget with the seam of your skirt.

The second half begins, and Natasha's team catches up as quickly as it loses the lead again.

You're actually frustrated for her. You watch the way her jaw tightens, how she briefly rubs her eyebrows, how she rolls her shoulders. It's a tough game, and even worse?: something's at stake. She's got something to prove.

She's getting more aggressive as the seconds pass, even forces a foul. When someone throws a cheap elbow while she's guarding someone and the referee doesn't call it, she loses it.

Your eyes widen as she gets in the referees face, snapping at him and gesturing with one hand. He tries to calm her down, but it seems futile. There are multiple things stressing her out, and there's only so much she can take. Your stomach twists at the sight, because despite everything that happened, her frustration still seems to be yours.

Eventually, she backs off and jogs back onto the court. Looking up, she searches for you. You nod, tentatively and your heart pounding, and she lowers her head and exhales.

One minute left before the game ends. The score is tied.

It's electric now — the players are sprinting, the ball is a blur. Natasha runs, dribbles, hesitates. She finds your face in the crowd, glancing at you for just a fraction of a second, and then jumps and swishes it through the net.

The gym erupts, the buzzer sounds. She doesn't hear any of it.

Her team is celebrating, and so are the people in the stands. Someone shakes and opens a bottle of beer to spray others with it, everyone is yelling, the cheers are so loud you feel like your eardrums are in genuine danger.

Natasha isn't celebrating. She's walking towards the stands, nervously wiping her hands on her shorts.

Whether this is a good idea or not, she doesn't know. But it's too late now. She's right there, right in front of you, only a row of people separating you from her. Out of breath, sweaty, adrenaline crashing. You stare at her, unsure, and watch her grab the bottom of her jersey.

She pulls it over her head and tosses it in your direction. You don't catch it — it hits your chest and falls into your lap.

You look at her, hesitating. Is she being serious?

She is. She stands there, staring at you, still trying to catch her breath. It's an impossible task, with the way you're looking at her.

Swallowing, she turns around. Daisy nudges you, and you finally grip the stupid jersey. It's still warm, smelling like sweat and cologne.

Natasha walks away, soles squeaking quietly on vinyl ground. She glances at you over her shoulder, briefly, but it's enough.

She looks away. You jump up.

You shove people aside and hop down the rows in front of you, reaching the court. You're practically sprinting at this point, desperate to reach her before she gets to the locker room.

You grab her, spin her around, kiss her so hard she almost stumbles. She groans, but it shifts into a soft whimper. She drops the bottle she was holding and grips your waist.

Around you, people are still cheering, still celebrating. But this is the real victory.

You deepen the kiss, drag your fingers through the damp baby hairs at the back of her neck. Her lips are salty, addictive, her body thrumming against yours.

Natasha tastes something sweet, fizzy, matching the way her stomach tingles. You're here, choosing her in front of everyone, and god, it feels good.

Time slows down. She inhales against your lips, sharply, her fingers digging into your skin. You get on your tiptoes, allowing her to stand a bit straighter. You pull away just enough to take a breath, and she makes a quiet noise of protest.

By the time you part, your lips are swollen and slick. Natasha's looking at you like you hung the damn moon, like you're the reason her heart is slamming against her ribs. Which you kind of are.

"You- I-"

You manage a smile, your fingers still playing with her baby hairs. How often does she get nervous? Once in a blue moon.

"You did good", you mumble, studying her. She swallows thickly. "Finally."

"I'm so sorry", she mumbles, wrapping her arms around you and pulling you against her. Your feet leave the ground. "I'm so fucking sorry. Fuck. It was all a mistake. I..."

You don't let her finish. You kiss her, again and again, until the tension slowly disappears from her shoulders. She pulls away and buries her face in your neck. It's not the basketball game that's leaving her shaking — it's you.

"You're a moron."

"Mhm." Her lips press against your shoulder.

"An idiot. An absolute buffoon."

"That's fair."

You pull away again, still clutching her jersey in your hand. Natasha gives it a quick little nod, and it looks so ridiculously shy you can't help but laugh.

"Say it", you tease, cupping her cheek. She frowns. "Come on. You're a big girl, aren't you?"

A deep breath in, then out. Her eyes sweep across your surroundings, making sure no one's listening.

"Put that on", she finally mumbles. "It's yours now. I'm yours."

You press another kiss to her cheek, then step away and put on her jersey. Your jersey, actually. Sweaty and damp, smelling like her.

Natasha smiles softly. She fidgets, shifts, then grabs your hand.

"We never had an actual first date, you know."

You hum. She's right. You hooked up, and then continued hooking up. There was never anything that even resembled an official date.

"What're you saying?"

"You, me." She squeezes your hand. "Maybe a nice restaurant? Or takeout? We can have a picnic. I don't know, I don't usually do this."

You want to say no at first. Not because you don't want to, but because the after game-celebration is in full swing. The entire team is talking about going to a bar.

But then you realize that Natasha hasn't spared them a single glance since the buzzer announced the end of the game. She's been here, with you, looking at you, asking you out on a date.

The fuckboy athlete who keeps everyone at an arm's length, now actually taking something seriously.

You kiss her, already leading her out of the gym.

"Yes. But no cheeseburgers."

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

🌙 tagged (as per request): @esposadejoyhuerta

[prettyboykatsuki]

lace | (qin che)

♡ tags ; afab + fem!reader ( gendered language + perfomancne of femininity (hair, makeup and nails)), established relationship, reader is not explictly mc, lingerie, loverboy sylus, unprotected sex, praise kink, squirting, sex toys (a butt plug), a very affectionate kind of objectification, creampies, riding (sylus is doing the work tho), 18+

♡ wc; 3.2k (what da hell)

♡ a/n ; this was supposed to be a birthday fic but its mad late. if you're wondering what readers outfit looks like imagine this but its a darker red and she's wearing a little bow choker and her stockings have bows. ok

be nice abt my sylus characterization writing him is so nervewracking lmao

♡ synopsis ; sylus figured you would give yourself to him as a gift, but finds himself pleasantly surprised by how seriously you take that promise.

Arousal blooms in his chest, petals pulled open by your neatly manicured fingers, gently nudged open.

He'd been expecting the gift. He just didn't think it'd shake him so easily. Not that he isn't always charmed by you, but it's been a long enough time that he can handle you. Mostly.

His desire for you is something he can manage without feeling taken off guard.

It's rare he feels that way. Some of his confidence is feigned, but most of it is sincere. Sylus faithfully believes in both his ability to withstand whatever you decide to throw at him, and your ability to surprise him.

All things accounted for - truthfully, he had been suspecting you'd do something like this. Birthdays are important to you, and you like having a reason to dress-up anyhow.

So he was prepared for it, one way or another. He thought you'd do something like this, seen the money come out of his account a few weeks prior. He was excited then - mostly to tease you.

A fair exchange for how he's wrapped around your finger. He'd have made you done a little spin, tiled his head and quirked his lips as he asked if it was all for him. Smile at you lovingly while you glared at him irritated and bashful.

He was excited more-or-less. Now he's... well, maybe he can still call it that. Not nervous, not quite elated - some in between. Nerves suspended in mid-air, the kind of thrill he gets only now and again.

It's rare for anything to make his heart beat this loudly. It's not the first time you've accomplished it, but it never fails in it's novelty.

Just seeing you in your attire is enough to knock all of he air out of his lungs.

The air around you feels different as you come through the threshold of the bedroom door. Wearing a warm, familiar and playful expression - while you're nothing but provocative from the neck down.

You're dolled up from head-to-toe. Hair, make-up, nails.

A full fit of lingerie.

Everything is in a matching shade of maroon. A lace bow is secure around your neck in the same color.

You look up at Sylus with mirth in your eyes. A satisfaction even as you wait in earnest for his approval. You do a little spin, your robe swishing around you. And then you beam at him, all smiles.

"Don't I look nice?"

He almost scoffs reflexively. "You look like something out of a painting,"

Your heels click on the tile floors as you venture to him closer and closer. Sylus watches on silently until you stop in front of him.

"It's your birthday. We can get straight to business, if you like."

Sylus stares at you, slumped against the leather couch. It creaks under his weight.

"It'd be a shame to rip through such precious wrapping," Sylus murmurs, breath-taken. "Let me see you,"

You smile a little brighter. Pleased that he's interested, as if there was a way he wouldn't be. Your heels click when you take a step back, undoing the loose belt of your floor-length robe and let it fall open.

Sylus feels himself draw in a sharp breath as you show yourself off. The smooth curves of your body are all wrapped tightly in a sheer panels of lace and tulle. A bodysuit hugs your figure, balconette bra making everything sit pretty - thick ribbon straps tied at your shoulders. Your thighs are plush underneath garter straps, keeping up a pair of stockings in the same color. Sylus lets his eyes drift, lets them catch where the lace circles tightest around your thighs before they go lower.

At your feet are a nice pair of heels. A few inches high with something fluffy attached - a cute detail to go with your robe. You've got loose tulle gloves that for some reason knock him silent.

Sylus lets you model it for a while. Leans back into his seat and feels his cock strain tight against his pants at the sight of you. All the effort you put in him for makes him dizzy.

You let your robe drop finally, before turning on your heel.

He puts a hand over his mouth when he sees the back. Tries to be subtle. Feels a little thankful that you don't see him falter over it. You're so gorgeous he really doesn't know what to do.

Unsurprisingly he quite likes the view. It's not entirely revealing - but it's more ribbon then cloth. The small of your back hosts a little ribbon corset that stops just half-way - leaving most of your back exposed. Your ass is visible accentuated with more thin lines of red fabric.

You're wearing backseam leggings. For a reason he can't quite put into words, they're what seems to catch his attention most. From the back of your knee - a single seam all the way to the bottom of your foot. A long red-line, with a ribbon bow at the back of your ankle.

It's such a small detail, really. Maybe that's why Sylus finds himself so utterly enamored by it. It's the attention to such little things that he feels so aroused by.

You look over your shoulder, pleased by his silence. A coy, coquettish smile and mischievous air. A sweet scent surrounds you, freshly bathed - something like vanilla and spice.

Is this what being under a spell feels like? Sylus thinks it's the first time he's ever been so entranced.

"You're awfully quiet," You say, warm. A hand on your hip as you turn again, walking towards him. "Not a fan of the look?"

He laughs under his breath. "More like I'm speechless. I'm afraid there isn't a word good enough for you,"

"Are you flattering me?"

"Not at all. Just telling you how I see it," Sylus replies.

You sit yourself down in his lap again like you own it. "You like what you see?"

"Very much so,"

You smile at him, preening under the attention. You're seducing him successfully - but not for the reasons you might assume. You trail a finger down his jaw - head tilted with shimmering eyes. "It's your birthday, big guy. You can have whatever you want,"

"Are you sure that's a smart offer to make? I'm feeling a little greedy this evening, it seems."

