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stillwatervoid · 21 days ago

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Insatiable | Mark Grayson x Incubus!Male!Reader

Summary: Mark Grayson dies of jealousy every time his flirty, easygoing, and perpetually exhausted best friend—who he may or may not have a huge crush on—makes out with random guys behind the school. Until the day you confess you’re a half-breed, like him. But not quite like him. Because while he’s half-Viltrumite, you are... half-incubus? Whatever that means… Mark’s more than willing to find out.

Pairing: Mark Grayson x Incubus!Male!Reader

Warnings: 18+, making out, frottage/dry humping, (semi-public?) oral (Mark receiving), anal sex.

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Fluff, Pining Mark, Mutual Pining, Top!Mark, Bottom!Reader.

w.c: 19.7k | a/n: Heeey, it’s been forever!!! DID YOU MISS ME? Because I definitely missed you! I’m really sorry for being so inactive lately. I've been so busy between a nasty case of writer’s block, college stress, and work chaos... yeah, life sucks. Anyway! Here’s a little big treat I managed to squeeze out between bursts of inspiration and writer’s block. As always, English isn’t my first language, so please forgive any mistakes here and there. Hope you enjoy it!

You have a reputation.

You know it. Mark knows it. Hell, probably half the school knows it.

It clings to you like a second skin—whispers in the hallways, smirks in locker rooms, giggles that trail behind you in class. You’re a flirt, and not the harmless kind either.

The kind who’s always leaning just a little too close in crowded hallways, disappearing behind buildings with someone breathless and flushed, only to reappear like they’ve won the lottery. But then a week or two passes, and you’re gone. Slipping out of their lives like it never mattered. Like they never mattered. One minute, you’re all sultry glances and lingering touches. The next, you’re onto the next curious set of eyes across the room.

People talk. Some resent you. And yet, no matter how many times you walk away, there’s always someone new, eager and willing, thinking maybe they’ll be the exception.

And today, Mark sees it happen all over again.

He watches from across the cafeteria as you chat up some guy in line. You’re leaning in close—closer than necessary. Your shoulder brushes his, and your head tilts slightly when you laugh. That slow, lazy grin slides across your lips like it’s effortless. The guy blushes. Of course he does. He leans in without realizing it, like he’s being pulled by a string.

Mark doesn’t even taste the food in his mouth anymore.

He stabs his fork into his tray, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the casual way your hand lingers near the guy’s arm, the light in your expression that no one else ever gets to keep. His stomach knots.

You’re just playing. Again. He knows it. But that doesn’t stop the heat from rising in his chest. Doesn’t stop the slow burn of something he doesn’t want to name.

Then you laugh at something.

The guy laughs back, awkward and eager.

Mark’s knuckles go white around his fork.

“Uh, Mark to Earth?” William says, waving a hand in front of him. “I’ve been talking to you for, like, five minutes.”

Mark blinks, forcing his jaw to unclench. “Huh? Sorry. What?”

William raises an eyebrow, following Mark’s gaze to where you’re now smirking at something the guy said.

“Oh. Y/N again,” William mutters, deadpan. “Shocking.”

Mark’s ears are already burning. He glances down at his tray. “What about him?”

William sighs like he’s had this conversation in his head a hundred times already. “Dude. At least pretend to be subtle. Jealousy isn’t a good look.”

“I’m not—” Mark starts, a little too fast. He swallows hard, tries again with forced calm. “Whatever. It’s just—I’m worried, okay?”

“Oooh, worried. Right. Sure,” William drawls, nodding slowly like he’s humoring a toddler. “Totally not jealous that Y/N’s out there reeling in his next victim while you sit here pouting and crying about it.”

Mark nearly chokes. “What are you even—oh crap, he’s coming back. Shut up.”

He watches, frozen, as you murmur something to the guy before breaking away, walking straight toward them.

Mark jerks his eyes down to his tray, only now noticing the fork in his hand bent clean in half from how tightly he’d been gripping it. He swears under his breath, quickly ducking his hands beneath the table to fix it. He’s midway through smoothing it back into shape when you slide into the seat beside him, smooth as ever.

You sigh, lazy and soft. “Hey, nerds. Sorry I’m late. What’re you gossiping about without me?”

Your head props in your hand, elbow on the table, eyes flicking between them with something like curiosity—but dulled, like even that costs energy.

It’s always a bit of whiplash when you’re around them. The version of you the school knows—the smooth-talking, flirtatious heartbreaker—melts away almost instantly. With them, you’re just you—that quieter, wearier version only your close friends ever get to see. Your posture slouches. The sharp smirk fades into something hazy. Your eyes, once bright and teasing, grow distant.

It’s like watching a performance end the second the curtains close.

Mark watches, fascinated and frustrated in equal measure. He hadn’t been lying earlier—he is worried. Because behind the easy voice and sleepy grin, he sees it—that edge of exhaustion you try so hard to hide. That distracted look in your eyes, like your mind’s always somewhere else.

“Oh, we were just talking about Mark being jeal—ow!” William yelps, his leg jerking under the table.

Mark glares daggers at him, foot still pressed against William’s shin. His look says shut up so loud it might as well be spoken.

You raise a brow at the exchange, unimpressed. Even that tiny expression looks like it takes effort. Still, your gaze stays on William, waiting. “…About Mark being what?”

Mark straightens too fast. “Oh! Uh. Just—just excited! Y’know. About the tour. The Upstate U thing. It’s gonna be… fun.”

William grumbles into his food, refusing to look up. “Super fun.”

Your eyes light up just slightly—just enough to make Mark breathe easier. “Oh yeah! Right. Thanks again, William, for letting us crash your date with that hot pre-med guy.”

“Oh, well, since Mark insisted, how could I possibly say no? I love having my two best friends third- and fourth-wheeling all the time. Makes it so romantic.”

You snort, your posture loosening as you lean back and wink. “Don’t worry, Will. I’ll make sure to drag Mark away the second we get there. I’m not about to cockblock my friends.”

William’s smile turns razor-sharp. “Good. Make sure you keep Mark busy all day. And by all day, I mean all night too. You two are sharing a room—trust me, you don’t wanna know what I’ll be doing in mine.”

“Done,” you reply breezily, nudging your knee against Mark’s under the table without thinking.

Mark jerks like he’s been shocked, spine going stiff as his leg instinctively shifts away. He pointedly ignores the smug look William throws his way.

But of course, William isn’t done.

“So,” he drawls, “what were you talking about with that guy in line? You seemed real into it.”

Mark stiffens, lips pressing into a thin line as he shoots William a warning glare, one William very obviously avoids.

You blink, like the question catches you off guard—like you’d already forgotten about that guy entirely. Then realization sets in, and you wince a little. “Oh—that. I was just… hungry,” you mumble, eyes darting away. “Wanted to cut the line. Said something dumb to distract him, but standing around that long kinda sucked. I got tired.”

“Hungry?” Mark echoes, the irritation draining from his face as concern rushes in to take its place. “You’ve already had, like, four trays. You still hungry?”

You glance at him, giving a half-hearted shrug. “I have a big appetite?” you offer, lips tugging into a weak sort-of-smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Mark catches it—the pout in your mouth, the barely-there glance toward his tray of food, the subtle tremble in your tone.

He doesn’t hesitate. Quietly, he slides his tray across the table toward you, nudging it close enough to make the offer clear.

Your eyes widen just a bit.

“You can have mine,” Mark says, trying to play it off with a shrug. “I’ve had enough.”

Your face lights up instantly, all exhaustion momentarily eclipsed by a bright smile “Seriously? Dude, thank you! God, I’m starving.”

Without another word, you pick up the fork—Mark’s fork—and dive into the food like you haven’t eaten in days.

Mark tries very hard not to think about how you’re eating off the same fork he used. That it’s kind of like—well, not a kiss. Not really. But also kind of not not one. He’s not five. He knows that. He tells his face that too, willing the heat in his cheeks to die down.

William snorts around a mouthful of his own food. “Jesus, you eat like you never did before. Got a black hole in there or what?”

You snort too, pausing just long enough to swallow. “Feels like it.”

Mark watches you. Watches the way your cheeks puff as you chew, the smooth motion of your throat as you eat, the quick swipe of your tongue across your lips between bites.

He swallows, too.

“Almost like you’re… insatiable,” he murmurs, without thinking.

You pause. Not for long—but enough. Your rhythm falters as you glance back at him, something unreadable in your expression. Like he just struck a chord you weren’t ready for.

It vanishes quickly. You laugh, not quite as bright as before. “Yeah,” you say, chuckling, “feels like it.”

But something’s changed. The words feel heavy now. Like a joke that isn’t really a joke. Like there’s something you want to say, but won’t.

Mark notices. Of course he does.

But, as always, he doesn’t say anything.

Mark never seems to know what to say around you.

So he sits there.

Watching you.

And in his own quiet way, maybe he’s insatiable too.

By the time you all arrive at Upstate U and meet Rick, you make good on your promise to keep Mark out of William’s hair. You wave William off with a cheeky salute and a wink, then drag Mark into your own version of a tour: one that includes skipping the official info sessions, sampling from half the food trucks on campus, and wandering through hidden places neither of you expected to find.

Mark doesn’t complain. In fact, he’s having a good time—a great time, actually.

He’s laughing too much. Smiling too easily. He tries not to notice the way his body jolts when his shoulder always ends up pressed against yours whenever you walk side by side. He tries not to focus on the way his chest swells a little too much every time you laugh at something he says. He really tries to ignore the way his heart picks up every time your eyes catch his and hold, just for a beat too long.

But what Mark can’t ignore—no matter how hard he tries—is the way your breath hitches after walking for too long. The way your pace slows, like your legs are dragging. The way your body leans into him like you don’t even notice you’re doing it—like gravity’s pulled you sideways and he’s the only thing holding you up. The way you keep rubbing your eyes, like you were trying to scrub the exhaustion out of them.

Eventually, Mark can’t pretend anymore.

“Hey,” he says gently, his hand brushing your shoulder to guide you toward the nearest bench. “Let’s sit for a bit.”

You blink, but let him. The second you sit down, your body sinks into the bench like it’s doing half the work your legs can’t anymore.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Peachy,” you mutter, voice low and strained. “Why?”

Mark watches you carefully, his brows pulling together. You’re sweating slightly, and your skin has that drained, almost translucent look to it.

“You’re pale,” he says quietly. “And kind of… out of it. Are you sure you’re okay? We can go back to the dorms. You don’t have to push yourself.”

You don’t answer right away, eyes darting to the ground, breathing shallowly like you’re barely holding it together.

And what Mark doesn’t get—what drives him a little crazy—is why you keep pretending you’re fine.

Especially with him.

“I’m just—” you start, then stop yourself, jaw tightening as you press your lips together in visible frustration “—hungry.”

Your eyes drift past him, unfocused, flicking over the stream of students walking by. You look like you’re scanning them. Assessing.

“I should eat,” you mutter, dazed. “I should… eat something…”

Mark straightens in his seat, alarm rising in his chest. “I can get you something,” he offers quickly, ignoring the fact you’ve already eaten enough for three people today. He just wants to help. “Something sweet. Maybe your blood sugar’s low?”

You look up at him then, and something in your expression knocks the wind out of him. Your brows pinch, eyes cloudy, lips parted like you’re about to cry.

“That’s not enough,” you whisper.

Mark blinks. “What do you mean?”

Then, without hesitation, without shame, you whisper, “I wanna kiss someone.”

Mark freezes.

“What?”

“I need someone,” you repeat, more firmly this time, bracing your hands against the bench like you’re about to stand. “I’ll find someone. Just—stay here, okay? It won’t take more than fifteen minutes.” You push yourself up, but stumble as you take a step forward.

Mark doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Just stares at you like he doesn’t recognize you for a second.

Kiss someone? Now? You were clearly unwell—too pale, too drained, barely standing—but even now, even like this, you were going to throw yourself at some stranger? After spending the entire day together, after laughing and joking and walking shoulder-to-shoulder like you actually wanted to be around him?

His throat tightens. A bitter coil wraps around his heart, hot and suffocating and impossible to shake. Something ugly rears its head in his chest. A sick twist of frustration and hurt and—

God.

William was right.

Jealousy.

Mark presses his lips together. He doesn’t want to be the kind of guy who gets angry about this.

He’s not entitled to you. He never was.

But that doesn’t stop his hands from curling into fists in his lap, knuckles white.

Because you’re clearly hurting. And you won’t tell him why.

Because you’re pushing yourself toward strangers, toward danger, when he’s right here.

Because, for once, he wants you to pick him.

And you don’t.

Before you can take another shaky step, Mark stands up and grabs your wrist.

“No.”

The word comes out sharper than he means it to—clipped, almost angry.

You stop, turning to him with startled, uneasy eyes. “I’ll be right back, Mark. I swear.”

“No,” he says again, firmer this time, his brow knitting. “You’re about to collapse, Y/N. I’m not letting you go to—what, kiss some random guy just because you’re feeling off?”

You blink, taken aback by his tone. “Look, I get you’re worried, but—”

“No, Y/N,” he cuts in, voice rising, frustration breaking through. “I’ve never judged you for the crap people say about you, alright? Never cared what they whispered in the halls. But this? This is insane. You’re sick, and your solution is to hook up with a stranger? We’ve been here less than a day!”

The next words slip out before he can stop them.

“Can you not act like some hormone-crazed idiot for five minutes and just take care of yourself?”

The second the words leave his mouth, he wants to take them back. But it’s too late.

You go completely still, eyes going wide.

Then, slowly, your expression hardens.

“Hormone-crazed idiot?” you echo, voice low and cutting, disbelief flickering in your eyes. “Is that what you think I am?”

“Wait—Y/N, I didn’t mean—”

You tear your hand from his grip, expression stony. It’s like a dam breaks beneath your exhaustion, a spark of rage reigniting the strength that had been fading from you all day.

“What am I then, huh? Just some horny screw-up who can’t go a day without climbing someone? You think this is fun for me? That I like being like this?”

Mark shakes his head, panicked, but not quite understanding the meaning of your words. “No—God, no, that’s not what I meant, it’s just—”

“Guess I shouldn��t be surprised. Everyone else thinks I’m just some—some fucking slut who can’t keep it in his pants. But you—” Your voice breaks. “I thought you knew me better than that, Mark.”