Your laugh is warm, a bubbly sound like giggling that makes Sylus smile.

"Isn't it fine? It's your birthday after all," You lean in slightly, your voice closer to his ear. He can feel your hand on his shoulder, manicured nails slightly sinking into his skin. "Plus, I made preparations you know,"

He looks at you with his brows quirked but you just smile at him. You find his hand and hold it, bringing it between your thighs. Sylus' eyes widen as you pull away at the fabric covering your pussy.

With your hand over his, you guide his hand - his fingers where you want them. You use your finger to push his, middle finger pressing past your folds. A noise of effort escapes your lips as Sylus watches you in awe. His digit slipping into you easily, much easier then he can on a normal day. Almost like you—

"Stretched myself out in the shower," You hum, pleased. There's a sound in your voice like you know this is going to ruin him. It's working. His other hand finds your ass, holds it tight - trying to anchor himself as his fingers sit in the wet warmth of you. It's his own movement now. He tests three and each slide in without resistance and Sylus feels his chest get tight with arousal. Fuck. "Took a while. Had to use a few toys to get it—ngh, stretched completely. You know, for both holes,"

"You—kitten," His voice is thick with lust as he curls his fingers in. Feels you stretch. Feels the plug in the other side of you that makes his breath hitch. "That's not fair,"

"What are you saying? I did it for you, silly. Consider it your last present for today. Indulge a little. You always take good care of me, Sy." You're being sweet to him while you're riding his fingers and Sylus wonders when you learned to be like this and if he was always so weak. He's usually composed, even when you're fighting him tooth and nail to not be.

Maybe it's the fact you're not trying to work him up or break him that's doing it for him. You're being coy and cloying, but sincere in giving him a gift.

He feels strangely lightheaded at the thought of you gifting your body to him. Really gifting it to him. Not as a playful bit between you.

Sincere enough to stretch yourself all the way open in the shower for him, to dress up and dry your hair. To pick out a pretty outfit and wrap yourself in a red bow.

All for him.

"Sweetheart," Sylus groans. Deep from his chest, suddenly on edge. You laugh at him lightly and Sylus feels you tighten around his fingers. He puts his head on your shoulders and closes his eyes.

You're breathing with effort as you speak. "Let me finish, jeez. You always take good care of me when we do it, yknow. And you never let me do anything, which is nice but," You pull back and your lashes flutter. Sylus can't imagine living a thousand more lives and seeing anything half as beautiful as you. "Well sometimes I want to. I love you just the same as you do me. And I swear eventually I'm gonna fit you in my mouth—your dick is just fucking enormous but whatever—I'll do it eventually, anyway, the point is -"

Sylus just laughs. It startles you a little, but he can't help himself. Doesn't know what else to do to express how fucking endearing he finds you then and there. You pause, faltering a little. A pout on pretty lips.

"Don't laugh at me,"

"At you? I could never sweetheart. I'm just," He takes a breath. "Mm, what's the word? Happy, perhaps"

"Perhaps? Sylus you're hurting my feelings,"

"Am I?"

"Well...no, but. Don't say perhaps. I can't read your mind and you're making me kinda nervous,"

How silly for you to be nervous when just looking at you makes him like this. He hums, bemused. "Nervous?"

You give him a look. "Well I was expecting you to be more... I dunno... all 'oh, you dressed up for me sweetheart, how cute' like always but,"

He scoffs lightly. "Is that how I sound to you,"

You ignore him. "But you're being all... nice and stuff."

He laughs again and you flush. "Nice and stuff. Am I not usually nice?"

"You're..! Well you are but I dunno. I can't tell what you're thinking today. I feel a little silly,"

"Should I tell you then? What I'm thinking?" Sylus quips. You nod, almost hopeful.

"I'm thinking I've somehow gotten very lucky," Sylus presses a kiss to your cheek. Another at the corner of your mouth "And that, I must've done something monumental in my past life to have you all to myself,"

Sylus puts his lips where your pulse is, feels your heartbeat underneath thin skin. You pause before speaking. "And?"

He smiles a little. "And it'd be a great shame to waste any more time without enjoying my gift to the fullest. I'm saying I like it. Tell me how I should prove it to you?"

You giggle. It's a sweet sound, a breath of relief as you bury your face into his shoulder. Sylus lets his hands roam, sitting at the small of your back as you settle your weight into his lap. Sylus feels spurred to continue. "How could I tease you when you're trying so hard to please me? Do you think I'm so unaffected?"

"It's not my fault I have a hard time believing the big bad boss of Onychinus could get all worked up over little ol' me,"

Sylus hums. His fingers sink into the plush of your hips as he pulls you down - your clothed pussy flush to the outline of his clothed cock. "What a silly thing to think,"

"Oh fuck," You moan soft into his ear, both arms around his shoulders. Sylus likes the way you feel when you cling to him. How you breathe how your hips stutter. "Ngh, you're so hard,"

"All for you. I'm all yours,"

Sylus smiles a little as you grind yourself against him subconsciously. A careless cant of your hips as your body sinks against his chest. Sylus often teases about you being a kitten, but it's because of moments like this. Needy and unthinking like a cat in heat, making it easy on him to pin you down. He can feel you get off on him, feel how your movements stutter when you catch on your clit - shoulders trembling from pleasure.

Sylus presses his nose to your shoulder and lets you get off to your hearts content. Holds your body as tight as his hands can grip when you do.

"Sylus," Your words are long and drawn out.

"What is it, sweetie?"

"Come on," You beg, not all the way there. "Use me already,"

He breathes in sharp, laughing. You really don't play fair.

He doesn't say anything of your request. "You don't have to wait for me. You can take what you want,"

A noise of complaint gets mumbled into his chest as you pull away from him. You lean back where you sit in his lap - face flushed, gloved hands quickly undoing the buckle of his belt and the zipper of his slacks. Sylus watches you through lidded eyes. Hooking your pointer into his boxers, you tug down just far enough to let his cock spring free and pull it out. It stands tall. A hard, heavy weight leaning against his dress shirt. Pre-cum dribbles against the material as it sways back.

The rough material of your tulle gloves makes Sylus hiss. You wrap your fist around the shaft of his cock but it doesn't fit - your fingers not touching.

You lean down as best you can and spit hard onto the head of his cock. Sylus groans as he feels it run down his length. Satisfied, you use your grip to stroke him until his cock is sticky and wet, making a mess of your gloves as they're stained with saliva and cum.

You push his shirt until it's bunched over his abs, feeling them up after you've prepared him.

"You're so big," You mumble. Sylus chuckles.

"Yeah?"

You nod, eyes glazed over. A thousand thoughts run through his mind at once but at the end of each last one is somewhere between adoration and lust.

Without ceremony, Sylus watches you stand on your knees on either side of his thighs and pull the material of your bodysuit away from your pussy. With your free hand, you hold onto his shaft and shimmy yourself down until the tip of Sylus' cock is right at your entrance.

You sink down onto his cock just like that - near effortless.

Sylus moans. It's never easy to get himself inside of you, but you're so soft inside. So perfectly stretched. Warm and sticky and inviting, he groans unabashedly as you sink down on his length slowly. Swallowing him up in a panting breath.

There's barely any resistance, but you're still tight from the plug you wear. You must've been fucking yourself for a long while to get like this and the image is seared into his mind. Sylus can't imagine how long it took you to get yourself like this. Your body never yields to him this easily, at least not until he's had his way with you over and over until you're so pliant you might shatter into pieces.

Sylus feels his body go slack from arousal. A feeling of electricity flickering up his spine as his cock is completely enveloped by your warmth. The head nudges against your cervix as you lose strength in your legs - bottoming out with a gasp.

Sylus growls. It's a low sound, a desperate one. His cock aches, desire welling up in his veins. He lets his head fall back, unusued to the sensation of getting everything in at once. His throat bobs as he hands find your ass. Gripping tight, he catches his breath as he feels you over him wobbling.

"Sylus," Your voice is so whiny like this. So endearingly gone. "Sylus, you're so big. Oh, it's—aah,"

His lashes flutter as he struggles to hold himself back. His dick and usual sense slowly ticking away. He opens his eyes loosely, putting a hand to your stomach before trailing it up - almost near your ribs. His voice is murmur soft. "I'm all the way in here,"

You make a choked noise, falling forward against his chest. "...Nn yeah. Mm. 's full."

He laughs but its incredibly strained. "You're really talented in getting me worked up, you know?"

"I'm not trying to,"

Sylus chuckles. "Oh I know,"

"Sylus," You whine.

He kisses your shoulder. "Yes, dove?"

"Fuck me. Please? Wanna move but I think my legs gave out,"

Sylus laughs again, warmer this time. Fonder. "How could I say no to such a sweet request?"

With you limp in his lap, it's all too easy for Sylus to hold you but your hips and fuck into you. You're almost weightless with your much you've melted into him, stuck to him with gravity.

Sylus is strong. With and without his EVOL. He thinks its a necessary thing to be given all he has to protect.

But it has its other uses.

It feels good being able to move you up and down on his cock like it's nothing. Not really moving his own hips to meet your movements, but holding you with both hands and picking up your full weight before pulling you back down again—while you claw into his shoulders for purchase. It's the first time you've ever been fucked open enough for him to do it without hurting you.

Even though he's fucking you hard enough for it to echo against his bedroom walls. The wet smack of skin to skin, the filthy sound of your pussy being carved into the shape of him, your hips slamming down on him relentlessly. Doing it without worry or concern.

There's something unusually animal about fucking you this way. No restraint, more like you're mating then making love.

It feels good to feel all of you. Feel every single inch of your perfect, pretty cunt - walls trembling on each thrust. Your short breaths and shaky moans, your nipples hardening through the salacious lace of your top and pressing against the swell of his chest.

You just feel so fucking good. You make him feel so good.

"I can't get enough of you, sweetheart," Sylus says, half-way to losing his mind inside of you but trying to keep it together. "You feel so perfect, I don't know if I'll be able to let you rest."

"Sy," Your voice is warped with pleasure, a loud needy cry for him and him only. "Wanna cum, wanna cum on your cock, Sylus please,"

"Touch yourself, sweet girl," Sylus hums. "I'll fuck you until you can't take it, so touch yourself and feel good,"

Sylus feels your shaky hand maneuver between your bodies. Your fingers twitch as you rub tiny circles into your throbbing clit, immediately clamping down his length from pleasure.

Sylus watches you as it all comes down at once. Your body weakened, numb from pleasure as you needily chase your own high. The sound of his name broken on your lips, rocking yourself to match his movements and grind into your fingers.