Mark’s stomach drops. “I do! I swear I—”

Before he can finish, William’s voice cuts through the charged air, calling over the crowd, his arm linked with Rick’s.

“Hey, idiots! Having fun with—oh…” William’s voice trails off, sensing the thick tension between you two. He awkwardly lowers his raised arm. “Hey… is everything okay…?”

Mark barely holds back a groan, cursing himself for the words that slipped out so stupidly. He wants to apologize, to pull you aside, to fix it—

But then a sudden explosion shakes the ground beneath them, a cyborg-looking-monster crawling out of a hole.

What happens next is a blur of instinct and adrenaline. One second he’s Mark Grayson, desperate to take back his words—the next, he’s Invincible, saving his best friends from death.

And when it’s over, when he drags himself back, bruised and breathless, to where William and you are huddled in safety—

William stares at him, whispering under his breath, “Mark…?”

And you—you’re not surprised. Not even angry. You just frown, gaze deliberately avoiding his, eyes unreadable and distant.

It’s in that moment Mark knows he’s screwed up big time.

You don’t speak to him again until later, when the nightmare finally ends—Sinclair in GDA custody, William shaken but safe, and Rick badly wounded but alive.

“Can’t believe Sinclair nearly turned you into one of those things,” William mutters, arms wrapped tightly around Rick.

Mark stands off to the side, awkward and out of place in the fluorescent-lit room. You’ve long since excused yourself, mumbling something about sleeping this fucking day away. The words had been dressed up as a joke, but Mark saw through it—the way your hands trembled as you gripped the doorframe, the deep shadows under your eyes, the sheen of sweat clinging to your pale face.

He remembered the way you leaned on him earlier, how your steps had faltered, how you kept pretending you were okay.

You weren’t.

And now, after everything that’s happened, Mark’s worried sick.

“I’ll…” he starts, voice flat, drained. “I’ll go to bed too. You guys, um… get some rest.”

Rick nods. William does too, but his eyes linger—sharp, knowing, and meaningful. A silent get your shit together.

Mark tries.

The room is dim when he slips in, cold moonlight pooling faintly through the curtains. You’re already curled up on one of the beds, facing the wall. For a moment, he feels crushed because you’re still mad at him.

Moving quietly, he strips out of his clothes with mechanical, resigned motions, slipping into his pajamas—until your voice cuts through the silence.

“Mark?”

He freezes—mid-motion, halfway through tugging his jeans off—heart leaping to his throat.

He turns quickly to face you, finding you sitting up groggily in bed, hair tousled, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“Y/N,” he breathes, almost stumbling over your name. He’s so relieved to hear you talk to him again, but the guilt crashes in just as fast. “Are you—did I wake you? Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

You shake your head slowly, blinking away the haze. “No. I wasn’t really sleeping anyway.”

Mark hesitates by the edge of his bed, torn between giving you space and wanting to inch closer. “Do you… need something?” he asks softly. “Water? Food? Anything?”

You’re quiet for a beat, looking at him in a way that makes his heart clench—like you’re still tired, still hurt, but no longer angry. Just… worn down.

“Nah,” you murmur, voice low. “I’m fine.”

Silence stretches between you.

Mark sits there, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on him. He hates it—the tension, the awkwardness, the distance, especially when you were having such a good time today. The kind of fun that only happens when you’re with someone you really like.

And Mark likes you.

Probably a lot more than he wanted to admit.

Probably enough to get on his knees and beg if that’s what it would take to fix this. He’s already forming the words in his head, some clumsy apology laced with sincerity, when you speak first.

“So… Invincible, huh?” you mutter, the faintest edge of amusement cutting through your exhaustion.

Mark latches onto the sound of your voice—that tone—like a lifeline.

“Yeah,” he chuckles awkwardly, rubbing his neck. “That’s, uh. That’s me.”

You hum, noncommittal, gaze drifting toward the window. “Were you ever going to tell us?”

Mark’s breath catches. His smile falters. It would be easy to lie. To say yeah, eventually, of course.

But all that comes out is a quiet, “...I don’t know.”

You don’t say anything right away. You just rub at your eyes again, the way you always do when you’re trying to rub away sleep. It sets Mark on edge. His fingers twitch with the urge to reach out—check your temperature, get you water, make you take something, do something.

But he stays put.

Eventually, you exhale a long, slow breath. “It’s fine. I’m not mad about that.”

That.

Mark winces, the word cutting a little deeper than it should.

And then, finally, it spills out—earnest and clumsy and too fast.

“About—about what I said earlier…” he begins, voice low. “I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t care what you do—or don’t do—with other people. I swear. I was just… I was just really worried about you. You looked like you were about to pass out, and then hearing you say you wanted to kiss someone—God, I didn’t know what was happening. And I panicked. And I said something shitty. I’m sorry.”

Your expression doesn’t change at first. And Mark waits, his stomach a mess of nerves, the silence dragging sharp between you.

Then you sigh—long and heavy—and finally meet his eyes.

“I know,” you murmur. “God, I know. You don’t understand—can’t understand what—who I am. I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you for not knowing. That’s not fair.”

Mark frowns. He doesn’t feel any better—if anything, worse—because it sounds like you’re taking the blame for what he said. And that doesn’t sit right with him.

“What do you mean?” he asks, voice quiet. “I was the one who basically called you a hormonal mess to your face. That’s on me.”

You press your lips together and shake your head. “Yeah, well… I was the one who said I needed to kiss someone right there. Without context, that sounds…” You trail off, flinching, dragging a hand down your face. “I was out of it. I shouldn’t have said it like that, but I was desperate. Still am.”

Mark’s frown deepens, confusion flickering across his face. He opens his mouth, then closes it, unsure of what he even wants to ask. But the question lingers in his chest, heavy and jealous and aching.

Desperate? Still?

“You still…” he starts, then hesitates. “Still want to kiss someone?”

You blink at him, startled—but not like he’s wrong. More like you didn’t expect him to say it out loud.

Mark clears his throat, awkward, trying to shove the twist of jealousy in his chest down, his imagination running wild with images of you seeking out someone else’s lips in the dark.

“I… I think I’m gonna need a little more explanation than that,” he says carefully. “Because if this is still about kissing someone, I’m—uh—I’m not following.”

You go quiet for a moment, just looking at him—eyes uncertain, troubled, teeth pressing into your lower lip like you’re holding something in.

And that’s when Mark really sees it.

It’s serious. Whatever this is, it’s eating at you. And suddenly, he’s crossing the room without thinking, settling gently at the edge of your bed like he’s afraid to startle you.

“Hey,” he says softly. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

You look at him, eyes wide and tired, like you haven’t slept in days. And then, with a dry, humorless smile, you shake your head.

“Well,” you whisper, “now that I know you’re Invincible... guess I owe you some truth too.”

Mark’s pulse jumps. “Truth?”

“Call it… an exchange of secrets,” you say, voice quiet, almost shy in a way that makes Mark’s stomach flip.

He leans in without thinking, drawn like gravity. “A secret?” The word comes out breathless. He’d thought he knew everything about you.

You hesitate. Nervousness is written all over you—tense shoulders, twitching fingers, the way you can’t quite sit still. But even so, you meet his eyes, refusing to look away.

“Promise you won’t look at me differently,” you whisper, so quiet he has to lean even closer to hear. “Promise this won’t change anything between us.”

Mark doesn’t hesitate. “I promise.”

Because really—how bad could it be?

You lick your lips, glance down at your hands, still fidgeting in your lap.

“Mark,” you begin slowly, “my family has... a curse. It’s been in our blood for generations. And—” Your hands fist in the sheets. “There’s nothing I can do to stop it. I need you to understand that. This isn’t—it’s not a choice, okay?”

Mark’s brows knit together, already twitching with worry as his mind jumps to every worst-case scenario. He’s heard of curses. He’s seen what they can do. Amanda—Monster Girl—was proof enough that they were never just quirky inconveniences. People suffered under curses. People died because of them.

And the way you’re speaking now—so serious, so insistent, practically pleading—hits something raw inside him and twists.

He nods, quickly, urgently. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. I believe you.”

You swallow hard, hands tangled tightly in the bedsheets.

“I’m…” You close your eyes for a moment, like it physically hurts to say it. “I’m not—I’m not fully human, Mark.”

The silence that follows is thick.

Mark’s eyes widen, those words bouncing around his skull, impossible to ignore.

“Part of my bloodline—on my mother’s side—is something else,” you continue, carefully, assessing his reaction with anxious eyes. “We call it a curse, but it’s more like a... condition we inherit.”

Mark listens intently, piecing together the implications, nodding slowly along.

Finally, you exhale shakily, gaze steady but vulnerable.

“I’m part incubus.”

The words hang heavy in the air.

“That’s why I needed to kiss someone earlier,” you admit, fingers twisting in the sheets. Your cheeks burn even in the dim light. “Normal food... it’s not enough. I can eat it, but it doesn’t sustain me. I need—” A shaky exhale. “Arousal. Desire. Intimacy. The energy that comes with it.”

Mark watches as you shrink into yourself, the confession leaving you vulnerable in a way he’s never seen.

“And when I don’t...” You hesitate, then force yourself to go on. “When I go too long without it, my body starts to shut down. You saw it earlier today. That’s what it looks like when I’m starving. I was trying to hide it because I didn’t want—I didn’t want you to know this part of me.”

Mark just stares, stunned—not with disgust or fear, but with a dawning realization. His mind scrambles, trying to make sense of everything. Okay.You’re part incubus. He’s not totally sure what that entails, not really, but he can piece it together. You feed off arousal—off desire. And without it, you get sick. Really sick. Okay. That much he gets.

Then finally, softly, “You’re sick because you’re starving.”

You grimace at that, the words clearly stinging, and glance away. Still, you nod—just barely. A small, exhausted gesture.

“You kiss people to… eat?” he asks slowly. “So back at school—when you were with people—you were feeding?”

You don’t nod this time. You wince instead, tilting your head with an awkward expression.

“Not exactly,” you murmur. “I don’t feed from kisses. That’s not enough. I just…” Your voice dips, suddenly shy. “I just mess around long enough to make people feel... something. Get their arousal going. When things start to, y’know, heat up.”

The second that last phrase escapes your lips, you let out a groan and bury your face in your hands.

“God, I hate saying it out loud. I hate how it sounds. But it’s not like I can turn it off, okay? If I could, I would. Believe me.”

Your voice is muffled behind your palms, frustration and shame coloring every word.

“Hey, hey,” Mark says gently, reaching out to take your hands in his. He pulls them away from your face with soft insistence, making sure you see the sincerity written all over his expression. “I don’t care, okay? This isn’t something you chose. It’s not—it’s not your fault.”

Mark swallows hard, glancing at you again—really looking. You’re still pale. Still swaying a bit where you sit. There are dark, bruised shadows beneath your eyes, and you look one bad night away from collapsing.

“I mean… if you didn’t feed,” Mark says slowly, working through it aloud, “you’d be like this all the time, right? That sounds like it’d really suck. I mean, look at you now. You’re still…”

He trails off, his gaze drifting over you with a worried crease in his brow.

A short, dry huff escapes you. You blink at him, tired and a little amused. “Yeah. It sucks. I could even die.”

You say it so lightly, like it’s no big deal—like you’re joking—and it knocks the breath right out of him.

Mark stares, stunned for a beat, the weight of that sentence finally settling in.

Then he leans forward, closing the space between you, close enough that his breath brushes yours. His hands slide up to your shoulders, firm and grounding as he pulls you gently toward him.

“You could die?” Mark hisses, panic tightening his voice. His fingers dig into your shoulders, eyes wide with fear. “How—how much time do you have left? Why didn’t you tell me? Shit—we should find someone immediately. God, I was the one who stopped you earlier—I’m such an idiot. Oh my god, are you dying?”

“Mark, Mark, breathe,” you say, raising both hands in a placating gesture, a genuine—if tired—smile tugging at your lips. “That only happens in really extreme cases, alright? I’m nowhere near that point. I swear.”

Mark lets out a shaky breath, but his grip on you doesn’t ease.

“Then why not—” He swallows hard, hating the question even as it leaves his lips. “Why not stay with one person? Wouldn’t that be easier than constantly finding new people?”

What he really wants to ask is, Why aren’t you ever serious with anyone? Why not choose someone, stay safe, be safe?

But your eyes drop, the smile fades, and something heavy settles over your expression. You look sad.

Mark hates it instantly.

“Mark…” you murmur, hesitant. “You understand I feed off these people, right? What do you think that means?”

You don’t wait for his answer.

“There’s only so much I can take before they start breaking down,” you say, voice low. “At first it’s subtle—just a little fatigue. But after a week or two, it’s worse. They lose sleep. They get distracted. Their appetite drops. Their energy drains. And I’m not even feeding properly. Just kisses, Mark. Barely enough to keep myself upright, and it already wears them out.”

Mark’s brows knit together, the weight of your words hitting hard, sinking deep.

“And that’s me holding back,” you say, shoulders tense. “That’s me playing it safe. And it’s still not enough.”

You glance at him then, eyes glinting with something close to fear.

“What happens if I stop holding back? What if I lose control? What if I finally taste the real thing—and I can’t stop? I’m scared, Mark. I’m scared I’ll hurt someone. Kill someone.”

The raw honesty in your voice does something to Mark’s pulse. He should be shocked. Maybe even disturbed. But all he feels is an overwhelming pull—an urge to make you feel safe, to ease that pain etched into every word.

“The real thing?” he echoes, voice rough despite already knowing the answer.

You give a dry smile, raising a brow. “Sex, Mark.” Then your gaze drops, and color creeps into your cheeks as you mumble, embarrassed, “I think it’s the only thing that can truly sustain me. Maybe for months, if I’m lucky. But humans are—” You pause, frustration coloring your voice. “Humans are just so... fragile.”

Mark swallows hard, throat dry. He’s still holding onto your shoulders, the heat of your skin seeping through the soft fabric of your t-shirt. He can feel the tremor in your muscles, subtle but undeniable. The shallow rise and fall of your chest. Even now, even after spilling everything—you’re still trying to hold it together.

And he hates it.

Hates that you’re suffering.

Hates that he can’t fix it. Not unless you found someone to—

Found someone—

Someone.

Mark’s breath hitches. His eyes flicker from your face to his hands on you… then back up. The idea hits him like lightning—sudden, bright, impossibly simple and obvious.