"I'm cumming. I'm cumming, I'm cumming, 'mcumming,'m—"

Sylus feels it. Your pussy squeezes, grips around the length of his cock like a vice. There's a sudden wetness, a spray of something wetting his abs and slacks. You whimper as he fucks you through the tremors. Fucked entirely stupid, even your thank yous come out slurred.

Sylus follows quickly behind, pumping his cum into you with a deep breath. He can feel it rise up, thick hot white ropes of cum painting your insides. Touching a place he thinks he's only just reached for the first time.

You both pause to catch your breaths as Sylus takes a moment to toy with one of your garters. He kisses your neck, speaking into it.

"Thank you for the birthday gift. I think I'll take my time unwrapping it," Sylus hums.

You laugh tired. "Mm. Glad to know it was a success,"

[asapeveryday]

: ̗̀➛ No Light, No Armor

knight!paige.bueckers x princess!reader fantasy au

warnings: use of pet names, power imbalance(?) kinda goes both ways tbh, oral sex (r.receiving),reader is inexperienced , semi-risky sex, more plot than porn lol sorry

synopsis: you’re sheltered royalty, hidden behind vine-veiled cobblestone and powder pink gossip. being treated like a child has only made your less-than-innocent cravings more intense. it doesn't help that your new personal knight gives you more attention than you're used to. in fact, it only infatuates you more. (aka, we're kinda deprived and paige is...there.)

sierra says: i had so much fun writing this! kinda struggled w dialogue bc i wanted to go slighhhtly formal but also paige speaks pretty informally irl so i had no idea how to write her lines while making it sound like her. but its an au so its okayyyyy its not that srs.

THE CLICK OF your embroidered flats against the cool, polished castle floor are only hidden by faint giggles and the swish of fabric against bare ankles.

The two of you must be more careful. You bite your tongues and cover your upturned lips with beautiful hands to muffle the noise. A woman’s chortle holds power your father would rather die than allow you to take advantage of. No, you’re barely even allowed to grace a male with your presence, let alone slip any noises within proximity.

Still, you and your friend can’t help but squeal as you duck and scurry through the castle halls, hiding behind crevices and thick pillars to avoid being caught.

Your friend, daughter of your fathers advisor, had overheard her father and yours talking in hushed tones. Something about recruiting fresh blood, young and eager soldiers who ache to serve under the king. The best of the lot, a grand total of five extraordinary knights, were to be assessed today in the hall just north-west of your living quarters.

Naturally, both you and her decided it was only right to asses these knights yourselves. From afar. Quietly.

It’s exciting, the notion of the word fresh, meaning new. Young. Emphasis on young, most knights were—they had to be in peak condition of course—but your fathers preferred personal knights had grown older. He began to worry their temptations may precede them, that your youth may stray them from their duty.

You were wholly uninterested in the knights. They were silent creatures, just empty eyes behind sheets of armour, only opening their mouths to forbade you from freedom under daddy’s orders. If they had lingering stares that followed a gown hemmed too short, or a neckline too low, you hadn’t noticed. You tried not to notice them at all.

But still the rush of sneaking away to gawk at these new, alien beings is adrenaline racing on its own. If your father knew of your intentions, you’d be locked away till your wedding day.

“They’re tall.” Nika, your friend, smirks, head poking out from behind the wide pillar you’re both hiding behind. “Come look.”

Carefully, you shuffle over and peep your eyes just over the old marble slab that shields you. You can seem them a little ways down the curved palace hall, the five of them adorned in their shiny silver walls and guarded helmets, swords in their hilts, eyes hidden beneath metal. Alien, inhuman, a separate type of being from yours.

“How old do you think these ones are?” You whisper, and she shrugs,

“Papa said one of them was yours, so that one must be the youngest.” She mutters back, and you nod. Your father was far too paranoid to have a seasoned, older man stand guard by your room at night.

“The others may be slightly older.” Nika adds. “They’re all within marrying age, that’s for sure.”

“You want one?” You smirk, glancing at her. Her face grows pink but she shakes her head. “My wedding’s arranged already. No point in ruining it with an affair.”

“You’re not wed.” You scoff. “No such thing as an affair without a husband.”

“Not everyone can be so adventurous, princess.” Nika nudges you. “Trust me, I’d like to. But Papa would have my head on a platter served for luncheon before allowing even a rumour to float past him of my…activities.”

“Too bad.” You sigh, staring further at the knights, their perfect posture, their ridged obedience. “I believe every girl deserves to have a moment for loose behaviour.”

“Will that be your first rule as Queen?” Nika grins.

You shrug. “Pray that I find someone with enough heart to allow it.”

“A man of royalty would have you hung.” Nika snorts. “But a knight…perhaps.”

You almost gasp at the comment, eyes widening in her direction. “A knight?” You huff trying to stay quiet. “For me?”

“Why not?” She hums. “They have more heart than any royal man. One tough as nails, I’m sure. It’ll take more than…what’d you say? Loose behaviour? It’ll take more than that to shake them.”

“They’re poor.” You frown. “It’d be impossible.”

“Well I’m not saying you have to wed one.” Nika’s brows furrow. “But you could certainly bed one. And I doubt it’d be as much of a problem as any other man.”

“I guess so.” You hum, considering the sentiment. “But they’re so…distant. They never speak out of fear of my father. They rarely lift their helmets for the same reason. And when they do I’m often dissatisfied.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes.” You frown. “Too rugged, most of them. Stubbly, the kind that hurts when it grazes your cheek.”

“Princess.” Nika raises a brow. “If you want a man then the stubble is your sign of one. No man with a face bare as a baby is old enough to defend you at night, let alone take care of you.”

“Is that so?”

“Definitely.”

“Shame.” You sigh, gazing back at the knights as Nika’s dad drawls on about some Palace rules. “I figured I’d enjoy the smooth kind more.”

“No skin is smoother than a woman’s.” Nika nods solemnly. “Real men are rough as rock. Especially knights.”

The two of you watch in silence as the knights heed every word lectured to them, stances unchanging, still as statues. You wonder how a knight could possibly be your key to sin, when they’re so obedient, so loyal to the institution that imprisons you.

It’s only when your father’s advisor leaves that they become humans in the slightest, posture still straight but less stiff, heads tilting towards each other for quiet conversation.

“What do knights talk about, Nika?”

“The ones who fight in the wars are like barbarians.” She says. “All talk of their battles, their wins, their injuries. And food. And beer.”

“And those in the palace?”

“I haven’t heard them talk.” She shrugs. “Well, I have. But not enough to know of what.”

“Would you spy for me?”

“I’m not the one who has a knight posted outside their quarters from dusk to dawn.” She scoffs.

“I’ve tried.” You huff. “The last one didn’t utter one word in the years I knew him. Sometimes I wonder if father sews their mouths shut.”

“If they’re like the ones who brave the battlefield, it may be for the better.” Nika grins wickedly, and you just click your tongue.

“See those ones? They speak so softly. Look at how they cock their heads to exchange their thoughts.” You continue, eyes still on the five silver giants.

One of them turns their back to you, and you notice something slight. It shines in the sun, differently from the metal that they wear. Golden against silver, like silk. The slightest strand of blonde hair, peeking between the slices of armour left for mobility, the parting between the helmet and the backplate.

It’s not too unusual for them to have longer hair. Many men do, perhaps not that long, but long nonetheless. Even so, the pin-straight strand of hair throws you off, brings a femininity to figures you’ve only ever associated with rough edges.

You don’t mention it to Nika. You just watch the blonde knight whisper to another.

“Perhaps we have some chatterboxes in the palace for once.” Nika muses as she watches them. “Young blood breeds new tradition. Mouths can’t be sewn shut forever.”

“Indeed.” You mumble, eyes still latched onto the knight with golden hair. “They can’t.”

YOU’RE INTRODUCED TO your new guard that evening, summoned out of your quarters by a soft knock at the door. Outside waits your father and the silver-showered knight.

He’s taller up close, significantly more lanky than your last few knights. His posture is straight, confidently so. You can’t tell if he’s staring at you, or if his head is simply in your direction. His eyes are obscured by the metal grates on his helmet.

“This one is the best yet.” Your father assures you, nodding in the knights’ direction. “I know we’ve had too many changes darling, but I believe it’s best to have a consistent guard, rather than swapping them out.”

You cross your arms, uncaring of the company in front of you. “That’s only what I’ve been telling you for the past ten years. How am I supposed to form a relationship with the one who’s meant to keep me safe, when that person is constantly changing?”

“Ah, see that’s where you’re misled.” Your dad tuts. “You must trust your guard, not have a relationship with them.”

“Those things aren’t mutually exclusive.” You frown.

“Nevertheless,” He smiles, bulldozing through any opportunity for argument, “this knight is here to stay. Age will not be a problem. If all is well, you’ll be protected by this one till the end of their days.”

You glance at the knight, who doesn’t even stir.

“You may attempt to have a relationship.” Your father chuckles. “But it will be futile. I’ve given a full rundown of my instructions already. You understood well, did you not?”

Your father half-glances at the knight, who you notice is even taller than him. The knight finally shifts, nodding surely. “To the bone, your highness.” The knight says.

Your eyes narrow.

The voice. Muffled beneath the metal, it’s hard to make out. But it’s higher than you’d thought it’d be.

“Just how young is this one?” You ask.

“None of your concern.” Your father grins. “You may go back inside now. Goodnight.”

Without any room for question, the order is given. The knight turns back to the walls that surround the outside of your quarters and stands ready with one hand on the hilt of his sword. Your father gleams happily, nodding at you to go back to your room.

With a huff, you do, stepping back into your prison. You stand against the door in wait, listening for the sound of your father’s footsteps until they can’t be heard.

And then you open the door again, just slightly. The knight’s armour creaks as his head turns to glance at you from beside the door.

“You’ll be protecting me till you’re too old to move in that suit.” You smile, trying hard to spy a pair of eyes between the metal grates of the helmet with no luck. “I see no harm in knowing your name.”

The knight turns his head away, staring back ahead at the empty hall.

“Typical.” you scoff, burnt by the rejection but not surprised. “Can’t even give me something as simple as a name. What am I meant to call out when some bandit attacks me?”

There’s a little noise inside the suit of armour. An exhale, maybe even a huff.

“You thought that was funny.” You grin, and the knight goes rigid. “You’re a fool to follow every rule my father gives you. He thinks I’m meant to trust you without knowing you at all. I’m never going to call out for you if that’s the case.”

The knight says nothing. You stare at him a little longer, aching for a response of any kind like the chuckle from before. He doesn’t give you that satisfaction.

You’re about to close your bedroom door when he shuffles.

“It’s not as simple as you think it is, princess.” He says, the last word sending a shiver down your spine.

That voice again, not high like the women you know, but certainly not a man’s. It drips with confidence and oozes amusement yet also something raw beneath. Nothing like something you can place.

You look him over again, once, twice. Something glints in your vision.

A dark gold, straight as embroidery thread. It shimmers just slightly under the armour against the light of the lantern mounted on the wall. Long, blonde hair.

An idea runs through your head, a stupid, impossible reason for that shocking voice and promise of lifelong service.

You wait. The knight says nothing more. You ponder, deciding whether or not to voice your question. Then you decide against it.

You close the door.

The knight is good.

Good at being present, at standing guard and staying awake, unlike the last one who grew too old to stay up till dawn, allowing you to slip out at night. Good at hovering a safe distance behind of you, far enough to give you privacy, some semblance of freedom, while close enough to be able to intervene should context permit it.

Good at being silent. At listening, not through walls like the one you had at sixteen, but rather at the comments you drop under curtesy’s and diplomatic quips.

When a joke falls flat, or a rude comment goes unnoticed, you never fail to hear a noise from behind you. An exhale, a scoff. If you’re lucky, that low yet girlish voice will let a chuckle slip.

But the knight is also an anomaly. Sometimes the chuckles are ones that catch you off guard, that make your breath hitch at their tone.

The flecks of blonde you see between cracks of armour make your brain buzz. The way he moves is nothing like the brash, abrasive men of steel you recognize.

You try every day, to see through those metal bars in his helmet. To catch a glimpse of eyes, lips, nose, anything.

You have no luck with that matter, but you do manage to crack a code to hear that entrancing voice more often.

Though, the first time isn't an accident.

It was a dark day, the kind that often made you feel isolated and alone. The type of night that either brought insomnia or nightmares.

That night brought haunted dreams that woke you up shivering, dreams of falling forever, of being locked away till your curls grow white and wirey.

The knight is in your room before you realize you're shrieking, metal lit by the lantern he holds, one hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Princess." He says softly, voice muffled beneath his helmet. In an instant he's analyzed your state, pulling the hand from his weapon to the side of your bed. Distant, but ready to offer up his services.

"I don't wanna stay here." You breathe, chest heaving. Your face is wet with tears, chest glittering with the sheen of sweat. It doesn't even occur to you to feel exposed in your night gown, the frilly white one that sits too low past your collarbone. "I can't—I can't be here till I wither away."

"You're young." The knight reassures you, setting the lantern down and kneeling by your bedside, iron clanking. "You're still young. Your life is just beginning, and it won't be wasted away here."

You scoff breathlessly, shooting the tin-warrior a nasty look. "Don't be a fool." You bite. "Look at me, look at everything you watch me do. Every single day I live like a child, I'm treated like a child, I'm followed like a child." Your eyes flare. Despite the fury, you still feel your bottom lip tremble, visions of your old, withered body never making it past the palace still fresh.

The knight just shifts, and you can't help but wonder if it's a shift of guilt.

"I mean honestly," you sniffle, "I'd thought when I had my first bleed I'd be womanly enough to have some freedom, but it only got worse." You chuckle sadly. "Turns out the prospect of marriage is only more reason to keep me hidden away."

"...yes." The knight mumbles carefully. "You really shouldn't discuss those matters with me."

"You're not disgusted." You say. "Are you?"

"More terrified of what the court may do to me if someone hears you." The knight says, and you can hear a slight smile.

"Why aren't you?" You ask suddenly, eyes narrowing. "Why aren't you disgusted?"

The knight shifts again, and you see another fleck of gold hair under his chest plate. "I'm more familiar with those matters than most."

That statement alone is enough to confirm any suspicions you may have had before.

Before you can poke around much further, he rises from the side of your bed, takes the lantern and nods to you stiffly. A farewell.

"Wait!" You sit up. "I'm not finished with you!"

"You're too smart for your own good, princess." The knight says. His broad back turns away, and your room grows dark as he walks out, door clicking behind him.

Something burns in your stomach at that retort. You even dream again that night, but it's not nightmarish at all.

And so, you take advantage of the next terror. A few nights later. One where you step foot off of a palace balcony and never hit the ground, cursed to eternal falling.

It's not enough to wake you in cries for help, but you do come to consciousness damply, nightgown sticking to your legs from sheer cold sweat.

You wonder if he would come if you called. Though you didn't have a name to taste for him. Perhaps that would be your goal for the night.

Instead, you opt for a few whimpers, eyes screwed shut, body scrunched tight against your pillow. It's awkward, but it works. You feel the light of the lantern against your closed lids, and you hear the clank of metal as he enters.

"Princess."

There it is again. The voice. The tightness it causes inside of you.

Slowly, you allow your eyes to open.

"Another nightmare?" The knight asks kindly.

"You'll discover I have many of those." You sigh, making your voice small, pathetic. "I'm imprisoned, even in my sleep."

"A dramatic prisoner." The knight chuckles, kneeling once again by your bed. "In another life you're a playwright."

"Don't make me mourn the idea." You scoff.

"So tonight, what is it that scares you?" The knight asks,

"A common one." You hum. "Out of questionable circumstances, I lose my footing on the balcony and fall."

"Gruesome, princess."

"Not quite." You sigh. "I never hit the ground. I just tumble down through the air. It's sickening, really. Endless torture."

"I can imagine." The knight hums. "Should we make that a new punishment for those who commit treason?"

"Perhaps." You say, smiling just a tad. Slowly, you peel your covers off of you and trail your hand gingerly from your chest to your stomach. "I wish there was something to cure this. It was only a dream, but I really am sick to my stomach."

"Careful." The knight mutters, shifting to pull the covers back up. The feeling of cold chainlink metal grazing your arm makes you shiver with delight you've never experienced before.

"I can't stay long." The knight says. "But I really am sorry that you can't get a good night's rest."

"It's not so bad anymore." You shrug. "At least I can rely on you to be there. It's nice to hear a voice other than the few I know by heart now."

"I'm going to get in trouble for talking to you so much, princess."

"I know." You frown, pouting slightly, hoping that somewhere behind that metal helmet lay eyes that catch on the plumpness of your lips. "But it's more help than anyone's ever offered. I--I don't dream so harshly after we've spoken."

The knight pauses.

"I'm glad." He settles.

"One day I'll want to call out to you." You add, trying your best to look sweet and persuasive. "I'll need a name to do that."

The knight gets up slowly. "If I could give you that, I would." He says. "But trust me when I say I'll be there before calling out even becomes an option."

You scoff, shooing the knight away playfully. Though you think about those words until sleep claims you again.

"I dreamt of you." You sigh a few weeks later. The knight is perched by your bedside again, you're turned on your side, hoping the way your breasts cling to the fabric of your nightgown catches the right eyes. The lantern light is routine now, but intimately so.

"Oh really?"

"Indeed." You sigh, breathless. "I dreamt that I had a nightmare, and a knight came running in."

The knight cocks his head.

Days with the knight were different now. You had your suspicions about the sex of whoever may lay beneath the helmet, but it didn't deter you in the slightest.

If anything, it made a sense of passion burn inside of you. You can just feel it, those possibly-feline eyes glazing over your every move. It doesn't seem as imprisoning, but rather empowering.

It certainly helps when the knight drops little comments between the hours.

"Careful, princess."

"I'll always be there."

"That look just might find you a suitor."

"If I could have my post be inside of your bedroom, without a doubt I would."

Every word set you ablaze. More than you think that metal-tease could be aware of.

"So," the voice drawls, smooth against the night. "I came to your rescue?"

"It wasn't you. I could tell, even with the armour." You continue. "Well, I thought I could. That was the problem. I had this feeling that it was someone else, but there was no concrete proof."

"No?"

"No." You frown. "You all look the same, after all. Even voices blend together after a while."

"So this scared you?"

"Of course." You say. "I trust you to comfort me, nobody else has had that pleasure."

"Aren't I lucky." The knight scoffs.

"Don't tease." You huff. "It's true. Your presence is magic. And that knight made me fear the magic was gone."

"What if it was me?"

"Well, how would I know?" You shoot back. "With no name to call for and no face to recognize, you could be a bandit in armour for all I know."

"I'm sorry for that." The knight says genuinely.

"If you are then fix it." You smile. "Give me something to recognize you by, even in my dreams.

"Not much I can give, princess." The knight says, and you can feel the smile in every word.

"I can think of plenty." You sigh, holding out a hand to touch the cool metal helmet in front of you. "But I don't want to get you into trouble."

Slowly, you run your fingers over every ridge and bump, trailing through the metal that casts shadows over the eyes. "But these could do with some uncovering." You hum. "Eyes are the window to the soul."

"You care for a mere knight's soul?"

"More than you may know." You smile.

The knight stiffens ever so slightly.

"Go ahead, then." The voice says, dangerously quiet.

You lift the hinged iron, resting it higher on the helmet, and a rectangle of skin is bared to you. Eyes, round and inquisitive, stare back at you.

Bright. And blue, like royalty from far away.

You swallow. "Beautiful."

The eyes blink. You wonder what features may lie below them. Just from seeing these eyes, you have an idea of the nature of those features. Full, soft and feminine.

"You're a woman." You breathe, finally saying it out loud.

The knight flinches, pulls back from your hand, and hastily shifts the metal slate over her eyes again. Your heart sinks as she gets up and begins to retreat from your room.

"Goodnight, princess." She says. Her voice is almost too low to hear, before you're engulfed in silence.

The knight does not speak more than a word to you from that point onward.

Days pass slowly. Routine becomes bland and boring again, there's no rush in your heart or tightness in your core at the sound of her voice anymore. Just stiff nods in your direction. Blank metal that holds no warmth, no ounce of frosted colour like it did that night.

What's worse is that your nightmares have halted, instead being replaced by a much more sinful species of dream that leaves you waking up exhilarated. Dreams that feature cold iron on your skin, blonde hair tickling your abdomen, blue eyes that stare up at you, preening, begging, giving.

Nika doesn't help.

"I can't even fathom it!" She squeals, half whispering, half yelling. You turn around to see if the knight is watching. If she is, you can't really tell. But she lingers far enough for conversation to be safe.

"No?" You respond mindlessly.

"No!" Nika huffs. "I mean, the boy has to be lying, he's only a valet after all, but servants know all kinds of things so then again—"

"Nika, calm yourself." You shush.

"I can't!" She groans. "A female knight? In what world? How is this possible? Why wasn't this made aware to me?"

"Why would it be?"

"If i'd known that was an option, I'd be on a battle field slaying enemies right now."

"You're joking."

"Dead serious." She frowns. "I'm more jealous than anything. Who is this girl and what does one have to do to trade places with her."

"You never know." You shrug. "It might not be as fun as it seems. Who says she's fighting?"

"Well, she's here, so obviously she's not." Nika rolls her eyes. "But she's got the title nonetheless, lucky bastard."

"What else did this valet say?" You whisper.