His mouth moves before he can stop it.

“Can I help?”

Your head snaps up, eyes widening. “What?”

Mark doesn’t back down. His grip tightens slightly as he leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re starving. And I’m... here.” A beat. “Let me help.”

The offer hangs between you, trembling in the charged silence.

Mark can feel the heat rising to his face, nerves unraveling beneath his skin. He’s suddenly hyperaware of how close you are—close enough to see the way your pupils swallow the color of your eyes, close enough to feel your breath hitch.

“Mark,” you breathe, stunned. Then you shake your head quickly, like you’re trying to shake the thought loose. “No. That’s—did you not hear what I just said? I don’t wanna hurt you. You could end up dying—”

“I’m not human!” he blurts out, voice rising a little in panic, desperate for you to understand. “I mean—I’m not entirely human, like you. I’m half Viltrumite—that’s why I have these powers. An alien race on my dad’s side and—” He stops, shaking his head hard. That’s not the point. “Anyway! I’m strong. Durable. I heal fast and have insane stamina. I won’t—won’t get hurt if you…”

He trails off, drowning in his own embarrassment. God, he hopes he doesn’t sound desperate—just a friend trying to help. Nothing weird about it. Even if—shit—even if it means kissing you.

Mark nearly chokes on his own spit.

Yeah. Right. Kissing. That’s what he’s offering.

No—it’s more than that.

He feels it land in his stomach, heavy, hot, terrifying.

“If we have... sex,” he finishes, cheeks flaming. But the moment he says it, he feels stupid and awkward, his eyes darting everywhere but yours. “I—I mean, we can try. You feel awful all the time, right? And I’m strong. I can take it—I know I can. Because, you know…” He lets out a nervous, breathless laugh, too fast, too forced. “I’m, uh… I’m Invincible. That’s—ha—that’s me.”

The laugh dies a quiet death in his throat.

He bites his lip, eyes dropping to the floor. Silence settles between you again, thick and suffocating. Mark can hear the pounding of his heart, wild and humiliating, slamming against his ribs like it’s trying to escape. God—he sounds so stupid. You probably think he’s being weird. Or desperate. Or both.

Offering to—God. He can’t even say it in his own head without his face going up in flames. But he’s thinking it.

Worse—he’s been thinking it for a while now.

He starts remembering all those times you snuck off after school, slipping behind the gates with someone new, someone who wasn’t him. All those nights Mark lay in bed wondering what you were doing, what it would feel like if you picked him instead.

He remembers how you smiled at him in the middle of crowded hallways—just for a second—and how his heart would stutter in his chest like it forgot how to work. Only for that smile to shift to someone else a moment later, while Mark just stood there, swallowing disappointment like it was a habit.

He remembers how you flop onto his bed whenever you visited, casually thumbing through his comics and calling them lame with a crooked grin, even though you keep reading them anyway just because he likes them.

Your body stretched out in his sheets, your scent lingering in his pillows long after you’ve left. The way your lips tug into a smirk when Seance Dog does something stupid, or how you bite your lower lip when you’re focused, brow twitching every time a plot point annoys you. The way your smile sneaks in, helpless and honest, when you stifle a laugh just to mess with him.

Mark’s thought about kissing you before. Right there, in the quiet of his room, while you were sprawled across his bed, completely at ease. But he never dared.

And now, sitting here in the stillness of this dorm, you only inches away, the thought slips back in.

Mark thinks of kissing you again. Now. But he’s still too shy to try.

Then, soft and amused, you chuckle quietly, breaking the silence.

Mark’s head snaps up, lips already pulling into a nervous pout, bracing for your usual teasing.

But you’re not teasing.

You’re looking at him with something else in your eyes—soft wonder, a kind of startled tenderness, like you’re seeing him clearly for the first time. Your smile is crooked, small. “Invincible, huh.”

Mark swallows thickly and nods. “Invincible.”

A beat.

Then your fingers reach for his collar, curling into the fabric with a tremble he can feel, and Mark’s heart just stops.

“Mark Grayson,” you whisper, half awe, half fear, “do you have any idea what you’re signing up for?”

Mark’s never been more certain about anything.

“I do.”

You smile at him—soft, fond—and for the first time in what feels like forever, the exhaustion in your eyes eases, just a little. Just enough to make Mark’s chest tighten.

Then you tug him closer by the collar of his shirt, and Mark’s breath stutters. Your breath mingles with his—warm, steady, grounding—while his comes out shallow and trembling, lips parted, eyes half-lidded, skin flushed with want.

You’re so close. So unbelievably close. The heat of your lips brushes his, barely there, and Mark leans in without realizing, drawn to you like a magnet.

You inhale deeply, and then let out a soft, pleased hum, one that shudders down his spine.

“You really want it,” you whisper, almost to yourself, voice tinged with wonder. “I can smell it on you.”

Mark doesn’t get the chance to ask what that means—how you can know. Because then your mouth crashes into his, and you groan into the kiss like it’s a relief, like it’s something you’ve needed just as badly.

Mark’s eyes flutter shut, and melts.

It starts slow—tentative. Testing. But Mark sinks into the kiss like he was made for it, hands finding your waist and gripping tight. You sigh into his mouth, lips parting, and Mark doesn’t even think—he just deepens the kiss, tongue brushing yours, hungry and desperate and real.

And the noise you make—

God.

Mark’s never heard anything better.

He presses into you, completely lost in the moment—lost in the feel of your mouth against his. Slowly, your back meets the mattress with a soft thud, and Mark follows, bracing himself on his elbows and palms above you. But neither of you pulls away—not even for a second. The kiss deepens, tongues greedily tangling, hungry for more.

Heat coils low in Mark’s gut. His mind spins, thoughts breaking apart like static. It’s overwhelming—in the best possible way. Your mouth is warm, wet, desperate, kissing him like you want to devour him.

And maybe… maybe you do.

When he finally pulls back, gasping, the sight of you steals what little breath he has left. Color has returned to your cheeks, your eyes bright and focused now, dark with want. The transformation is startling—like watching a wilting flower spring back to life after rain.

Mark swallows thickly. “Better?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

You inhale, lips slick and a little swollen. “Better,” you murmur. Then you raise a hand, fingers brushing tenderly along his cheek. “You?”

Mark pauses. He thinks about the warmth simmering in his chest, the way his skin tingles under your touch, how every nerve feels alive. If you’re better, that means it’s working—that you’re feeding off his arousal. Off him. But he doesn’t feel drained. Not really. Just the heady buzz of desire, the thrill of finally having you beneath him. If this is what feeding you feels like, he’d gladly offer himself up again and again.

“Still good,” he murmurs, smiling crookedly. “Really good.”

Your smile lights up the dim space between you as you pull him back down. Mark groans into the kiss, body sinking against yours when your hand slips behind his back and pulls him in. Chest to chest. Hips to hips. The contact burns through his clothes, sending sparks dancing along his nerves.

This is for you, he thinks wildly as his hips jerk forward of their own accord. To make you strong again.

The moan you let out against his lips is downright sinful. Your legs part instinctively, guiding him to slot perfectly between them. “Mark—” you gasp, fingers tightening in his hair, “are you sure—”

His answer comes in another sharp roll of his hips, drawing a punched-out sound from your throat that goes straight to his cock.

Yes. God, yes.

No words could possibly capture the certainty thrumming through his veins. You seem to understand anyway, arching up to meet his next thrust with a filthy grind that has you both moaning into each other’s mouths.

The heat between you is unbearable now—the drag of fabric against oversensitive skin, the way your hardening lengths press together with each desperate movement. Mark’s never been this hard in his life, every nerve ending alight with the need to give you more, more, more.

“So good,” you slur against his lips, voice thick with pleasure. “Fuck, Mark, so good—”

The words go straight to his core, and Mark’s eyes flutter shut, hips moving faster, chasing that sound, chasing that praise. He wants to hear it again. He wants to earn it. Relishing the way your body trembles beneath him—not from exhaustion now, but from the pleasure he’s giving you.

He can feel it happening; the strength returning to your limbs even as his own energy wanes. It’s not unpleasant—just a deep, satisfying fatigue, like after an intense flight. More than worth it to see color flooding back into your face, to feel your grip on him growing steadier by the second.

So he keeps going, harder, faster, grinding against you like some hopelessly horny teenager.

Turns out the hormone-crazed idiot had been him all along.

“F-Fuck—” Mark chokes out, his voice raw with need, skin flushed and hypersensitive. “Y/N... god, Y/N...”

You moan in response, fingers twisting in his shirt as you drag him closer. The kiss turns messy—all biting lips and clashing teeth, the kind of desperate intensity that leaves you both breathless. Your hands slip beneath his shirt, palms scorching trails across the sweat-slick planes of his back. Mark shudders violently, muscles jumping under your touch.

“Mark—” you gasp, arching up against him, pleasure painting your features. “Mmh, Mark—”

And it hits him.

You’re in the dorms.

William and Rick are probably still very much awake. It’s the middle of the night. And both of you are getting way too loud.

Mark’s face flames with embarrassment.

And when you open your mouth to moan again, he panics—just a little—and presses a hand gently over your mouth to muffle the sound.

Your eyes fly open, dazed and confused, locking with his. And shit—the sight of you like that nearly makes him lose it right then and there.

“Shh,” Mark whispers, breath ragged, forehead pressing against yours. “They’ll hear us.”

You go still for a beat, eyes flicking to the door like you’ve only just remembered where you are. Then you nod slowly, locking eyes with him again.

Mark gives a shallow thrust, still holding his palm over your mouth, just in case. This time, with your lips no longer fused together, his eyes remain open—watching every microexpression of pleasure that crosses your face. The way your pupils blow wider with each thrust. The tension building in your jaw. Most striking of all—the life flooding back into your exhausted features as you meet him halfway.

The silent exchange is somehow more intense than the noises you’d been making before. Mark reads every hitched breath in the flutter of your lashes, every spike of pleasure in the way your fingers dig into his back.

The room is filled with nothing but the sound of heavy breathing, the faint creak of the old bed, and the rustle of tangled sheets. Your gazes lock, dark and searching and hungry. And god, god, Mark has never felt anything like this.

There’s a thrill buzzing down his spine, a flutter in his chest that’s got nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with you. His heart pounds wildly, not just from exhaustion, but from pure, surging adrenaline—pumping heat into every vein, every muscle.

His muscles twitch and flex instinctively from the sheer pleasure wracking his body. His breath catches and his cock aches, hard and leaking into his boxers, needier than it’s ever been.

Mark wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

The heat coils inside him, slow and molten, building pressure with every thrust and grind of your hips against his. Your eyes never leave him, and it wrecks him. That look—like he’s the only thing in the world that matters. The way you’re giving yourself to him, trusting him, wanting him.

Wanting him.

You want him.

The realization hits like lightning, and Mark’s whole body reacts—hips grinding harder, cock pulsing desperately, breath coming fast and uneven as the world narrows to nothing but you. His brain short-circuits, every rational thought evaporating under the weight of that need.

Then your hand slips down.

Past his waistband.

Fingers wrap around his cock, warm and sure and so willing.

Mark chokes on a breath, buries his face in the crook of your neck just as you stroke him—once, twice.

And that’s all it takes.

His whole body shudders violently as he comes, hard, gasping into your skin, cock pulsing in your hand, spilling over your fingers with a soundless cry. His hips jerk helplessly as you milk every last drop from him, until he collapses against you, sensitive and spent.

His breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps, thighs twitching, mind blissfully blank. The exhaustion hits him like a wave—a deep, satisfying lethargy that weighs down his limbs, his eyelids fluttering as he fights to stay awake.

“You okay?” you murmur, voice rough, fingers still lazily stroking his oversensitive flesh. Mark shudders, biting back a whimper, and instead sinks his teeth into your shoulder—not hard, just enough to ground himself. “Mark?”

“I’m fine…” he slurs, voice thick with sleep and satisfaction. “God, I’m so fucking fine.”

You chuckle, low and warm, but your grip tightens again, just for a second—just enough to have him whining, squirming, his spent cock twitching pathetically in your hold before you finally relent.

Mark forces himself up on shaking arms, giving you space to breathe. But in that exact moment, as your hand slips free of his boxers—fingers glistening with his release—he sees something that nearly undoes him all over again.

With zero hesitation, you bring those cum-slick fingers to your mouth—and lick them clean.

Mark’s brain short-circuits.

His mouth goes dry as he watches your tongue flick out, slow and deliberate, catching every drop like it’s something precious, your eyes locked on his the entire time—daring him to look away.

“Shit—” Mark chokes, his spent body throbbing weakly at the sight. “Y/N—”

You hum, eyes fluttering shut as if savoring the taste, lips curling into a sinful little smirk.

Mark swears under his breath, his energy draining further, vision blurring at the edges—but even now, even exhausted, he can’t tear his gaze away.

And all Mark can think is he did that.

He made you feel alright.

He gave you strength again.

Because you’re glowing—god, you’re glowing.

“Y/N…” he breathes, voice trembling. “Are you—are you feeling okay now?”

You hum contentedly, licking the last traces of cum from your fingers with a satisfied sigh. “Never been better.”

Mark’s answering smile is drowsy but genuine. “Good. That’s... good.” His eyelids flutter despite his best efforts to keep them open.

“Mark?” you ask gently, sensing the shift in his body—how it droops, how his muscles go slack.

He blinks at you, slow and owlish, trying to hum an answer. He’s fighting it—desperately trying to stay awake, to prove to you that he’s okay. That you don’t have to worry. That he’s strong enough to do it again, whenever you need it.

But he can’t.

It’s like trying to fight anesthesia—his consciousness slipping despite his will, soft and slow and inevitable.

To his surprise, you don’t panic. Instead, a tender smirk curves your lips as you guide his swaying body off of you, helping him roll onto his side so he lands beside you instead of collapsing on top. You tug the sheets over both of you with a quiet, satisfied sigh, then curl around him, limbs tangling comfortably with his.

Mark still has just enough strength to pull you closer, wrapping his arms around you in return.

The very last thing he feels is the soft brush of your lips at the corner of his mouth.

And then, everything fades.

Since that night, nothing’s happened between you again.

The very next morning, you thanked him with a soft kiss to his cheek, all warm affection and casual ease. You seemed energized, almost thriving, while Mark woke up feeling sluggish and tired—though nothing serious enough to make either of you worry.

You even laughed when you noticed how drained he was. “If I tried that with a regular human,” you said thoughtfully, “they’d probably drop into a small coma, I think.”

So… yeah. Mark had to admit, his Viltrumite heritage did come with some perks beyond just strength.

And for a while, you were fine. More than fine.

Mark watched you through the days, then weeks—half expecting you to suddenly corner a random classmate and start making out with them just to feed again. But you didn’t. Not once.

Which probably had something to do with the fact that you’d… well. Eaten his cum. You mentioned it offhandedly once, saying it gave you an “energetic bonus,” like it was a protein shake or something. And Mark—Mark thought about that for hours. Days, maybe.

He’d let you do it again in a heartbeat. Every day, if you asked. At any time. Anywhere.

And that’s the problem.

You haven’t asked.

Apparently, whatever you got out of him that night was enough to keep you going for weeks. Which is honestly impressive, considering the two of you didn’t even have full-on sex. You just… grinded against each other and you gave the world’s shortest handjob—and he still passed out immediately after like some overwhelmed virgin.

Because, well, he was overwhelmed.

Mark tells himself he needs to work on his stamina. He can’t let that happen again—not if he wants to actually get to the next phase with you. Not if he wants to please you, the way you made him feel that night.

But it’s also true—you were starving back then. Maybe you pulled more from him than you usually would. Maybe the lust, the arousal, the craving he felt for you gave you a bigger energy hit than either of you realized.

Whatever the reason, ever since he tasted your lips, Mark’s been a mess.

The memory of your mouth on his, your body moving against his—it’s been looping in his head, like some kind of self-inflicted torture. Every brush of your shoulder in the hallway sends sparks racing down his spine. Every laugh, every look, every accidental touch leaves him dizzy and desperate.

But no matter how much he’s burning for it, you haven’t brought it up again.

And it’s driving him insane.

Until today.

Today, everything crashes in on him at once—final exams before graduation, the pressure of saving the world, the delicate balancing act of being both Mark Grayson and Invincible. And on top of it all, the world is still feeling the aftermath of his dad’s betrayal—cities still recovering and people still mourning.

Nobody’s surprised that he’s been... off lately. Tense. Angry all the time.

And today, today, he needs to forget. He needs to focus, needs to scrape his mind back together and make it through these tests. Needs to at least try to get into that stupid university where, in some far-off dream, he’d get to kiss you for the first time all over again.

So it happens that morning.

You’re standing by your open locker, flipping through your notes with a nervous sort of energy—brows furrowed, lips pressed together, eyes flicking over the pages like you’re trying to memorize your way out of a breakdown.

Mark drags himself to the locker beside yours, slow and heavy, his limbs weighed down by too many thoughts—things he doesn’t want to forget and things he wishes he couldn’t remember.

Then, his gaze flickers—unconsciously, inevitably—toward you.

Mark sees the pinch in your brows, the way your eyes dart over your notes, how your foot taps restlessly against the tile floor. You’re clearly stressed, just like him. But that’s not what gets him.

What always gets him—every damn day, at every damn hour—is your mouth. The shape of your lips. The way your tongue sneaks out to wet them. The soft pink-red shade. The memory of how they felt, how warm they were, how much he wants to kiss them again.

And again.

“Mark?” you ask suddenly, voice cutting through his spiraling thoughts.

He flinches, eyes snapping up from your lips to your eyes.

“Y-yeah?” he stammers, cheeks flaring with heat.

You stare at him for a beat too long—head tilted slightly, brow raised, eyes scanning his face with something unreadable. Then, your nose flares subtly, like you just smelled something... good.

But instead of saying anything, you just shrug and turn back to your locker.

“Man, these exams got me super stressed out,” you say, casually, as if you hadn’t just caught him staring like a lovesick fool. “I just want school to be over already.”

Mark exhales, trying to ground himself, shoving thoughts of your lips out of his head. Focus. Focus on the tests. On anything else.

He forces a grin. “Tell me about it. I’ve been studying and dreaming about studying. Like—actual nightmares about textbooks chasing me. It’s the worst.”

You huff, amused, tossing the last of your things into your locker before checking the time on your phone.

“We still have time,” you say simply.

Mark grabs a single book and looks at you, hopeful. “Wanna keep studying?”

But you snatch the book from his hand and shove it back into his locker, slamming the door shut. Mark blinks, wide-eyed, and barely has time to react before you step in—closer than close—close enough for your breath to ghost against his ear.

Mark goes completely still.

“Don’t you wanna do something else?” you whisper, voice a low, teasing purr that sends a sharp shiver down his spine. “Like… come with me behind the school. Just us. I can help you unwind. And, y’know…”

Your fingers trail down his chest slowly, making Mark swallow hard, until your hand finds his wrist and wraps around it, firm and sure.

“…I’m feeling kind of hungry.”

You pull back just enough to meet his gaze, eyes gleaming with mischief, a small smirk tugging at your lips like you already know the answer.

And you do.

Mark, predictably, nods dumbly, heart hammering against his ribs.

Your smirk deepens, and without missing a beat, you spin around and tug him along by the wrist. Mark follows—half dazed, half panicked—as you lead him somewhere behind the buildings, wherever it is you always take people when you’re like this.

His face burns, pulse racing—not just from anticipation, but from the very public nature of this. People glance your way, eyes trailing from your linked hands to Mark’s flushed face, some raising their brows knowingly.

Because you have a reputation.

And when you disappear behind buildings with someone flushed and breathless, it only ever means one thing.

And Mark’s flushed and breathless, alright—practically being dragged to that one secluded spot you always claim for yourself.

Is this... is this what it is? What he is? Just your new hookup to mess around with?

No—no. Because unlike the others before him, Mark’s your best friend.

You wouldn’t just discard him. Right?

Besides, Mark’s stronger. Better. He can handle you feeding on him, handle the drain, handle you. He’s not like the rest. He offered. He wanted this.

You chose him.

That’s what he tells himself when you shove him gently against the cold concrete wall behind the school, shadows swallowing you both whole.

You smile at him—soft, sweet—before leaning in and kissing him.

And god, that’s exactly what he’s been craving since the first time.

Mark melts, instantly, like wax under your touch, his arms sliding around your waist to pull you closer. You fit against him like you’re made for it. Your mouth, your kiss, your tongue—everything syncs with his like it’s something you’ve done a thousand times before. Like it’s natural.

Yet, a treacherous part of Mark’s mind—still conscious, still worried—whispers that maybe all the others you’ve kissed against these very same walls thought the exact same thing. That they were special. That they could handle you.

Only for you to leave them two weeks later when they couldn’t keep up.

And now Mark’s heart pounds, not with lust—but fear.

He has to hold it together. Has to prove himself.

He doesn’t want to be another body you use and then forget. Doesn’t want to be weak—doesn’t want to collapse every time you touch him.

He wants to be the one you keep coming back to.

And then—

Then your hands move down, fingers fumbling with the buckle of his jeans.

And Mark completely loses it.

He tears away from your mouth with a breathy gasp, eyes wide, voice ragged. “Y/N?”

You pause, blinking at him, fingers still lightly tugging at his belt. Your expression softens—almost embarrassed.

“Is this okay?” you ask, voice quiet. “I wanted to… suck you off. But I don’t know if—”

You stop yourself, shaking your head like you’re mad for even thinking it. Your fingers begin to retreat, pulling away from his jeans.

“Forget it,” you mutter, avoiding his gaze. “We have exams. You’re already tired. I don’t want to make you worse if I—ugh. Stupid of me. Kisses are fine.”

You lean in again, lips parted, ready to claim his mouth like before—but this time, Mark stops you.

Because the moment the words suck you off left your lips, he stopped hearing anything else.

“You can,” Mark rasps, voice thick. “I want you to. I can take it.”

You pause—eyes searching his face, unsure for just a second. But then your nose flares again, catching his scent, and you close your eyes like it’s the best thing you’ve ever breathed in.

“Fine,” you murmur, voice thick and hazy. “Tell me to stop if it’s too much.”

Mark nods—more a reflex than a conscious answer—because he couldn’t form real words even if he tried.

And then, with aching slowness, you sink to your knees in front of him. Your hands move to the waistband of his jeans, careful and deliberate as you tug them down, freeing his straining cock from his underwear.

Mark’s hands instinctively fly back, palms splayed flat against the wall as his knees buckle slightly. He needs the support, because if he doesn’t hold himself up, he’s sure he’ll collapse the moment your mouth touches him.

Your eyes flick up at him, half-lidded and glassy with heat. Then you reach forward and wrap your hot fingers around his cock.

Mark yelps, his whole body jolting, cheeks burning red from the base of his throat to the tips of his ears.

“Y/N—” his voice cracks embarrassingly as his cock twitches in your grip. This can’t be real. This can’t actually be happening.

You hum approvingly, pumping him slowly once, twice, watching with rapt fascination as a bead of precum wells up at his tip.

“Already so hard for me,” you muse, thumb swiping through the moisture.

The casual observation makes Mark’s head thud back against the wall, a quiet, mortified groan leaving him.

But whatever embarrassment he feels is drowned out by the overwhelming flood of arousal, lust, and whatever else it is you feed on coursing through him.

You probably enjoy it—how easily he falls apart for you, how effortlessly his body responds, like you don’t even have to work for it.

You probably love it. Because then you lean in, face close to his cock, eyes fluttering shut as you inhale deeply—drawing in the raw scent of his arousal straight from the source, your warm breath ghosting over the flushed, sensitive tip.

“Fuck,” you whisper, pupils blown wide. “You smell perfect.”

Mark doesn’t have the brain to process what that even means, not when the question gets stuck in his throat and dissolves the second your tongue flicks over the tip of his cock.

A choked groan tears from his chest as you start to lick, slow and deliberate, savoring the precum with deep, focused sucks. His knees buckle slightly, and he squeezes his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to ground himself, to focus on anything other than the maddening heat of your mouth.

But it’s impossible.

You’re shameless—licking and sucking him like this is just natural for you, like it’s not embarrassing at all the way it’s mortifying for him. Your tongue moves up and down his shaft in wet, lazy strokes, then circles the head with practiced ease before you suck again, harder this time.

You groan, low and satisfied, and the vibration shoots straight through him.

Mark shudders, his hips jerking slightly, and helpless little sounds tumble out of his mouth before he can even think to swallow them down. And then—shit—then your mouth opens wider, lips stretching, tongue curling, and you take more of him in. Inch by inch, hot and wet, deeper and deeper.

Mark nearly loses it right there.

His back slams harder into the wall, his fists curling uselessly at his sides as he fights the urge to completely fall apart. But it’s not because you’re draining him—not yet, at least—it’s because it’s you.

Y/N. His best friend. The guy he’s been crushing on for way too long. On your knees behind the school, mouth full of him like it’s nothing, like it’s something you want.

It’s insane. He’s insane.

Shit—shit.

Mark dares to glance down, eyes wide and glassy with stunned pleasure, needing to see it to believe it.

And the sight nearly breaks him.

You, between his legs, hands steady on his hips, eyes half-lidded with hunger and focus. Your lips, stretched wide and glistening, moving up and down his cock with obscene wet sounds. His shaft gleams with spit and precum, slick and throbbing, disappearing and reappearing between your lips.

He moans again, soft and wrecked, unable to look away.

Meanwhile, you’re letting out soft, muffled sounds around the thick length stuffed in your mouth—like you really like it. Like you’re losing yourself in the sensation of having Mark buried so deep, your mouth full of him, nose flaring with every push of his hips. The wet, obscene noises echo in the tight space, and your brows furrow—not from discomfort, but something heady, something near-blissful.

It’s like pleasure for you. Something Mark can’t fully grasp, not when you feed off this—feed off him—like this is more than just sex, like it’s sustenance.

Then, on a particularly sharp thrust—Mark can’t help it, his hips moving on instinct—his tip hits the back of your throat.

You gag softly, breath hitching, teary eyes snapping open, glassy and dazed.

Mark curses under his breath, panicked, already pulling back, the apology forming fast on his lips—

But then you moan.

Loudly. Lewdly. Fingers digging into his hips, dragging him back in.

Mark nearly collapses.

“Oh—oh god—” he chokes out, his grip on the wall slipping as his thighs tense.

You don’t stop—don’t even slow down. You just suck harder, deeper, hungrier. Mark can feel the heat of your mouth wrapped around every inch of him, and it’s too much—it’s so much.

“Y/N,” he gasps, “God—I’m gonna—”

But you don’t let go. If anything, your pace quickens, mouth working him with precision and purpose. Mark’s knees shake, buckling slightly, and he nearly traps your head between his trembling thighs without meaning to.

“Y/N—fuck, I’m so—so close!”

You hum again, low and satisfied, like that’s exactly what you wanted to hear. Like his desperate moans and breathless whines are feeding you, pouring that raw energy straight into your core. And you take it, eyes fluttered shut in bliss, like this is your version of heaven.

“Y/N—” Mark gasps, a final, desperate warning.

But you don’t stop. Fierce and hungry, you take him in again—once.

Twice.

And that’s all it takes.

Mark comes with a deep, guttural groan, his head thrown back against the wall, hips jerking forward to bury himself to the hilt in the wet heat of your mouth. Hot, bitter release spills from him in thick pulses, straight down your throat—and you gulp it down without hesitation, moaning like it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted.

The sounds you make—hungry, pleased, possessive—echo in the tight space, and Mark’s entire body trembles under the weight of it all.

His thighs shake violently, straining from the effort to stay standing. His vision flickers at the edges, a burst of white noise flashing across his mind. He’s faintly aware of the wall at his back, of the air that won’t quite fill his lungs, and the overwhelming, foggy pleasure that steals every coherent thought.

He’s fine. He tells himself that. He has to be.

Because he wants to prove he’s stronger than the others. That he can take it. That he can give and keep giving if that’s what you need.

Even as the lightness threatens to pull him under.

But just as his cock begins to soften, your mouth stays—closes tight around the tip, fingers curling around the base where your lips can’t reach. You start stroking again, firm and insistent, while your tongue circles his oversensitive head.

You’re milking him. Ruthlessly. Determined to get every last drop.