"Oh, just some foolish boy-things." Nika waves. "He claims she's gorgeous, but I don't think that's possible for a knight. All of the men are rough and rugged. I doubt a woman would be different. I can see it now, a handsome woman. Though gorgeous fits his description more."

"Gorgeous?" You quip, interested. "How so?"

"Oh, he's an idiot." Nika laughs. "Described her like she was an angel. Long blonde hair, full lips, pale skin." She hums. "Big, blue eyes."

You try not to grin to yourself at the details. "And she really is pretty?"

"Yes, princess." Nika smirks. "You gonna ask daddy what he can do to send her over? For your sake and mine?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." You shrug, straight-faced. Nika just snorts, and the rest of the stroll is silence.

Nightfall bleeds through the windows of your room as you stare at yourself in the mirror. It's well after midnight, but you feel as awake as ever.

Your heart is beating fast beneath your beautifully embroidered dress. It's one you'd had made for when the time came to start accepting suitors, in your favourite colour. Form-fitting around the bosom, enough to make your breasts pop, but flowy just below that. It glitters in the night. You've done your hair up too, not extravagantly, but just enough to look effortlessly good.

This is all moving too slow for you. You want to see how much it'll take before your knight breaks.

Slowly, you approach the door to your room and open it. Just a tad.

You see her, leaning against a pillar just in front of your room. You can't tell if she's stark and awake, or nodding off. All the better.

Careful and practiced, you slip out without a sound.

She doesn't turn.

You can't help but internally celebrate at that. All you have to do is walk behind your pillar, and hope she doesn't turn your way. If she hasn't recognized you yet, perhaps she wasn't very good after all.

You manage past the pillar with much difficulty, finally succeeding in making it to an empty corridor. Finally, you can let a breath escape your lips at the relief. She'll be in a shock if she checks on you throughout the night.

You're too busy internally celebrating in the empty hall before a firm hand wraps around your wrist, and pulls you back.

"Oomph!" You squeak, almost bumping into a full wall of metal. Looking from the hand on your wrist to the face towering above you, your heart sinks to see a knights helmet staring back.

"Going somewhere?" She says, that stupidly amused voice sending shivers down your spine.

She still holds your wrist.

"Let go of me." You grind your teeth.

She does. You wish nothing more to see what expression that angelic face holds right now, at the sight of you all prettied up and caught red handed.

"Back to your room, princess." She snorts.

You stand brave.

"I'm not going anywhere."

The knight steps forward. "Clearly you were planning on it."

"Says who?" You shuffle back.

"Nobody wears a dress like that for nothing." The knight says, sauntering forward. "How is it that you have a secret beau that I haven't known about in the months I've been your knight?"

You can hear the stint of jealousy in her voice. You hope her eyes are burning with it, the thought makes your thighs clench as you step back again.

Of course, she steps forward.

"Are you cold, princess?" She bites. "Your arms have turned into gooseflesh."

"Quite a chatterbox now." You scoff. "Did you grow tired of pretending you have no voice?"

You back up, slightly jumping when your bare back hits the cold, marble walls of the palace. The knight has you herded like prey, the height of her truly evident now.

"Does he know how often his dear princess has her knight in her quarters?" She asks innocently. "Does he know how late the hours turn?"

"Why should he be concerned?" You shoot back. "This knight has no name and no face I'm familiar with. What is there to worry about?"

"Funny, since you lack that information yet still beg for my comfort each night without fail."

Your face burns. It's worse that you can't even see hers.

"Who's the boy?" She bites.

"You won't ever know." You pout.

A gloved hand comes to tilt your chin up. Her fingers are gentle, but cold.

"Tell me." She whispers, and you almost melt. "Unless there isn't a boy after all."

Your lip trembles, and your legs even shake under your weight. You've never felt like this, only dreamt of it, fantasized about it it's a page out of your sinful, awful, dishonourable story book. So beautiful you could almost smile.

"Take the helmet off." You whisper. "And I'll tell you."

Her hand leaves your chin like a ghost, and her arms raise to meet the hard material of her helmet. In a swift motion, she pulls the helmet off.

Long, hay-coloured hair spills out from the helmet like a cascading waterfall, settling around the silver of her shoulders.

Angel is an understatement.

Her eyes, the one part of her that's stayed consistent in your dreams, they bore holes into your soul unlike anything you've encountered. Iced blue irises stare at you so knowingly, like they've perceived all that there is to notice.

Lips—pink, plush and full. Slightly parted, an exhale leaving through them. High cheekbones, long lashes. Mousey brown brows. Pale skin, a decent contrast to yours.

"So?" She mumbles, blinking slow. "Talk."

"Not much to say now." You mutter, genuinely awestruck. "I've gotten what I wanted."

Her expression furrows. You almost fold over.

"That's too bad princess, because I'm not satisfied." She cocks her head. "What a desperate plea for attention."

"You don't mind." You hum, glancing at the tinge of pink in her cheeks, the rush of blood to her ears. "You like this just as much as I do."

"Shouldn't royalty be more chaste than this?" She mumbles, eyes still unbreaking from yours. She begins to pull away.

"Wait!" You squeak, your hands flying out to grip her forearms, pulling her forward. She's left pinning you between each hand against the wall, your grip steady on her wrists.

Her eyes widen in suprise, the tiniest noise escaping her mouth. It's like music to your ears.

"Princess," She mutters, "what is it, exactly, that you want?"

You chew your lip, nervous in thought. Though, it does feel good to finally see her eyes follow your expressions, to catch her looking at your mouth.

"I'm naive." You whisper. "And sheltered, and unknowing of the world."

Her brows scrunch, but she listens.

"And you're a woman. And a knight." You continue. "You've probably experienced more now than I will in a lifetime."

"You're so wrapped up in your isolation." She huffs, shaking her head. "If you're so desperate to be free, make an effort to be."

"Listen." You pout, and without hesitation, she does.

"One day, my father will realize I can't be here forever." You mutter. "And then I'll be wed, and led into isolation once more. And then I'll be left confused, and unknowling, floundering around and relying on another man to teach me what there is to know."

She raises a brow.

"I know of sex." You finally say, and you swear her heartbeat quickens.

"I refuse to give my maidenhood unwillingly, to an imbecile I wouldn't have chosen, nonetheless."

Her fingers flex beside your head. "And how can I help with that?" She frowns.

"Knights are experienced." You mumble. "I want you to show me what there is to know."

She just stares at you, face unchanging, eyes piercing holes through you, undressing you between every blink.

"You want me to fuck you." She states quietly.

With batting eyelashes, you nod.

"It won't be what you think." She mumbles. You don't miss the glances at your lips, the way one hand leaves the wall to cup your face. The cool tingle of metal against your skin makes you shiver. "I don't know what fantasies you dream up in your head, but you have no idea what you want."

"It doesn't matter." You hush, almost shaking with excitement. "You're already alone with me, cornering me in the corridor this late at night. If someone were to hear of this..." You trail off, eyes glinting with the slightest bit of malice, "it'd be quite bad for you."

"Is that supposed to be encouraging?" She grunts.

"No." You hum. "But if it gets to that, you might as well make this time with me worth it. Take advantage of the situation."

"And if I don't?" She cocks a brow.

"I don't do well with rejection." You say, gazing up at her innocently.

She understands the implication. The stakes. She knows this is a huge risk, taking the princess she’d sworn to protect like an animal in heat, right here in the empty corridor. With that invigorating, false-innocent look you’re giving her, she knows there’s no winning.

Her lashes flutter, and she leans into you slowly. You feel as if you might just float on air, with the way her thumb grazes back and forth on your cheek so softly, the way her lips just barely ghost yours. You can’t help but stare at her as her nose tickles yours, as your faces slot against each other like the stones that line the wall as of the palace.

Her lashes graze your cheek, her lips part ever so slightly, and finally plant themselves on yours. Gently, with utmost care. She kisses you like a butterfly drinks nectar from a flower, fleeting and instinctual, light as a feather.

You can’t help but stand up on your tip-toes and chase after her every time she pulls away. Your first kisses with her are dreamlike, they’re a fantasy against the dim light of the hallway.

“You’re the most evil princess i’ve ever met.” She whispers against your cheek, pressing her lips against your powdered skin between each word. As she trails towards your jaw, she says, “Dressing like this in hopes of seducing me, calling me into your room each night with your nightgown too loose and your sheets thrown off.”

You shiver as she nips at your delicate skin, exhaling as her mouth trails down to your neck. “You noticed?”

She scoffs, breath warming your neck. “Of course I did. I was lucky I had that helmet, or else you would’ve had me hung for being a pervert the first day we met.”

You begin to chuckle softly, but your laughter is cut off by a soft whimper you didn’t know you were capable of. It’s not surprising, not as she presses open mouthed kisses to your collarbone and your breasts as they press against your low-cut dress. Her knee slips between yours, adding a friction you haven’t felt before in your life.

You’re ablaze, skin tight and mind buzzed as she smothers you with kisses, as her knee rocks against your groin. You can’t help but rut against her too, chasing a high you’re not even aware of.

Your hands grip her shoulders, hips jutting against her leg, before she grabs your wrists and pulls them towards the wall again.

“Stop.” She huffs.

“Wh—” you huff, the tension in your stomach drying out. “Why?”

“You’re going to finish before I’ve even done anything.” She says, smirking like she’s won a war.

You pout, face burning. “No I’m not.”

“Oh, princess.” She drawls. “You have no idea.” She says, and this time when she presses a kiss to your lips, it’s open mouthed. Her tongue ventures into your mouth before you can even register, and when she pulls away a string of saliva connecting her to you follows.

And then she pushes you flush against the wall, hands grabbing your hips, and kneels down to the ground.

The sight of her staring up at you, blue eyes wide, is a dream come true.

“You’ve been asking for a name to call out.” She licks her lips, finding the bottom of your dress and toying with the edges. “It’s Paige.” She says, and then she lifts up your dress, and ducks under.

The best you can do is slap a hand over your lips to muffle your noises as you feel her fingers graze the bare skin of your thighs, as the cold chain link metal on her arms raises every hair on your body. As her fingertips reach the hem of your undergarments and pull down.

And then you feel it, warm against your naked skin, sopping wet and needy.

“Paige.” You whine, muffled behind your palms. Her hands grip your legs, spreading them apart wider as her tongue darts out to lick at your core, sending jolts of feeling throughout your body.

You peel one hand from your face to hike up your dress, finally catching sight of her as her mouth attaches to you. You watch, intent and exhilarated, as she sucks on your clit, swirling her tongue around it circularly, dipping into your hole with every shudder of your body.

Her eyes are closed as she does it, like she’s completely devoted to your cause. You shouldn’t be surprised, she is your knight after all. How good would she be if she wasn’t devoted in all areas of her work?

And god, is she good.

She shakes her tongue back in forth, she nuzzles in closer to you like you’re seeping nectar instead of arousal. Her voice, Paige’s voice, escapes in little grunts and gasps as you preen and shake above her, as your thighs try to close before she forces them open again. She splits you open, body and soul, with her mouth alone in that empty corridor.

“Paige,” you whine, head thrown back agains the cold wall. “Fuck, I feel—I think I’m..” you trail off, swallowing another moan before someone comes to investigate the noise.

The noise is another thing, besides your voice and hers, you’ve never heard a noise so crude as the result of her fucking you with her mouth. It’s embarrassing but powerful, that in itself is enough to build you up.

Something deep in your gut is tightening like a sailors knot. She seems to notice, maintaining the perfect pace and pressure until you’re bucking and jolting against her. Her hands, her large, rugged hands, handle you like you’re just another piece of weaponry to her.

Even that thought isn’t enough to dull your high. You come hard, bursting against that wall and biting back a whine as she licks your thighs clean of anything that escapes you.

You’re left panting and fuzzy as she rises from her kneel on the ground, metal clanking, lips glistening from saliva and sweet arousal. Her eyes are open again, blue bullets that shoot with full precision. Gently, she wipes a stray tear from your cheek.

“Alright, princess?” She asks voice raspy.

You nod, eyes fluttering shut when she leans in again for a shorter, more chaste kiss that still somehow sends you reeling.

“Take me to my room, Paige.” You sigh with satisfaction.

She smiles like she’s got something up her sleeve, but you’re still surprised when she swoops you off of your feet, and carries you bridal style back to your room.

You’r even more surprised when she places you on your bed, and closes the door behind her, still inside with you.

No nightmares taunt you for the rest of the night. In fact, you barely sleep at all.

tagsˏˋ°•*⁀➷

@booposaurusrex @jujueilish @juumecca @iknowwhatyoutellyourfriends @cowboybueckers @azzisworld @tengens5thwife @ellehoops @jadasogay @idkkk343 @elleaitch22 @ilovepaige3 @gabriella-dawn @onlyhereforpazzi @stargirlbils @classicvines03 @saverdelrey @bamblebini-blog @evanpeterstoe @yailtsv @matildas123

[lovebugism]

✶ ┄ LOVE AND MERCY !

summary: you're more stubborn than the apocalypse. eric is the personification of a sad, wet dog. your world's collide when the world as you know it ends. (6.3k)

pairing: eric (a quiet place day one) / f!reader

contents: strangers to friends to lovers, a couple of losers in love, apocalyptic setting, angst, hurt/comfort cw for mentions of grief and anxiety, brief mentions of injuries, and smut 18+

You wake up that morning in a bed that is not yours, in a room that does not belong to you, in an abandoned cabin you turned into a safe house three weeks ago.

Everything around you is foreign. Including the world outside these rotted walls, which turned entirely on its head in a blink. A blink that somehow turned into three months gone.

The only thing familiar to you now is the stranger lying in the bed beside you — on the right side that he has wordlessly claimed as his own. Before Eric was a guy you shared beds with, he was a guy you found in the rain. A boy with big, wet, puppy dog eyes who followed you like a stray after the world fell.

That was all he was to you for a month straight. A burden. Deadweight. An ever-anxious being that had nearly gotten you killed more times than you could count. You never saw him any differently until you almost died — a certain death involving you, an old beartrap, several aliens with uber-sensitive hearing, and a stupid boy who was too dumb to leave you behind. 

“I can’t leave you,” Eric blubbered through tears, whimpering in faint whispers so the blind monsters wouldn’t hear. “I won’t.”

“Then you won’t make it at all, you idiot,” you spat through gritted teeth, eyes wide and stern and glittering. You wouldn’t let yourself cry, not even with your leg all but torn to shreds, but Eric’s sudden stubbornness scared you. Why now? Of all times? you thought to yourself, Why does he have to be so stubborn now?

“I wouldn’t want to,” Eric promised, bloodied hands trembling where they gripped your arms. “I wouldn’t want to make it without you.”

That was a month or so ago, but you carry the horrors of that day still. 

In the vivid nightmares that rattle your bones. In the marred skin of your ankle, hidden beneath bandages, slowly healing with each passing day. And in the strange boy with puppy dog eyes who still hasn’t left your side.

Let me check your leg, Eric scribbles on a notepad. 

His handwriting is slanted and small and hardly legible — fitting for a man whose mind is always racing faster than he can keep up. 

The marker is fading slowly, too, dying from excessive use because the majority of your conversations are spoken through written words on a page. You’ve gone through a notebook or three already.

You snatch the notepad from his grip to write a response of your own. Eric peels the tattered blanket from your body to survey the gauze around your ankle. He peeks beneath the bandage, and his chest pinches at the sight — not because of his sensitive stomach, but because of the harsh reminder of the day he almost lost you.

The paper swishes faintly when you turn the notebook back to him. Okay, Dr. Eric :P, you’ve written in sloppy cursive. The boy grins at the mischievous look in your eyes.

“That’s Doctor Eric Esquire to you,” he corrects in a whisper that makes his accent sound more posh than usual. He smooths the gauze back into place with a gentle hand and says, “You’re healing fine, I think. I’ll have to go out and scavenge for more bandages soon, but these should last for another…”

The sounds of your rapid scribbling fill the quiet cabin. Eric trails off in wait, wide eyes darting from the marker in your hand to the pinched look of concentration on your face. 

He sees a strange sort of giddiness sparking in your otherwise serious features that makes him fearful. Intrigued, yes, but still distantly fearful. All your ideas tend to get him into trouble.

The notebook turns to him again. His stomach does a backflip.

Wanna go on an adventure?

“This is… Not what I was expecting,” Eric muses beneath the sounds of a rushing waterfall. 

His words echo slightly in the expanse of the dank cave. It’s the first time you’ve heard his voice in full volume, deep and accented and smooth. His pretty whispering annoyed you to no end back when he was just a stranger with exactly zero survival instincts. Now, you never want him to stop talking.

“Well, that’s why it’s an adventure,” you lilt, wiping water from your brow with the neck of your t-shirt. 

Your clothes stick to you in places where the waterfall had splashed you on your way underneath it. The still air of the cave, strangely cool compared to the humid air outside of it, makes you fight back a shiver.

Eric eyes you from a distance, features swirled in a quiet concern. It’s impossible to relish in this little ounce of peace when you have the kind of mind he does — the kind of mind that’s always anxious and always filled with thoughts of you. 

He cares so much for you, far more than he planned to, that it’s made him chronically fearful. He’s grown to realize, since he met you, that the two words are rather synonymous. You can’t have love without fear — and what is there to be fearful for, if not for the ones you love?

“Your bandages really shouldn’t be getting wet, you know?”

You scoff and limp further into the damp hollow. The quiet sound of your steps reverberates within the stone walls, along with the subtle scuffing of your bad foot. “You said I was healing okay, remember?” you huff and drop the basket in your elbow onto the cobblestone.

“I said you were healing fine,” Eric chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest. “There’s a difference.”

“Not really,” you shrug with a scrunched nose, flashing him a fleeting glance over your shoulder. You turn away again and wince at the distant ache in your ankle when you crouch. 

Sometimes the scars hurt like they’re still fresh, still weeping scarlet and throbbing like a new wound. Eric’s not a doctor, but he tells you that it’ll probably be that way forever. “Phantom pains, I think they call it,” he says in a posh accent that makes him sound more official than he really is. You’re inclined to believe him, anyway.

The boy watches as you sort through the wicker basket you stole — or borrowed, as you claim, “’cause it’s not like the owner’s coming back for it anytime soon.” It’s full of stuff you wouldn’t let him see, like it was some kind of big secret. 

He grimaces when you squat, putting unnecessary weight on a barely healing leg. He knows it hurts, even when you pretend it doesn’t — especially when you pretend it doesn’t. His chest pinches like the ache is his own. Like sympathy pains or something. He worries so much for you that you’ve given him fucking sympathy pains.

“We shouldn’t have left,” Eric agonizes, wiping a pair of anxious hands down his face. He swipes his fingers through his hair and finds the chestnut curls now partially damp. “I shouldn’t have let you leave. I mean, what if we have to run, huh? What if we have to—”

“We won’t,” you groan as you stand to full height again. You hold an old quilt in one arm and gesture wildly with the other. “That’s what the waterfall is for. They can’t hear us under here. Nothing’s coming.”

He knows you’re right, but it doesn’t worry him any less.

“How’d you even know this was out here?”

You falter for a moment. A mere blink of a second. But Eric catches it immediately because there isn’t anything about you he doesn’t instantly notice. He’s rarely ever seen you, his silver-tongued girl, so ambivalent. And something about it frightens him.

“I was… on a walk one day… while you were out scavenging—” you answer slowly, shrugging like it isn’t a big deal at all, though you immediately follow it with, “—Don’t get angry.”

Eric’s pink mouth falls softly agape, opening and closing like a fish’s might, while he tries to find the words to say. To shout. To scream. 

“Y-You... You— You left without me?” he stammers, voice booming. 

The words ring across the expanse of the shallow cave, bouncing off the damp stone walls. It’s the loudest he’s heard himself talk since the world ended, and the notion startles him. Like a dog just learning how to bark.

Eric’s breath hitches in his throat as his dark eyes widen in fear. He waits instinctively for the screeching of far-off monsters and their booming footsteps — prepares for an adrenaline rush that’ll give his weak arms the strength to carry both of you to safety.

It never comes. 

The sounds of the waterfall shield you from the war raging outside of it. 

When the panic passes, the anger resumes.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?” Eric agonizes, quieter now, though the corner of his lip twitches with withheld anger. 

You keep your back to the boy and lay out the contents of the wicker basket. A floral quilt to cushion the stone flooring, two bottles of wine to share between you, several bags of stale chips, and one MP3 player that’s somehow stronger than the end of the world. You pay Eric no mind as he continues to rant behind you.

“What if you’d gotten killed? What if— What if you got lost and I couldn’t find you—?!”

“Don’t shout!” you gripe despite your own booming voice. 

“Why not?” Eric questions with a cynical laugh. “I thought nothing could hear us under here?”

You spin back around to face him, grimacing slightly when your healing wounds start to burn. You tilt your chin in a look of defiance, though your eyes sparkle faintly in the dim natural light — something mischievous and strangely shy. 

“I don’t want you to shout because I put a lot of effort into this,” you answer in a steady voice, lips quirking in a distant smile. “And we can’t enjoy it if you’re gonna be grumpy the entire time.”