Mark jerks with a sharp cry, the overstimulation sending electricity through his nerves. His hands claw at the wall, legs quaking uncontrollably.

“Y/N—” he breathes, voice high and wrecked, “Jesus Christ, that’s—! I—I can’t—!”

And finally, finally, you stop.

You pull off him with a soft gasp, your breath hot and ragged. His cock slips free, flushed and twitching, coated in your spit and what’s left of his release.

You lick your lips lazily, and smile. That same satisfied, gleaming smile that tells Mark you got exactly what you wanted.

Slowly, you rise to your feet, flushed and glowing—energized in a way that almost radiates off your skin—while Mark’s left trembling, still caught in the aftershocks of his high.

“My god, Mark,” you huff a breathless laugh, eyes sparkling. “That was—I’ve never felt anything so—” You cut yourself off when you finally take in his state—the sweat beading at his temples, the way his chest heaves. Concern flickers across your face. “You good?”

Mark immediately shakes his head, trying to clear the static clouding his thoughts. “M’fine... I’m just—overwhelmed,” he admits, voice hoarse but honest.

You pause, frown flickering briefly across your lips as you glance him over more carefully. He’s pale. Wobbly. Still fighting to steady his breath. A pang of guilt twists in your chest—maybe you took too much. Maybe he wasn’t ready. Maybe he’s going to drop right here and hit the damn pavement.

But Mark, breathless and clearly drained but stubbornly determined to prove a point, straightens off the wall on shaky legs.

“I’m fine,” he says again, firmer this time. “Really. That was—” he exhales deeply, a dazed smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “that was so good.”

Your face lights up again, the concern replaced by a beaming grin. “Damn right it was! Mark, you taste amazing. I’ve never tasted so much—fuck, I didn’t think I’d ever get to have that much cum,” you ramble, fast and thrilled, practically buzzing with glee. “It energizes me so much, like—Jesus, I could live off you... Do you need help with that?”

You gesture toward his pants, still hanging open. Mark blinks, dazed and stunned by your casually filthy words, but still gives a small nod.

You hum, pleased, as you crouch slightly to tug his jeans back up, fingers moving with practiced care. You even take your sweet time buckling his belt again, still grinning to yourself like this is the best thing that’s happened all week.

Meanwhile, Mark struggles to steady his breathing, eyes half-lidded as he watches your every movement. He savors the careful way you straighten his clothes, tugging his shirt down gently before reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his damp forehead.

His breath catches when your palm lingers against his cheek.

“You okay?” you ask again, softly, trying to sound serious—but the buzz of energy beneath your skin, the high of feeding, makes your voice a little too bright.

Mark smiles, slow and fond. “Amazing.”

“You’re not, like… out of it, are you?” you press, brows furrowed. “Still with me?”

He lifts his hand to cover yours, holding it against his cheek as he leans into your touch like he never wants you to let go.

“I’m fine,” he murmurs. “Better than fine. I actually feel…” He trails off, searching for the right words. There’s some drowsiness, sure, but it’s the good kind. “Relaxed. Like—really relaxed. Not anxious anymore.”

Your smirk is immediate, the faintest blush touching your cheeks. You look so alive—flushed and glowing, like the fatigue Mark had always assumed was your default had never really belonged to you. For months, he thought you were just… exhausted all the time. Turns out, you were starving.

“Good,” you say, lacing your fingers through his. The contact sends a fresh spark along Mark’s nerves. “Come on—we’ve still got time to meet up with William, Eve, and Amber. We can cram together before the test.”

Mark stumbles after you, legs still shaky, cheeks still burning, head still in a haze—but for entirely new reasons. The memory of your mouth on him lingers like a brand, and the knowledge that he alone can sustain you without breaking sends a possessive thrill through his veins.

He’ll be ready whenever you need him again.

When you need him again, Mark’s in the middle of arranging his things at the Upstate U dorms.

He’s been trying not to sulk about the dorm assignments. Really. It’s fine that you’re rooming with some random guy instead of him. Totally fine. And hey, it’s not all bad. He’s rooming with William, and you’re only three doors down.

However, when he’s strolling back with his Seance Dog action figure on hand, he spots it—the damn sock on the doorknob. The one William had declared as their “do not disturb” signal. Mark freezes, then groans loudly enough that a passing freshman gives him a weirded out stare.

Rolling his eyes, Mark turns on his heel and makes a beeline for your door instead. No knock. No warning. He just pushes it open like it’s a completely normal thing to do.

You’re in the middle of unpacking, back to the door, bent slightly as you shove clothes into your half of the closet.

“William’s having sex,” Mark grumbles as his greeting, shutting the door behind him.

You let out a startled laugh, glancing over your shoulder. “Already? It’s literally the first day of college.”

“Right?!” Mark perks up, pointing at you like he’s just been seen. “I was thinking the exact same thing! Who even has sex on the first day of college? I haven’t even finished unpacking.”

You snort again, amused, and turn back to your stuff. “Sucks for you,” you say with a teasing smirk. “But since you’re here, wanna help me put my stuff away?”

Mark’s shoulders sag dramatically as his eyes sweep over the room—half-open boxes everywhere, clothes spilling out, chaos even worse than his own side of the dorm. “Aw, man.”

“You chose to come here, Mark,” you say with a grin, reaching out and grabbing his wrist, pulling him toward the mountain of chaos you call your stuff. “Now suffer the consequences.”

Mark lets out a dramatic sigh as he lets you tug him along, but his protests are half-hearted at best. He grumbles the entire time—loudly and performatively—but never actually stops helping. He jokes through it, snickers when he finds weird stuff in your boxes, and keeps rearranging things the way he thinks they should go, just to mess with you.

He doesn’t really mind. In fact, Mark loves it—being near you, touching your things, asking dumb questions just to hear you talk. Every little trinket you pull out is a new excuse to stay a little longer.

By the time the bed is made, your desk is mostly arranged, and the floor is walkable again, Mark flops down face-first onto your mattress with a dramatic sigh. He rolls over onto his back, one arm slung lazily across his chest, and watches you fiddle with the last few decorations on your desk.

“What’s up with that thing?” he asks, nodding at a pretty trinket you’re setting in the corner. “Looks ancient.”

You glance over your shoulder, then shrug. “Oh, this? Just a stupid family relic. Supposed to bring me good luck or something.”

Mark pushes himself up on one elbow. “Family relic?”

“Yeah!” you nod brightly—then pause, eyes flicking to him with a slightly sheepish look. “Y’know. That side of the family, if you get me.”

That perks Mark right up. You rarely mention your incubus lineage, let alone the mysterious relatives who share it.

“Does it actually work?” he asks, genuinely intrigued. “The luck thing, I mean.”

You chuckle, fingers brushing over the trinket. “Sure it works.”

Mark straightens completely, eyes wide and full of wonder. “Really? How?”

You turn to him slowly, expression softening into something warm and deeply fond. Then you rise from the chair, walk over, and drop down beside him, the mattress dipping under your weight. You don’t say anything at first, just smile as your hand reaches up, tenderly cradling his cheek.

Mark’s breath catches.

“Well,” you murmur, thumb brushing lightly over his skin, “I met you, didn’t I.”

And Mark’s heart just—melts. There’s no other word for it. It swells in his chest and bursts behind his ribs like a supernova, a rush of feelings he doesn’t bother to hide.

Then he leans into your touch without thinking, eyes fluttering for half a second. “It must work both ways, then,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

You laugh gently—and god, he loves that sound. It lights up your whole face. There’s something about it, that laugh, that smile, like it always bubbles out of you before you can stop it. Like you can’t help but be happy in his presence.

Mark watches you, eyes soft, his heart thudding like it’s trying to tell him something—like this is the moment. His hand is a little clammy against the blanket. He’s thinking about kissing you. Really kissing you.

But he doesn’t.

Because the truth is, aside from those two times you fed off him, you never actually kissed. Not once. And not because you didn’t want to—but because if you weren’t hungry, if there was no need to satiate that part of you, neither of you ever crossed that line.

Still, you liked touching him. You liked brushing shoulders when you walked together. Liked laying your head on his shoulder during long movies. When you visited his house, you liked sneaking into his bed just to nap together—curled into him like you belonged there.

Mark misses your lips. But if you weren’t hungry—if you didn’t have to feed—then both of you stayed in your safe little bubble.

Would it be weird if Mark kissed you right now?

Would you think he’s being a weird friend?

Mark doesn’t know where the two of you stand. Yeah—you’ve grinded against each other, you’ve sucked him off behind the school. But what did it mean? Just a way for you to feed yourself? Or did it mean more?

Did he mean more?

Mark can’t tell. Isn’t sure.

But when you look at him like this—all soft eyes, quiet smiles, that unshakable tenderness lighting up your whole face—Mark lets himself wonder. Can he believe for even a second that you feel the same way he does?

Can he kiss you?

“You can,” you whisper, soft as a secret.

Mark freezes.

Eyes widen just a little in surprise. For a moment, he thinks maybe you read his mind—but then he realizes…

He said that out loud.

And you said yes.

“…Really?” he asks, heart in his throat.

You laugh, soft and fond, thumb brushing along his jaw. With the same hand still cradling his face, you guide him closer, slowly, until your lips almost touch. “Really.”

Mark closes the distance.

He kisses you.

Not like before. Not the frantic, life-sustaining kisses you’d taken from him. This is something softer. Something given.

His heart races, hand rising to cup the curve of your cheek, thumb brushing your skin as he closes his eyes, savoring the softness, the warmth, trying to burn the sensation into his memory, into his very flesh.

You sigh softly, lips parting slowly as you deepen the kiss. Mark holds back a groan, turning it into a breathy gasp instead, his tongue meeting yours with a shy hesitation. He tastes the faint hint of chocolate from the snack you’d eaten earlier while taking a break from unpacking. Unable to resist, he gently sucks on your tongue, and you shudder against him, a soft moan slipping free.

God, Mark loved it. Loves it. Couldn’t get enough. Wanted this—wanted you—forever.

He tilts his head, deepening the kiss further, teeth catching on your bottom lip in a playful bite. One hand sneaks around your lower back, pulling you closer—

Then someone knocks on the door.

You freeze against each other, lips still brushing as you pull apart just enough to share a wide-eyed look. Your cheeks are flushed, your breathing uneven—beautiful, Mark thinks, already mourning the loss.

“Probably my roommate,” you murmur, catching your breath as the knocking comes again. “I’ll check.”

Mark pouts, reluctant to let go, but quickly squares his jaw and puts on his best tough-guy face. If this is your roommate, then he’s definitely marking his territory. No one’s stealing his best friend.

You give him a faint, sheepish smile when he slides a protective arm around your waist, and then you reach for the door handle.

But the second it swings open, you both freeze again.

Right there, in the hallway, is fucking Seance Dog in the flesh.

Mark reacts immediately, stepping between you and the bizarre cloaked figure before him, grabbing its body. “Who the hell are you—?”

The creature—Seance Dog—launches into a rambling explanation, but Mark barely registers it. His attention is locked on the hallway beyond the open door, where students pass by, oblivious.

You spin on your heel, eyes wide, rushing to the window. “Go! I’ll find backup!”

Turns out “backup” is William, who stumbles after you through the wooded edge of campus, half out of breath and half-convinced this is some elaborate prank, while you yell, “Yes, the Seance Dog! No, I don’t mean cosplay!”

When you both catch up, Mark is standing in a clearing, arms crossed, face tight with frustration. Mark turns when he hears your voice and immediately starts explaining—Thraxa, billions of people in danger, yada, yada. It’s all so sudden, and he watches you both closely as the explanation sinks in.

William nods along, immediately agreeing. “Dude, you have to go. We’re talking, what, forty-two billion lives?”

Mark flinches, glancing toward you, searching your expression. You haven’t said anything yet. Arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

You finally speak. “For—for how long again?”

Mark hesitates, his heart thumping. “Just—just a few weeks. Give or take.” He turns to the bug alien. “Right? A few galaxies away?”

The bug alien nods solemnly.

Mark looks at you again, eyes quietly pleading. He wants you to say no. He hasn’t even had his first class yet. You kissed, for real, for the first time not even an hour ago, and now he’s supposed to just…leave?

If you said no, he wouldn’t go. Not for anything.

You fold your arms, brow furrowed in deep thought. “I mean… if we’re talking about that many people… and he came from so far just for you, then…”

You trail off.

Mark’s heart sinks. He wants to help, really—but he also wants to stay. Wants to start this new chapter with you, complain about professors together, compare how bad the cafeteria food is, sit next to you in class and whisper jokes under his breath just to make you snort.

And—and he hadn’t even fed you properly. Not really. Not the way you needed. Not the way he wanted to.

But then your eyes meet his again, steady and sure despite the tightness in your jaw, and you nod. “…Then I guess you should go.”

And that’s it.

He suits up. The blue and yellow slide over his body like second skin, and Nuolzot is already gesturing toward the sky, to the ship hovering in low orbit.

But Mark pauses. He turns back to you. In two steps, he’s standing in front of you again, gloved hands rising to cradle your face.

“A month,” he says, voice rough with emotion. “A month tops. I swear I’ll be back before you even notice.”

You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Alright, Invincible,” you say, trying for playful. “Go save that planet. Come back before you flunk out before classes even start.”

That makes him laugh, breathless—and then his eyes drop to your lips.

And he kisses you before he can second-guess himself again.

Your mouth meets his instantly, warm and sure, like you’re afraid this will be the last time you get to feel him like this.

When you part, breathless and close, Mark wants to say it. The words burn on his tongue.

I love you.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he chuckles awkwardly, as if laughter might hide the way the words nearly slipped out.

“Alright,” he murmurs. “See you soon.”

And then, without waiting another second, he shoots up into the sky, trailing after Nuolzot and leaving the ground—and you—behind.

William’s voice echoes upward. “Wait, wait, wait—since when are you two together!? I need details!”

Mark doesn’t look back.

If he had, he might have seen the way your smile faltered the moment he turned away.

Mark returns to Earth two months later—twice the time he promised you. And somehow, that’s the part he can’t stop thinking about.

He should be happy to be home. Should be focused on the fact that he’s safe, alive. And still, a small part of him is terrified. Terrified that you’ve moved on. That in the time he was off-planet, you got bored of waiting, maybe met someone new—someone who actually stuck around like they said they would.

So he doesn’t go to you. Not right away. Not even when every fiber in his body aches to.