Eric blinks at you for several long moments, brown eyes wide like an owl. Only then does he notice what you’d set up for him in the brief minutes he’d been blinded by his anger. A picnic of sorts — fashioned with a moth-eaten quilt, dusty wine bottles, and snacks you’d scavenged and seemingly stashed like a squirrel. It’s about as fancy as you can get in an apocalypse.

His mouth opens and closes again, this time in a quiet sort of shock. “Wh… What?”

“Well, you kinda spent your entire birthday taking care of me, so… I figured we were past due for a celebration.”

Eric’s brows pinch together. A furrow of deep thought settles between them. 

He realizes he hadn’t thought twice about his birthday till now. Hadn’t thought twice about turning another year older, just like he hadn’t thought twice about needing to be repaid for taking care of you. He did both things without thinking. He can’t control his urge to dote on you like he can’t control the existential dread of getting older.

“How’d you know it was my birthday?”

“‘Cause you told me once,” you shrug. “And I keep track of the days in my calendar, so—”

“So, you’re saying that… That you did all this...” the man laughs, gesturing to the cave and the waterfall and the wine. “For me?”

A similar-sounding laugh sputters from your own mouth ‘cause you do it all for him. From going on stupid picnics to fighting monsters from another planet. Everything you’ve done up until this point, you realize now, you’ve done for Eric. You keep on living despite the unfavorable odds for Eric.

“Of course I did. It’s not that big of a deal,” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest to shield your bleeding heart. “I mean, you kinda saved my life. The least I can do is take you on a stupid fucking picnic.”

When you turn around again to ease yourself onto the blanket, Eric tries to make out the words to thank you. Not just for what you’ve done here, but for what you’ve done all the days since he found you. Because you’ve saved his life too, more times than he could count, actually — ‘cause that’s just what you do. You save each other and don’t think twice about it because that’s what you do when you care for someone.

He forgot all about birthdays and picnics and what it meant to be alive before he found you. And now that you’re here, you spend every single day reminding him of everything the end of the world begs him to forget.

“I’m— I’m sorry… I’m sorry for shouting at you,” Eric stammers in a sheepish murmur, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“I know,” you nod, smiling as you pat the spare spot beside you. “Now stop being weird and come sit down.”

The wine is warm, the chips are stale, and the quilt just barely cushions the hard ground beneath you — but everything’s still somehow perfect. Your MP3 player is almost as old as you are and cracked down the middle, but the music plays just perfectly from its headphones, anyway. 

Maybe it’s perfect ‘cause it’s not perfect. 

Or maybe it’s perfect because you’re here.

You sit side-by-side on the handmade blanket, legs crossed and knees brushing, as you share an earbud between you. Conversation ebbs and flows between snacking. Music fills the silence.

I was sittin’ in a crummy movie with my hands on my chin,

All the violence that occurs, seems like we never win...

Eric tips his head back to down the rest of the cheesy crumbs in the package he holds in a pale fist. His scruffy cheeks jut like a chipmunk as he chews through the mouthful. “I missed this, you know?” he mumbles.

You set the wine bottle beside you after taking a lengthy sip, licking the bitter-sweet grape from your lips. “What?” you wonder aloud. “The wine? The Cheetos? The music?”

The boy goes quiet as he ponders the question. He figures he was talking about you, mostly — this sort of connection between humans, this sort of comfort, this sort of normalcy. The music answers your question in his silence.

—Love and mercy, that’s what you need tonight…

So love and mercy, to you and your friends tonight…

He nods anyway. “All of the above, actually…”

“You know what I miss?” you wonder beneath the rustling of the Scooby Snacks you dig your hand into. You chuck a cartoon bone into your mouth and find the graham-cracker components have gone soft with time. “I miss driving down backroads… going way faster than what’s probably allowed… with the windows down and the radio all the way up…”

Eric watches the far-off look in your eyes as you stare, unblinking, at the waterfall ahead of you. Clear water rushes from the mountain and falls hard onto the cobbles and the still water below. Rogue drops splatter inside the shallow cave, occasionally splashing you with fat droplets.

The running waterfall cast fleeting shadows over your face, littered now with faint scars. Your features are much softer than he’s used to in the natural light.

“I miss college parties,” he confesses, wiping his palms on his knees.

You wash the dry graham cracker out with another sip of wine and try not to laugh as you swallow it down.

“Why’s that funny?” Eric wonders through his own chuckle, only partially offended.

“I don’t know… I guess I just didn’t take you for a partier.”

“I wasn’t really…” he concedes with a shy shrug, gaze averted and cheeks pink. “But I was a really big fan of karaoke.”

“Well, that makes a lot more sense.”

“Doesn’t it?” Eric humors with a scrunched nose.

You tilt your head back to laugh — a pretty, airy sound that echoes within the cobbled walls, only partially drowned out beneath the rushing waterfall. You shift closer toward him when you’re upright again, probably without realizing, but Eric notices. He can’t help but notice everything you do. And he can’t help but lean instinctively closer to you, too.

He can smell the natural scent of you beneath the various surrounding ones — of freshwater, pine, and whatever cologne was spritzed on your shirt before you found it. He can smell the sweet wine on your breath, too, and he quickly realizes that you’re close enough to kiss. If only he weren’t so chicken shit.

The proximity makes his cheeks flush, though you’re not nearly as fazed by it.

“I forgot what that felt like…” you muse in a quiet voice of disbelief.

Eric smiles so hard his eyes squint. “What?”

“I don’t know… just, like, happiness? I guess?” you laugh. “I used to think that was impossible before now.”

“Yeah… Me too.” 

The conversation lulls for a moment. The music playing in your ears takes over: 

—I was standing at a bar and watching all the people there…

All the loneliness in this world, well, it’s just not fair…

You cage your smile between your teeth in a feeble attempt to conceal how wide it’s grown. Your eyes are wide and sparkling, likely from the wine, as they flit between both of his darker ones. Eric exhales a breathy chuckle in response, all giddy and nervous for a reason he can’t name (probably from the wine, too, if he had to guess).

He feels himself leaning in to kiss you before he realizes it. He only catches himself when you pull unknowingly away, reaching again for the glass bottle at your side. His heart drops to his swirling stomach as his cheeks flare a deep pink.

“I’m glad you followed me like a creep for a week straight, you know that?” you confess with a teasing squint in your eyes as you bring the lip of the bottle to your mouth.

Eric scoffs at the memory, which feels like yesterday and ancient history all at once.

He was by himself when the world first fell — a stranger in a strange country, and the loneliest he’d ever been in his life. And, perhaps, the most scared, too. 

Then, all of a sudden, he sees this girl rush out of an alleyway and into a monster-infested street to save a dog from an otherwise unavoidable death. Eric watched from a distance as you returned the scared pup to its owners — a very young couple cowering behind a car, not that much older than you. 

You pointed them in the direction of a military base setting up camps for civilians then went the opposite way. Away from guaranteed protection. Like the safest hands were your own. 

Eric made the quick decision to follow you as you went. He figured if you were brave enough to save some dog that wasn’t yours, and stare death directly in the face while you did it, then you could do just about anything.

He didn’t know, then, that he was making the best decision he’d ever made in his life.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t pummel me in the face for following you like a creep.”

“I should’ve,” you quip. “But I liked your company too much, I guess…”

“Liked?” the boy parrots, laughing loudly at the turn of phrase. “Is this your way of saying you’re finally tired of me?”

You roll your eyes and hide your smirk behind the neck of the wine bottle. “Do you think I would’ve done all this shit if I wasn’t the least bit fond of you, Eric?”

The question is rhetorical, but you expect a lighthearted quip from the British boy anyway. Your words seem to settle something heavy on him, though. It’s the very first time you’ve admitted out loud, without a shred of sarcasm, how much you really care for him. 

Eric forgets to say anything at all. The cave fills with a loud silence. The steady drumming of the waterfall and the whisper of rustling trees. Strangely peaceful for the end of the world. 

“Wanna know something wild?” he asks you after a few long moments. His accent makes the words sound heavy on his tongue. Your brows raise to egg him on, and he continues, stumbling over himself in the process. “I’m… I’m not happy the world ended, but… I am— I am glad that it brought me you.”

Your breath catches. It’s the most profound thing anyone’s ever said to you, you think. Way deeper than any measly ‘I love you.’ And how are you meant to respond to that? To his confession that the end of the world was worth finding you? There’s no string of words in the English language that could possibly compare to that.

Eric waits for your response with bated breath. He hopes for an affirmation of your similar affection, of course, but a rejection would be better than nothing at all. He blinks at you with hopeful chocolate eyes, then flinches away when you laugh.

“You’re such a sap,” you say, giggling, as you reach suddenly for his face.

You cradle his scruffy jaw between warm and gently calloused hands, pulling him into you with an admirable effortlessness. You kiss him like it’s natural to you — like he was never just a stranger — like you’ve spent entire lifetimes kissing him.

You take the breath from his lungs with little effort. Eric tips his head back and sighs when you swipe your tongue along his chapped bottom lip. The exhaled breath fans across your cupid’s bow, and you smile against his mouth as you clamor gracelessly into his lap — straddling his lean hips and pressing your beating heart to his. 

The earbuds fall carelessly to the ground, and the fading song plays muffedly from beside you:

—Love and mercy, that’s what you need tonight…

So love and mercy, to you and your friends tonight…

Your mouths click when they part, a subtle sound beneath the drumming waterfall behind you. Your eyes are heavy and lidding as they fall to Eric’s kissed mouth — now a rosier shade, gently swollen, and shining with your spit. A stamp of ownership, almost, that makes your chest swell with pride.

Eric looks up at you with big, wet eyes as his hands fidget on either side of your waist. “I’ve been waiting for that for ages,” he confesses in a low murmur.

A small smile quirks faintly at the edges of your mouth. “Could you maybe say something that’s not super cliché?” you tease.

“How about… I really, really want to kiss you again?” Eric offers in a honeyed tone that makes his accent heavier. He swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing. “And that I… I wanna make you feel good?”

You cage your bottom lip between your teeth to hide your smile. Your fingertips are calloused and cold as they toy with the curls at the nape of his neck — tiny chestnut strands coiled in perfect ringlets. Eric fights back a shiver.

“Then I’d say that…” you begin with a mischievous lilt to your voice, wild eyes flitting from his pink lips to his watery eyes. “I’ve been waiting for that for ages.”

You part from him then, taking the warmth of your body with you as you sit on your knees across from him. The rugged ground is hardly cushioned by the thin quilt. You can vaguely feel small rocks digging into your skin, but your need for him is much louder. 

You cross your arms in front of yourself to swipe your t-shirt over your head. You toss the discarded fabric carelessly beside you, then work at the buttons of your jeans — also borrowed, and just a half-size too big for you. 

Eric watches with his heart in his throat. It’s the most naked you’ve ever been in front of him before. The sight of your bare skin, covered now only in the sports bra you’ve had since the world ended, makes his head swim. It takes him a moment too long to realize he should be undressing, too, and he rushes to catch up.