First, he goes home. He sees his mom—because of course he does. She needs to know he’s alive. That he’s okay. That he’s now the older brother to a half-bug alien baby. He spends time there, takes his time, and tells her everything.

And then, finally, he makes his way to Upstate U.

Now he has to see you—has to face whatever version of you he left behind. The one who might hate him, or worse… be totally fine without him.

He stops by his dorm first, quickly changing out of his suit and into something more casual. The more he thinks about you, the tighter his stomach clenches with anxiety.

When William remarks, “You were gone a long time, like forever in college years,” it feels like salt in the wound.

Mark winces, tugging his shirt over his head. “Yeah. I know.”

Surely you’re upset.

If not upset, then… indifferent.

And Mark honestly can’t decide which would hurt more.

Still, there’s something bubbling in his chest—nerves, maybe. But also that warm, fluttery anticipation he always gets when he’s about to see you. God, he missed you so damn much. Thought about you more times than he can count while everything around him fell apart in space.

So he throws on clean clothes, rakes a hand through his hair, and takes a deep breath to ease his nerves.

“Wait, where are you going?” William asks as Mark heads for the door.

“Y/N’s room?” Mark says it like it’s obvious. Because it is. You’re three doors down. Three doors he’s been counting since he landed.

William’s expression shifts. “Oh. Uh. Y/N’s not here.”

Mark freezes. “What?”

“Went home two weeks ago. Medical leave.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. “Medical leave?” Mark’s voice cracks. “What happened?”

William shrugs helplessly. “No clue. He’s been sick for weeks though. Like, really sick.”

Mark’s mouth goes dry. His pulse spikes.

Sick?

His thoughts spiral—there are only a few things he can think of that would make you sick. And none of them make sense. None of them feel random. Not for you. Not with what you are.

“What—what kind of sick?” Mark demands, already striding back into his dorm room, his voice tight, too fast. “Like a cold? Stress?”

But he already knows.

God, he doesn’t want to, but the truth is already clawing up the back of his throat. Gnawing at his brain like it wants him to panic.

William frowns, thrown by the sudden shift. “I don’t know the full details, man. He just said he was feeling weak… too tired to even make it to class. He even passed out once—that’s why he asked for the medical leave.” William’s tone is a mix of concern and confusion. “Something about malnutrition or whatever, which is weird, right? I mean, he usually eats enough for twenty—hey. Hey, where the hell are you going?”

Mark is already halfway out the window.

“Where do you think?” he snaps, voice cracking with the edge of panic. “I’m going to see him!”

And then he’s gone.

The wind tears through the dorm behind him as he rockets into the sky, leaving William shouting something he doesn’t hear.

Mark doesn’t care. He can’t. Not now. Not when all he can think about is getting to you.

So he pushes himself faster—faster than he’s flown in weeks. His hands clench and unclench in the air, sweat slicking his palms, speeding toward your home.

He arrives within minutes, and in those minutes, his brain spins through every worst-case scenario imaginable. Why are you even sick? Why’d you stop feeding? You need it to survive. That’s what you told him. So why? Why would you stop? It makes no sense.

Why the hell would you let yourself waste away?

Mark doesn’t bother with the front door. Not when your bedroom window is right there—always open. Always left unlocked. For him.

Mark flies up to it without thinking, presses against the glass, peering inside. It’s dim and quiet. Then his eyes dart to your bed—rumpled sheets, blanket kicked off, and you curled up there, too still, too pale. His chest seizes.

“Y/N?” he calls, voice uncertain—like he’s afraid to startle you.

You don’t answer.

Mark climbs through the window on shaky feet, moving to your side with heart pounding. His hand hovers before gently settling on your shoulder.

“Y/N,” he says, lower now. “Hey. It’s me. I came back.”

No answer.

His eyes scan you closer—the dullness in your skin, the dark shadows beneath your eyes, the faint sheen of sweat on your forehead, your cracked lips, the sunken look in your face.

Mark’s heart drops. His grip tightens on your shoulder, and he gives you a soft shake, panic bleeding into every movement.

“Y/N, please.”

Then—finally—you stir.

A soft, low hum escapes your throat. Your face scrunches weakly, like even blinking takes effort, and you crack one eye open, confused and half-dazed.

Mark lets out a shuddering breath, part relief, part fear, and drops to his knees beside the bed.

“Oh thank god,” he breathes out, his voice cracking, reaching up to cup your cheek gently. “Hey. I’m here. I’m here, okay?

“…Mark…?” you slur, voice cracked and barely a whisper.

Mark leans in immediately, heart racing, face just inches from yours. “Yeah, yeah—it’s me! Are you okay? Y/N, what’s going on?”

You blink slowly, trying to will your eyes to stay open. Then, with some effort, you shift on the bed, uncurling from yourself like a bear out of hibernation—sluggish and disoriented. You squint at him, dazed. “Mark, hey.” A weak cough follows, your throat dry and raw. “How’re you doing? It’s been so long.”

The casual way you say it—like you’re not on the edge of passing out on your own bed—shatters Mark all over again.

“Y/N…” Mark says, voice thick with disbelief, worry pulling hard at his face. “Forget about me—what happened to you? You look…”

He trails off, unable to say it, but his expression says enough. His eyes, wide and glassy, trace every hollowed detail in your face.

“Oh,” you exhale, trying to play it down. “It’s fine. I’ve just been… a little weak, is all.”

“A little weak?” Mark repeats, voice rising in disbelief. “You’re not a little weak, Y/N. You’re—God, William said you’ve been like this for weeks.”

You grimace, trying to smile through it, to keep him from worrying. But Mark sees right through the act. He watches, helpless, as you try to sit up, bracing yourself on trembling elbows—only for your arms to give out, your head dropping back to the pillow with a soft thud.

Mark stands and shifts to sit on the edge of your mattress, hands settling gently on your shoulders like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go.

“Hey—hey, don’t push yourself,” he says, voice low but firm. “Just—just stay still, okay?”

You don’t resist. Couldn’t even if you wanted to. You simply lie there, head sunk into your pillow, eyes barely open. You’re too tired to argue, too tired to even pretend you’re okay. Your breathing stays shallow, lips cracked, face drained of color.

Mark’s chest tightens. He watches you for a second that feels like forever before finally breaking the silence. “What happened, Y/N?” he asks, even though deep down, he already knows. He just needs to hear you say it. “What is it?”

You make a face, like there’s a million things you could say—but none of them are enough. Still, you force your lips to part.

“It’s just—” your voice wavers, then you let out a breath, helpless. “I haven’t fed off… you know…”

Mark’s brows draw together, his lips pressing into a tight, thin line.

You don’t look at him when you admit it—voice barely above a whisper. “Not since you left.”

There’s silence. A thick, awful silence.

Mark flinches like the words hit him in the chest. His heart starts pounding again, harder this time. “Why didn’t you go to someone else, Y/N?” he blurts—too sharp, too panicked. It comes out like an accusation, and he instantly regrets it.

You flinch too, like the words cut deeper than he meant. You look away, your features tight, skin grayed with exhaustion, eyes watery and dull. “…Should I have?” you ask, small and fragile.

And the answer is obvious. So obvious it makes Mark feel like a damn idiot for even saying anything.

No.

Mark exhales shakily, one hand moving to cradle your cheek as he leans down, his forehead pressing gently to yours.

“No,” he whispers, voice thick. “Of course not.”

Only him. You’d only ever wanted him.

And god—god—isn’t that selfish of him, when your life was literally on the line?

But you smile. It’s small and tired—drained, really—but it’s a smile all the same. Like those words were exactly what you needed to hear. Like there was no one else you wanted to feed from anymore but Mark.

You tilt your head up, lips brushing his in a soft exhale. “Then… kiss me.”

Mark doesn’t hesitate. He bridges the last inch between you the second the words leave your mouth, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that’s soft, careful—desperate in all the ways he won’t admit out loud. Your sigh against him is so content, so relieved, it almost brings tears to his eyes.

He kisses you like he’s trying to make up for every lonely day he was gone.

His hand slides to your jaw, tilting it gently, thumb stroking your cheek as he deepens the kiss. His heart stutters at the way your body slowly starts to respond—weak, yes, but responding. When his lips part yours and your tongues meet, Mark groans softly into your mouth, heat coiling low in his gut.

He doesn’t rush, but the rhythm quickens just a beat. Enough to let himself feel your breath grow steadier against him, the slight tremble in your limbs easing, pulse pushing just a little stronger beneath your skin.

Then—God, your hands. They reach for him, still shaking, but purposeful. Fingers gliding up his chest, slow and searching, until they hook around his neck and pull him closer.

Mark obliges without hesitation, his other arm sliding beneath you to lift you gently against him. He feels your grip strengthen with each passing second, your kisses growing more urgent. And when you finally arch into him with a reawakened hunger, Mark knows he’ll give you everything.

Again and again and again.

The kiss breaks with a soft, wet sound, your shared breaths mingling in the thin space between you.

“Oh, Mark,” you whisper, voice rough and shaky, “I missed you.”

You look better already—cheeks touched with color, eyes less glassy. But it’s still not enough. Not even close.

There’s still tension in your brow, a strain in the way you lie beneath him, like it hurts to be hungry and still not full. Veins faintly shadow your temple. The dark bruises beneath your eyes haven’t faded. And the way your tongue drags across your lips—it’s need, raw and unfiltered.

“Missed you too,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m so sorry.”

He knows one kiss won’t fix this. He knows better than to think you’d recover after just a moment of closeness. It’s been two months. Two months without feeding. Without touching. Without even knowing if he was coming back.

You needed more. Needed more than friction, more than mouth and tongue. You probably needed more than just getting him off like the last times—where you fed and then let him go, always asking for nothing in return.

You probably needed the real thing.

Mark’s throat tightens.

“I’m gonna—” he starts, breathless, almost shy, “—gonna make you feel good, okay?”

His hand trails lower, until it cups the heat between your legs, the bulge already thick and straining through your sweatpants. He squeezes, just enough to make you gasp, and the soft whine you let out snaps something in him.

Because for the first time, Mark thinks about it.

You’ve made him come—twice now. And afterward, he’d always been so wrapped up in his own high, in the rush of it, the haze, the way you looked so content with just tasting him... he never stopped to reciprocate the favor.

God, he’s been so selfish.

Mark’s throat bobs as his hand strokes you again, this time with more purpose—his thumb grazing the sensitive head through the fabric of your sweatpants. You keep making those greedy little sounds, soft and needy, and right then Mark decides—he’s going to make you fall apart under him. He’s going to make you shiver and whimper his name as you come undone.

“Mark,” you sigh, arching against his hand. “Oh, Mark.”

He picks up the pace, leaning in to capture every gasp and whimper straight from your mouth. Your tongues meet again—hungry and messy—as Mark begins grinding against you, his own arousal building, knowing you can feel it, feed off it, and revel in it.

It doesn’t take long for the pressure in his jeans to become unbearable—his cock straining hard against the fabric, pulsing with every beat of his heart. He can’t take it anymore. Can’t wait. And besides, this—this—is the fastest way to get you back on your feet, glowing with strength.

He pulls away from your lips just enough to murmur, “Let me,” breathless, fingers already hooking into your waistband. “Let me take care of you.”

Your soft, desperate moan is all the permission he needs.

With trembling hands, Mark peels down your sweatpants and underwear in one fluid motion, careful as he slides them past your legs. You shudder at the exposure, but you don’t hide—you open your legs willingly, inviting him in. Your face is flushed, the color blooming down your neck and ears. It’s the first time you’ve ever been this vulnerable with someone. And from the look in your eyes, you’re glad it’s Mark.

He drinks in the sight of you, chest heaving. Then, in one smooth motion, he strips off his shirt and tosses it aside, eyes never leaving you.

“Shit…” You bite your lip, but there’s a glint in your eyes—a flash of mischief under all that exhaustion. “You’re so sexy, Mark.”

Mark flushes, his skin warming as your hands roam his chest, greedy and sure, fingers tracing over muscles that flex and shudder under your touch. It’s too much—almost overwhelming—and he has to brace himself, hands planted on either side of your head to keep from collapsing on top of you.

“Fuck—” His hips jerk involuntarily when your hand travels lower, undoing his belt, pulling the zipper down. “Y/N…”

You breathe out a needy sound when his cock springs free, hand wrapping around him without hesitation.

“Jesus,” you murmur hoarsely, licking your lips. “I’m so—so hungry, Mark. I can’t wait.”

Mark moans at the sight of you, the desperation in your voice making his head spin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You stroke him with trembling fingers, and Mark’s hips move in time with your touch, his breath growing ragged. “Yeah. Fuck. I’ve been—starving for you.”

Mark groans, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, undone by the way your fingers work him—confident, greedy, like you need him. And yeah, you do. He knows what his pleasure does to you. Knows how his arousal, his moans, even the steady pulse of precum leaking from his tip—slicking your fingers—is what makes you stronger. What feeds you.

But it’s not enough.

He wants to see you come for once. Wants to hear you gasp and writhe because he’s making you feel good.

“Can I…?” he breathes, eyes locked on yours, his voice tight with restraint. “Can I fuck you?”

Your hand slows, eyes going wide, startled by the question—but then you smile, soft and full of something like fondness.

“Yes,” you whisper after a moment. “Of course.”

Mark exhales like he’s been holding his breath for months, pressing his forehead against yours. When his lips find yours again, the kiss turns desperate—all teeth and tongue and months of pent-up longing. You meet him with equal fervor, legs parting instinctively as his hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him.

“Should I—” Mark gasps between kisses, his voice thick with both desire and hesitation. “Should I prep you or—”

“No.” The word comes out sharper than intended, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “I’m not some fragile human who needs coddling. Just fuck me, Mark.”

There’s something feral in your voice now—primal and wild in a way he’s never heard from you. The more energy floods your system, a spark of life returning to your features, the more your instincts take over.

“Okay,” he rasps, more to himself than you. “Okay, just—”

Mark swallows hard, his gaze trailing down your body with a mix of awe and nervous hunger. His breath catches at the sight of your cock straining between you, at the way your hole flutters impatiently.

His eyes drop—slowly, hungrily—trailing down your body, pausing at the sight of your flushed cock, your spread legs, your willing entrance. He swallows thickly, breath catching in his throat.