The two of you undress yourselves in relative silence. The sight is hardly as sexy as you’d expect — full of fumbling limbs far too eager to be graceful. Eric’s shirt gets stuck on his chin. Your jeans get caught at your ankle. The tense lull between you ebbs into a symphony of entwining giggles.

With your clothes scattered in abandoned piles, you lay back against the blanket. Eric settles on top of you with a strange sort of effortlessness — like it’s muscle memory to him, even though neither of you has done this for a long, long while — much less with each other. 

The weight of his body is warm and heavy over yours. You slide your hands under his arms and curl them over his freckled shoulders, digging your nails softly into his pale skin to pull him further into you. 

You watch with heavily lidded eyes as Eric brings his hand to his mouth. He slides his pointer and middle finger between his lips, wetting the pads of them with his tongue. You exhale a deep breath when the limbs come out again, glittering in the low light. 

He studies your features with a dark and unwavering stare as he slips his fingers between the lips of your pussy — tracing the velvety lips for a moment before easing them slowly inside. Your eyes flutter shut at the foreign feeling. Eric smiles to himself, wrist flexing, as he explores your silky cunt with his fingers. 

“Please fuck me,” you sigh when his palm bumps your swollen clit. Your head tips back as your hips buck upward, all but melting under his touch. “Please.”

It takes Eric a moment or more to formulate a response. You’ve never been so subservient like this before, so needy for him. This must be the eighth wonder of the world, he thinks to himself, as he continues to work you open with unworthy hands.

“Have to get you ready for me first,” he tells you, voice and low gritty, as he exhales a breathy chuckle that fans across your jaw. “Don’t wanna break you, honey.”

You manage a scoff in response. “Well, that’s very presumptuous of you— oh…”

Eric crooks his fingers until the tips of them brush a spongy depth inside you. Your mouth falls agape at the feeling, so foreignly full beneath him. His spit-slick lips curl into a lazy smirk. “That shut you up, didn’t it?”

You would’ve spit a snide remark back at him if his thumb hadn’t pressed so mercilessly to your delicate clit then. The words dissolve like dust on your tongue and escape only as a breathy moan. 

Eric continues his relentless pursuit with nothing but two of his fingers. Relentless, you think,because he’s hardly trying to make you cum now. You’re not sure if he’s just oblivious to how good he’s making you feel, or if he’s pushing you to the edge and jerking you back on purpose. It’s agony either way.

He only stops when his pointer and middle finger start to prune, the pads of them softly wrinkled from your honey. He wipes them off on the quilt like a total barbarian. You would’ve said something about that, too, if you weren’t still trying to catch your breath.

Eric rises to his knees. His bare chest, dusted with sparse hair over the sternum, rises and falls with uneven pants. His cock hangs heavy between his spread thighs — half-hard, glowing red, and leaking faintly at the tip. His wide hands are softer than your own as they smooth up and down the length of your thighs. His thumbs rub soothingly over the supple insides of them — with a touch almost as gentle as the melted chocolate gaze he looks at you with. 

“Are you alright?” he wonders, all quiet and suddenly shy, like you aren’t all but dripping for him now.

“You’re so annoying,” you gripe with a scoffed-out laugh, rolling your eyes because you’re certain he’s teasing you. Your stomach sinks when the genuine glimmer in his eyes doesn’t waver. You squirm beneath him and his unyielding gaze. “I’m okay, Eric,” you murmur sheepishly, never easily serious.

He nods to himself and swallows hard, still visibly unsure. It makes you wonder if he’s second-guessing. “Stop staring and kiss me, you asshole,” you grouse with a forced laugh, tightening your grip on his shoulders.

Eric’s mouth quirks in an absentminded smile. “Just let me look at you for a second…” he whispers, squeezing the outsides of your thighs with warm hands.

“We don’t have to whisper anymore, dummy,” you tease in a hushed tone of your own.

His grin widens until his eyes wrinkle at the edges and his tongue pokes softly through his teeth. He laughs despite himself and grips his heavy cock in his fist. “You’re so mean, you know that?” he asks, folding your knee back with his free hand. You’re not sure if he’s expecting a real response, but he slips into you before you can give him one.

He fucks into you slow — bitterly, painfully, and agonizingly slow — forcing you to feel every inch of him. His cock is of average length, but girthy enough to stretch you open. You’re suddenly grateful he thought to use his fingers on you despite your impatience, but the two of them alone hardly equate to how thick he is.

Both of you inhale sharply when he’s fully sheathed inside of you, neither exactly used to the feeling. Eric allows you a moment or more to adjust before sliding out again. You exhale softly together in entwining moans that get lost beneath the sounds of a raging waterfall.

Eric thrusts into you again with gritted teeth, trying not to whimper too loudly when your pussy clenches around him. He bends at the waist to hide his face in your neck and exhales all his pathetic moans there. 

He keeps one hand clenched into a fist on the blanket to prop up his weight; his other slides beneath your head to cushion your skull from the hard ground. You grip the boy by his flexing biceps, digging your nails into the skin every time he thrusts into you. Jaw clenched, nose scrunched, eyes squinted — you take his cock without complaint despite the very loud feeling that it’s all too much for you.

Eric is everywhere, and the notion alone overwhelms you. He’s in you, on top of you, all over you. Like the air you breathe. You need him just the same. Not because he’s your friend but because you’re scared you might seriously die without him. 

It’s dramatic at best. At worst, it’s the exact opposite feeling you should have for anyone in the apocalypse, where death is essentially promised for both of you.

Tears prick your eyes at the thought, though you’d rather blame them on Eric’s merciless thrusts. They’re sloppy and unmeasured as he struggles to find a rhythm. He’s similarly overwhelmed by the pleasure. You can tell by the way his body trembles over yours, and the way he buries loud moans into your pulsepoint. You can feel the vibrations of each moan in your veins. 

The way you’re pinned beneath him cages your clit between your bodies. Every time Eric’s lean hips thrust upward and back again, the coarse thatch of hair above his cock brushes your sensitive button. You couldn’t free yourself from it if you tried. You’re not sure if you even want to.

“This is good for you, right?” Eric wonders through heavy pants, voice wavering under the weight of his pleasure. “Please tell me this is good for you.”

Any other time, you would’ve laughed at him, but now you only nod. Rapidly and with your jaw clenched tight. Just as pathetic as he is. 

“’S good,” you promise through gritted teeth as the coil in the pit of your stomach starts to tighten. “It’s so good, Eric. Feels so fuckin’ good.”

The affirmation makes him moan. Loudly. Enough for you to be momentarily grateful for the cover of the rumbling waterfall. Eric buckles down over you and strengthens his rapid, irregularly timed thrusts with a feeble cry. 

Your own whine rumbles in your throat, falling from your mouth like honey. Your warm skin, now slick with a layer of sweat, begins to buzz. The need for release builds like a dam within you — somewhere deep, right where the tip of Eric’s cock fucks into you. 

Your thighs start to tremble on either side of his waist. Your hips begin to buck despite yourself. You can’t be sure if you’re running from the pleasure now, or chasing it entirely.

“You gotta cum, baby,” Eric tells you through a pitiful whine, face still tucked into your neck. He licks his lips and starts to babble: “I can’t— I’m too close— I need you to cum before I do, baby— Need you to cum right now— Fuck.”

“Is your idea of dirty talk always this pathetic?” you would’ve joked if you weren’t already cumming for him. 

Your mouth falls agape in a silent moan as your head tips back into his palm. Your back arches as you reach the height of your pleasure, pussy fluttering through every wave of it. 

Eric fucks you the entire way through your orgasm — despite your nails biting crescent shapes into his shoulders, despite your velvety cunt tightening around him, despite the very overwhelming feeling that he might burst entirely.

Only when your body goes lax does he pull out of you. 

The empty feeling makes you whimper. Your weeping pussy clenches around nothing while Eric jerks himself off. You can’t see him, but you can feel his wrist moving in rapid motions between your legs. 

A groan rumbles deep in his throat as he tenses on top of you. His still body goes rigid. Something warm and wet spits on your inner thigh a second later — a heavy load of his pearly white cum, which he gives you three of before he’s milked himself dry.

Eric collapses on top of you when he’s officially spent. He forgets to hold up his weight, and you deliberately decide not to remind him. You let the man soak in the waves of his pleasure while you strain to reach the wicker basket at your side — struggling for a moment to find the handful of napkins at the very bottom, then using them to wipe up the mess on your thigh.

“Ah, shit,” Eric curses when he notices (his mess or his weight, you can’t quite tell). He sniffles and rolls off of you. “Sorry…”

Your head whips in his direction. You find his face all flushed, glowing red along the apples of his cheeks and the very tip of his nose. His eyes are big and wet, too, glassy like he might cry. 

Buzzing with concern, you rise to your knees, watching intently as Eric reaches for your discarded pile of clothes. You set them aside when he passes them to you and hold his face in your hands instead. His stubble scratches at your delicate palms. Your wide eyes sparkle with concern as they dart over his teary features.

“Hey… Hey, what happened?” you agonize. “Are you okay?”

Eric laughs at himself, then sniffles again as he wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “Yeah… So much for not being cliché, right?” he jokes.

“What happened?” you repeat, giggling this time at his crooked smile.

“Nothing,” he assures, shrugging his freckled shoulders. “I just… I’m just really happy, I guess…”

Your tight chest deflates with a sigh of relief as you nod in response. “Yeah… I am, too.”

Eric’s grin widens at your confession. His cheeks speckle a rosy color, like he’s pleasantly surprised by the response — as if his softening cock isn’t still sparkling with a mixture of your cum. 

You meet his smile with a scowl, rolling your eyes as you shove playfully at his shoulder. “Don’t look at me like that,” you grumble and turn away from him, reaching for your clothes. 

Your body looms over him as you stand, putting very little weight on your scarred leg. You bend at the waist to tug your underwear up your thighs.

Eric shoves his boxers on with a cheeky grin. “I’m really glad I found you, you know that, right? Even though you’re mean to me all the time?”

You scoff and drag your sports bra over your torso, yanking it at the hem to pull it over your breasts. “I’m happy you found me, too, stalker,” you respond in a monotone that would otherwise suggest the opposite. But Eric catches you smiling when you reach beside him for your shirt and knows you really mean it. 

“You love me,” he insists playfully, right before stealing a kiss from you. 

His lips only manage to brush the corner of your mouth in his haste, but he grins wide about it anyway. Your face screws like you weren’t begging him to fuck you ten minutes ago, as you wipe your cheek with the back of your hand.

“You’re disgusting…” he hears you mumbling as you turn away, tugging your shirt over your head. 

But he knows what you really mean.