“It’s fine,” you whisper, voice softening just enough as your hand continues to stroke him, thumb grazing the sensitive head, coaxing more precum from his tip. “I’ll guide you.”

And guide him you do.

You pump him a few more times, slicking him up while he groans, every sigh vibrating against your lips. Then you part your legs even further, just enough for his hips to fit between them snugly. One hand steadies his cock, the other resting on his hip as you line him up, brushing the tip against your entrance.

“Just like that,” you sigh, arching beneath him. “Push, Mark. Please.”

Mark’s hips stutter, his cock sliding between your cheeks with desperate, jerky movements. He’s achingly hard, every nerve alight with need.

“Is this—” His voice cracks as the head of his cock catches at your entrance. “God, Y/N—is this okay?”

Your answer comes with a whimper, head tipping back against the pillows. “Yes. Fuck me. I want you.”

Mark’s hips stutter, and then your legs hook around his waist, pulling him in—forcing him deeper.

“Fuck—” he chokes out, voice tight.

The head of his cock sinks into you, your body welcoming him in a slick, hot pull that makes both of you moan, trembling against each other.

“Yes—” you gasp, fingers curling against his back. “Push, Mark. I don’t care. Just do it.”

Mark bites down on his lip, squeezes his eyes shut, and pushes.

The glide is smooth, easy—thanks to the slick layer of precum and your guiding hands. He shudders all the way in, your body stretching to take him, tight and perfect around him. You groan, hands digging into his back as if to hold him there forever.

“Yes, yes,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, Mark, yes.”

For a suspended moment, when he’s fully buried inside you, all Mark can do is feel—the way you pulse around him, the desperate clutch of your hands on his back, the dizzying realization that this is happening.

He barely remembers how to breathe, barely manages to stay upright with how shaky his arms feel braced on either side of your head. His whole body is trembling—and maybe it’s not just the exhaustion from space. Maybe it’s not just the days without sleep, or the long journey back.

Maybe it’s you. Draining him with every moan, every squeeze, every drop of arousal he gives you.

And still—still—he doesn’t want to stop.

“Move,” you order, voice low and hushed.

Then you move beneath him first—hips grinding upward, taking him in deeper—and all of Mark’s coherent thought shatters.

“Harder,” you gasp, nails scoring down his back. “Please—”

Mark obeys with a broken moan, thrusting out and back in, out and in again. The pace he sets is clumsy and frantic, but it doesn’t matter—because you love it. You moan louder with every stroke, squirming beneath him, nails digging into his back, dragging down hard.

“So good,” you sigh, head tipping back as pleasure ripples through you. “God, Mark—so good.”

The room fills with the slap of skin on skin, the choked-off noises Mark makes when you clench around him, the way your shared breaths grow ragged and uneven.

Mark buries his face in the curve of your neck, teeth scraping against your pulse point as his muscles tremble with exertion. There’s a familiar tug at his consciousness, a slow drain of energy that should terrify him but instead sends a thrill down his spine.

Because when you moan in his ear like that, when you shiver around him, when you praise him in that wrecked voice—

“Like that.” Unsteady but sure. “Just like that.”

Mark couldn’t stop if he tried.

The renewed vigor in your movements—the way your fingers clutch at him with renewed strength—tells him it’s working. You’re coming back to life beneath him, flush with stolen energy, even as his own vision starts to blur at the edges.

“Don’t stop,” you beg, voice wrecked.

Mark doesn’t. Not when you feel this good around him—hot and tight and his.

So he fucks you through it, chasing your pleasure even as his body screams for respite, determined to give you every last drop until you’re sated.

Until you’re whole again.

Then Mark’s thrusts begin to falter—his rhythm stuttering, teeth sinking into your shoulder— and he gasps, voice wrecked and shaking, “I’m gonna—I’m gonna come—!”

You groan, biting your lower lip hard enough to sting.

“Come inside me,” you moan—half-whimper, half-command. “I’m so fucking close. I want you inside.”

Mark whimpers at your words, hips jerking wildly now, erratic and desperate. The thought of finishing inside you scrambles whatever’s left of his composure.

“Y/N—” he chokes out, barely audible. “I’m—I’m coming—”

And then he does.

His entire body goes taut, trembling, his hips giving one final, deep thrust that buries him to the hilt. His orgasm hits like a wave, a raw, broken cry torn from his throat as he spills into you, thick and hot. You arch beneath him, eyes fluttering shut, a moan clawing out of you as you feel it—every pulse, every drop filling you.

It’s that—the heat of his cum flooding you, the sheer intensity of his release—that finally pushes you over the edge.

You come untouched, back arching off the bed, spilling hot across your stomach as you cry out his name.

“Fuck, fuck,” you babble, shuddering. “Fuck, Mark—”

He’s still moving, just barely—his hips twitching in helpless, involuntary thrusts as he rides out every last wave of his orgasm, cum leaking from the edges of your hole. It’s messy. It’s perfect. It’s so good it makes you smile through the aftershocks, warmth blooming in your chest with every stolen breath.

“Fuck,” Mark sobs, forehead dropping against your shoulder, gasping like he can’t breathe. “My god…”

His muscles spasm—thighs trembling, arms shaky and weak—and finally give out. With a groan, Mark collapses on top of you. You huff out a breath, wrapping your arms around him, a soft, breathless laugh escaping your lips.

“Mark,” you whisper, voice soaked in satisfaction. “You good?”

He doesn’t answer. His face is still buried in your neck, breath warm and erratic against your oversensitive skin. He wants to answer, to lift his head and kiss you—because God, you felt so good, because you made him feel incredible, and for once, he knows he made you feel good, too.

But he can’t.

His limbs feel like they’ve turned to stone. Not just his head, not just his arms—everything. The weight of exhaustion hits him all at once like gravity’s been waiting for its moment to strike. The fatigue he’s been running from all this time finally catches up, drained utterly by you. He blinks, trying to fight it off, but it’s useless.

“Mark?” There’s concern edging your voice now, even as your fingers continue their soothing motions along his spine. “Mark.”

You’re warm, energized—glowing with renewed strength—and that, at least, feels like a win. He tries to respond, but the only sound that escapes is a slurred, “Hnng?”

Sleep is pulling him under fast. Even your voice—the one thing he wants to hear—is fading, like it’s coming from another room, another world.

You shake him once. Then again. But he’s already slipping, the darkness too heavy, too deep.

The last thing he’s aware of is the way his cock still twitches inside you, the way your thighs tighten reflexively around his hips, and the way you keep whispering his name—like a lullaby echoing in his ears.

If this is how he goes out, Mark thinks dimly as darkness claims him, it’s one hell of a way to go.

When Mark wakes up, he’s curled around a pillow that smells like you, drooling on it like a damn baby.

He blinks, sluggish and unfocused, head heavy, limbs like lead. His whole body aches—not in a bad way, just in that spent, used-up kind of way. He feels wrung out and dazed. Did he not die?

Groaning, Mark pushes himself up onto his elbows, muscles trembling under his own weight. He glances around, eyes squinting as the pieces slowly fall into place: the decorations on the walls, clothes scattered on the floor, sheets half-draped over his bare body. He recognizes all of it.

And when he hears your faint humming from somewhere beyond the door, it all crashes back.

Oh. He had sex with you. Like—real sex. And somehow, he lived to tell the tale.

His eyes widen as reality slams into him. He jolts upright on your bed—your bed—heart pounding. Shit, did he pass out? How long has it been? What day is it? What year is it? He feels like he’s been out for decades, and yet somehow still not enough to shake the heavy fog pressing on his consciousness.

Then your humming gets louder. He snaps his head toward the door just in time to see it swing open—and there you are.

You spot him, freeze mid-step, and for a split second, the whole room holds its breath.

Mark’s dry lips part. “Y/N—”

“Mark!” you gasp, face lighting up with a wide grin. “You’re awake! Oh, thank god!”

You cross the room in three eager strides, arms open, all warmth and affection. You throw yourself into him without hesitation.

Mark lets out a soft oof as he catches you, the momentum knocking him flat on his back again. The room spins briefly, but the second he registers the weight of you on his chest, the warmth of your skin, the sound of your voice—he relaxes. He smiles, soft and dopey, and buries his face into your shoulder, breathing you in like he’s never been more grateful to be alive.

“Hey,” Mark greets, voice hoarse but tinged with amusement. “How long was I out?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you press your face into his chest and hold him tight—like if you let go, he might vanish. Then, after a long moment, you pull back. But instead of replying, you cup his cheeks with both hands and kiss him.

Mark melts into it without hesitation, hands sliding to your waist, holding you close. He sighs against your lips, groaning softly as he kisses you back like it’s the only thing keeping him awake.

When you break apart, your smile lingers, bright and full of affection. “I was worried you wouldn’t wake up for at least a week,” you murmur, thumb brushing gently over his cheekbone. “Most humans wouldn’t. But you—it’s only been, like, sixteen hours.”

Mark jerks upright so fast he nearly headbutts you. “Sixteen hours?!”

You wince, guilt flashing across your face. “Y-Yeah. But—I called your mom! I didn’t exactly explain, but she knows you’re here. She told me to make sure you call her as soon as you’re up.”

Mark exhales, half in disbelief, half in relief. “Jesus. I didn’t think I’d be out that long.”

“…I’m sorry,” you whisper, glancing away. “I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. I didn’t think—I shouldn’t have risked your life just to feed. Just to—be close to you like that.”

“No.” Mark cuts in, his hands sliding up to your shoulders, squeezing gently. “Don’t say that.”

His eyes are steady when you meet them.

“It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says, firm but soft. “No matter the consequences. Me. With you. Like... that.”

He blushes, and you blush, and suddenly neither of you can hold eye contact.

“The best thing?” you murmur, fingers fumbling with the sheets. “Really?”

Mark swallows hard, his embarrassment obvious, but the truth is already bubbling too close to the surface to hold back. Everything he’s felt for you, everything he’s been trying to keep buried, is rising—unstoppable now.

“Yes,” he says softly, voice a little shaky. “Having sex with the person who matters most to me... because you needed me. Because I—”

The pause stretches, fragile.

“Because I love you.”

Your eyes widen at that, the guarded concern melting into something raw and vulnerable.

“Really?” you ask again, a little breathless.

“Of course,” Mark says, a little more sure this time. “I love you, Y/N. And I’d do it all again in a heartbeat if it meant seeing you like this—your real, bright, happy self—again.”

Your lips part in surprise, then you smile—wide and brilliant and so full of love it practically blinds him. Before his tired brain can catch up, you throw yourself at him again, arms around his neck, kissing him open-mouthed and deep.

“I love you too, Mark,” you whisper against his lips, soft and sure.

Mark kisses you back, slow and full of affection, even though his body still feels like it’s made of lead. His chest aches, but in the best possible way—because it’s full of you.

“I’m sorry I was gone so long,” he murmurs between kisses. “If I hadn’t been in space, you wouldn’t have been starving. That’s on me.”

“Don’t say that,” you roll your eyes, but the affection in your voice makes it feel more like a caress. “It’s my nature, okay? Not something you can control. And I waited for you—because I knew you’d come back.”

You lean in and peck the pout off his lips, soft and loving, and then both of you just… look at each other. Breathing the same air. Sharing the same space. The silence stretches, but it’s not awkward—it’s warm.

God—he loves you. Loves everything about you. And loves even more that you feel the same.

“So… does this mean…” Mark hesitates, cheeks pink, “we’re a thing now? Because I want us to be. I really do. I don’t ever want you kissing assholes behind the school anymore—or, well, now at college—because… you have me.”

You giggle, flustered, cheeks glowing. “Yeah—I have you.” You kiss him again, square on the mouth like you couldn’t possibly get enough of him. “And you have me.”

Mark grins, red-faced and beaming, before he pulls you tight against his chest and kisses you again—deep and slow and full of all the words he’s still too overwhelmed to say.

Like I love you.

Like I don’t ever want to let go.

Like don’t ever let me go either.

Then you say, casual as anything, “By the way, my parents want you to have breakfast with us.”

“What?!” Mark pulls back instantly, blushing so hard it reaches his ears. “They—they were here the whole time?!”

“What? No!” you say quickly, just as flustered. “But when they got home from work and saw me fine—you know, they kinda figured out what must’ve happened for me to be this fine. And, ugh—” you roll your eyes, groaning into his shoulder, “they wanna thank the boy who saved their ‘stubborn son’s life,’ or whatever.”

Mark exhales, still pink but processing. “Oh. Then… sure. I mean—do you think they’ll be okay with us? You and me?”

You smile, full of quiet certainty. “Mark, they’ve always liked you. Remember the cake my mom made you for your sixteenth birthday?”

“She decorated it with Seance Dog comic panels,” Mark mumbles, still flushed.

“Exactly,” you laugh. “I’ve been telling them about my crush on you since forever, Mark.”

And Mark flushes all over again, helpless to do anything but smile and pull you back in for another kiss.

A/N: thank you for readingggg, kisses and hugs and more kisses for dealing with me (●'◡'●)

#mark grayson x male reader #invincible x male reader #male reader #x male reader #male!reader #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson #invincible #gay

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sinner-as-saint · 4 days ago

Text

this vertigo of bliss

Dark!New Avenger!Bucky x Scientist!Reader

Summary: You were hired by Val to work alongside the New Avengers in the watch tower. Of course, you weren’t superhuman beings like them, but you were a brilliant scientist. And while the team went off on missions in their loud jets with their guns and grenades to fight battles, you stayed and took care of your lab and carried on with your research projects. Always looking for ways that might help your superheroes friends. Be it finding ways to heal their injuries faster, or how to keep them healthier, or understand their modified DNA better so that in the future as they age – albeit slower than most humans – they’ll suffer less. Plus, your research would be useful in case new superhumans popped up out of nowhere, like Bob did. And you were proud of your work, as was the team, but then one day you go down an ambitious rabbit hole and make a mistake. Luckily Bucky is there to save the day. Or is he?

Themes: sex pollen trope, mentions of drugs, smut, mild degrading kink, mild breeding kink, dom!bucky, explicit language, c*m play, aftercare

Shit. Shit. Shit.

You could hear your own heartbeat, your heart going insane inside your rib cage – a warning sign. This was bad. Very, very bad.

You couldn’t do anything but stand back and watch the pale smoke fill your lab, reaching every crevice, filling your lungs, coating your skin and leaving it feeling oily and dirty. You gasped for air, the mask over your face completely useless.

Shit, what had you done? What the hell had you done?

You were well aware it was hubris to even get into those secret HYDRA files on your computer. You knew it was selfish to try and recreate the drugs they used all those decades ago. You knew it. You knew it. It was wrong on so many levels. There’s a reason these files are so well hidden.

And you told yourself you’d never follow through. That you’d stop right before you created this damned thing. But you couldn’t stop. It was so tempting to do what is most forbidden and here you were now, breathing in your mistake.

You took the useless mask off, along with your lab coat. Your body was heating up. And you felt feverish. Like in a haze. And you knew what was happening. You’d read it all this morning. And you knew it would be hours before you felt normal again. Before this itch went away. This animal inside you, suddenly awake and hungry for… everything.

No, no, no.

You could barely stand up.

It wasn’t supposed to be this potent. You knew nothing would leak outside the lab, it was designed that way for safety, but you still locked the entrance just in case.

You blinked a couple of times, trying to reorient yourself as best you could, despite the smoke filling your nose and throat. Nobody was in the tower except you today. The team had left on some mission this morning.

Or so you thought.

Because as you were holding onto the wall, trying to make sense of what was happening to you, you heard someone knocking on the door.

“Hey, Doc. You in there?” A deep voice. Bucky. “The system notified me that something was wrong up here. Are you okay?”

Ah shit. Just his voice was making things worse. Your legs trembled, you were gasping for air. Your body throbbing at the mere thought of him, his hands, his mouth, his touch, his–

“Bucky.” You managed to respond to him. “Please,” You were getting breathless, almost fucking moaning, mouth watering just at the thought of him standing right there… no, no, no. “Please, don’t come in.” You managed to tell him, every fiber of your being wanting nothing more than to just let him use you, let him rut into you, let him–

“Uh, you don’t sound okay, Doc. Are you hurt?” He asked, the panic and concern very evident in his voice.

Fuck. No, he had to leave. Now. He had to leave now.

You managed to lean against the cool wall, trying to see past the pure lust coursing through your veins. You breathed slowly. “Bucky, you have to leave. Okay? I’m not hurt. I’ll be fine, you just have to leave. Now. Please.”

“No,” He argued, sounding worried. “You don’t sound alright. I’m coming in.” He said. And there was usually no arguing with that tone.

“No,” You whispered weakly. He had access to everything in this tower. Of course he could unlock the door with no problem. And before you could tell him not to, Bucky was in your lab. “Bucky, no.” You whispered, unable to speak properly.

You felt warm. Hot. Burning. And you could see Bucky’s large frame moving around in the smoke.

“Doc, what the–,” He stopped speaking abruptly. You felt the realisation sinking in, even in him.

You felt tears falling down your face. “I’m sorry.” You whispered, watching him get closer to where you stood, “I’m so sorry. Look, just walk away. We’ll wait it out.” It pained you just to say it. “Go away, Bucky.”

“Doc,” His voice was strained as he spoke, “What have you done?” His face so somber and blank. He was losing it too…

“I’m sorry.” You apologized again. “I didn’t know it would– I thought I could stop. I didn’t think…” You whimpered as he got closer, your brain – whatever part of it remained coherent and not lust drunk – knew he was feeling it too.

That pull. That damned itch. That need to feel, or grab, or bite, or fuck another warm body…

Bucky stood right in front of you. In full tactical gear. His guns were still strapped to his body. His glorious body… strong and muscular.

“You…” You spoke, despite the burning desire of wanting to just throw yourself at him and let him use you however he wanted. “You have to leave, Buck.” You whimpered, gasping for air, feeling your skin all warm and damp with sweat.

He was burning too. His fists clenched. His skin shiny with sweat, his body heat almost radiating off him. He was silent, then he reached for you with his metal hand. Tracing his cold metal fingers down your neck, feeling your quick pulse.

“You know I can’t do that.” His fingers carefully wrapped around your throat. He was losing control. “You know I can’t walk away from this. And neither can you.”

Something was different about his voice. Something was darker.

“I’ve been through this before, Doc.” He leaned in and held your stare. “Believe me when I say, it gets worse if you don’t fuck it out of your system. The first hour is fine. Tolerable. But by the third, the fourth hour… you feel like you’re losing your mind. Like you’re not even human anymore. Like you were made just to breed. Like an animal.”

“Please,” You felt fresh tears fall down your face. The guilt was still there under all the lust and filthy desires. “I didn’t mean for this to–,”

“Shh, it doesn’t matter. We’ve got each other. We can get out of this.” He leaned in and nuzzled your neck, inhaling your scent which to him felt like the most ambrosial scent ever. “I can make it better.” He promised, pressing his body into yours. “I’ll make it feel good.”

You whined, tilting your head back and exposing more of your neck and throat. Surrendering. “But, Bucky…” You tried, weakly.

“Don’t fight it.” He said, pulling away from your neck to look into your eyes. “It gets worse when you fight it, Doc. You know that, don’t you?”

That darkness in his eyes was new. You didn’t recognise it.

“I didn’t know it would–,”

He cut you off. “It would what?” He barked. His icy stare had you frozen in place. “You didn’t know what you were creating?” He taunted, and you noted – even in your own hazy state – that the smoke, the drug, whatever it was, was affecting him way more than it was affecting you. Because judging by his face, his voice, his stare, his movements… Bucky was almost completely gone. “Huh? You didn’t know what this drug was? You didn’t know what it could do? You’re a smart woman, Doc. Surely you knew what you were making…”

While you were clawing, trying to hold on to your sanity, Bucky’s words were luring over to the other side. “No…”

“Yes you did.” He accused. “You knew all along. And you still made it.”

“Please, Bucky.” You begged. You begged for… you didn’t even know what for. All you felt was desire, and pain. A hot pain. Like something inside you contorting, wanting to explode.

Bucky smirked, both his hands grabbing you this time. “It’s starting to hurt, isn’t it?”

You blinked away the tears and nodded, pleading with him with your eyes. Then you caught yourself, heavy-eyed, mumbling, “Make it better… please.”

That did it. That got rid of whatever was making both of you hold back.

Bucky picked you up and slammed your back against the wall – all while kissing you hungrily, like his life depended on it. You couldn’t even form a proper thought as his tongue slipped into your mouth, making you moan into the kiss.

Your hands slid into his ridiculously soft hair and he held you tightly against him. Your core pressed against his firm body as his mouth moved perfectly against yours, driving you crazy. Well, crazier.

You didn’t care that you were dry humping him, all riled up just from his kiss.

“That feels good, huh? Rubbing yourself on me like that?” He moaned quietly into the kiss as your hand gently tugged on his hair. He smirked and spread your legs apart just a little so he could be closer to you.

His hands held you up, securely against him, he had a very firm grip on your thigh, his other hand placed right under your ass – holding you up while he kissed you like there was no tomorrow.

“I’m gonna make it better, okay? You hear me, Doc? I’ll make it feel so good.” His lips left yours momentarily to kiss along your jaw, and down your neck, nibbling on your skin and making you moan out loud.

He pulled away from you for a moment, and stared into your eyes again. Almost like he was looking for any warning signs which told him to stop, “Tell me I can.” He demanded, “Tell me I can fuck you however I want. Tell me I can use your body and make us both feel better.” The pleading tone in his voice was hard to ignore.

You could tell he was fighting it too. The animalistic, primal urge to fuck. To breed.

“You can.” You told him, wanting. Just wanting. “Please, I’ll… I'll let you do anything. Just make it feel better.”

“You’re safe with me, okay? I won’t hurt you. I need you to remember that, okay?” His voice sent chills down your back and you didn’t want to be all slow and gentle anymore, you simply couldn’t wait any longer, so you reached out and started unbuckling his pants, and he helped you by tearing your clothes off, and slipped his hand in between your legs. Your naked, squirming body pressing against his tactical gear felt immoral in a way you couldn’t explain.

You were wet, embarrassingly so. And even you could tell just by how easily Bucky ran his knuckles along your wet folds, smearing your arousal around in the process. He chuckled right in your ear as you pulled his cock out and stroked it with vigour.

“Can’t wait, huh?” He slipped his forefinger and his middle finger through your entrance with ease and grunted in your ear as he felt your walls instantly welcoming him in. You could feel your wetness dripping down your inner thighs. He curled his fingers inside of you, hitting all the spots you wanted him too. “Just wanna be fucked badly, don’t you?”

“Bucky…” you whimpered and closed your eyes when he leaned down and nibbled on your skin around your collar bones. Something about how desperately, and sinfully his name escaped your lips drove him wild. You bucked your hips against his hand and he chuckled as you moaned out loud while he touched you.

Your legs wrapped around his waist as he held you up easily with just his metal hand. The rough material of his gear chafing your skin but you did not care. “Bucky,” You whined when you felt his cock briefly brush against your wet folds. “More, please. Please.” You cried out.

“I know, I know. I feel it too.” He kissed down your neck, smirking against your skin and peppering it with kisses as he aligned his throbbing tip with your entrance. “I know, baby. I know it hurts. I’ll make it better, okay? Just let me in…”

He pushed himself into you, stretching you out as he went. His nails digging into your skin as he held you by your hips, and yours clawing at his neck, and shoulders as he filled you up nicely. You were both panting by the time he filled you up entirely.

He barely gave you a few seconds to adjust to his size before he started rocking in and out of you. You felt all of him, each vein, each stroke brought you to tears with how good he felt.

“So fucking tight…” he whispered against your cheek, more so to himself. “You’re gonna let me have this tight pussy, huh? Just like that. Hmm? You’re that much of a little slut you’re not even gonna put up a fight, huh?” He stroked your walls with his pulsating cock and you were moaning against his cheek in no time. He enjoyed every second of it.

Both his hands supported you up by grabbing you at the curve of your ass, holding you against him, as he sped up into you. He dipped his head into the crook of your neck and said, “I bet you did it on purpose too, huh? You dirty fucking whore.” He hissed in your ear, cock sliding in and out of you as he fucked you like an animal. His brain running on nothing but pure animalistic instincts. “I see the way you look at me, like a bitch in heat. You’ve probably been plotting this for weeks now. Months even.” Bucky accused. “You knew everyone else left for that mission this morning and I stayed back. Maybe you knew it was going to be just you and me in the tower, and it all worked in your favour, huh?” His grip was punishing. “You had me all to yourself. And you knew I’d come to help you. You knew locking the door from inside wasn’t gonna stop me.”

“No…” You tried to protest, tried to tell him his accusations were wrong. But you could barely talk. “Bucky…”

He didn’t give you the chance to form coherent sentences. He kept taunting you. “And here we are now, Doc. Here I am, at your fucking service. Your good little soldier doing his job. Fucking you like you wanted it.” He let out a cocky chuckle. “Am I doing a good job, Doc? Am I being a good little soldier, fucking you how you want me to? Hmm? Is this good enough for you? Is this what you always dreamt of?”

“Buck…” You gasped. “You know that’s not true.” You whined. “I would never… never do this on purpose…,” You gasped, “To you.”

“No?” He taunted. “But look how well you’re taking it. Look at you. Look at your body swallowing that cock each time like you’d been practising.” He whispered into your ear, his tone filled with lust and filth, “Did you practise, Doc? Did you fuck your biggest toy each night leading up to this in preparation, huh?”

You moaned out loud again, reciting his name religiously as he slammed into you relentlessly.

He was taking over all your senses and you were more than happy to surrender to him.

You felt the pressure forming, fiery and pressing inside you. While it eased the pain, it also wanted out. It wanted to explode. You needed a release. “Please, Bucky. Please make me come…”

Bucky nibbled at the skin under your ear and you lost all control you had left. Your thoughts became cloudy and all you could focus on was how his body brought you closer and closer….

“So fucking good…” he mumbled softly against your skin while he fucked you like an animal; occasionally growling at how good you felt around him. “Better than I ever thought.”

Your throbbing clit rubbed against his pelvic bone each time he buried himself completely in you, and he soon quickened his pace – earning more moans from you.

“Look at what you did,” He growled in your ear as he pounded into you as fast as he could, your back slamming into the large wooden front door with each thrust. “Turned me into a fucking animal. All I can think about is making it good for you. All I want is to fill you up, and fucking breed you. Is that what you want? Want my babies inside you?” He rambled, also getting closer. “I’ll give it all to you, you know that? Not even worried about it, you’ll be a great mommy, won’t you? Won’t you, baby?”

Your body moved along with his, his cock sliding in and out of you like you were just a toy. And you never complained once. You barely listened to what he was saying, all you did was nod and agree with his ramblings. Thinking he didn’t mean them. It was the drugs talking, you reminded yourself with whatever sanity you had left.

You could hear the wet sounds caused each time he pushed himself into you and the sounds of your skin slapping against each other. It was downright sinful.

He moaned against your ear and the sound sent shivers down your back. “Perfect fucking pussy, fuck, you feel like heaven,” He gasped, “Could fuck you all day and do nothing else. Right here in between your legs, huh? Is this where you want me all the time, Doc?” He hissed in pleasure, “Yeah? Does that feel good? Do I feel good inside you?”

“Yes,” Your legs started to shake around him as he quickened his pace, pounding into you mercilessly. “Fuck… yes, you feel so good.”

You felt like you were losing your mind. The pleasure was too much and you couldn’t hold back anymore. So, you came undone around his cock, screaming his name out loud in the empty lab. Walls clenching around him, nails scratching down his neck.

“That’s it, baby. There we go, that feels good, huh?” His thrusts became irregular as he came right after you did, cock throbbing against your pulsating walls as he emptied inside you.

“Oh fuck….” You could feel his warmth filling you up. “That feels…”

“Come here.” He pulled out of you and grabbed you by the wrist, pulling you towards your nearby desk, and pushed you on it, making you sit on the edge, legs dangling for a moment as he grabbed your face and gave you a punishing kiss. “Need more from you, you hear me? Be good and give it to me, okay?”

You were too far gone to even care what position he had you in, all you wanted was him. Inside you. All you cared about was how he’d make the pain go away. So when Bucky grabbed your legs and placed them on the edge of the desk, opening you up to him completely, you let him.

He placed his hands on your thighs and spread them further apart and took his time inspecting your wet folds. He mindlessly dragged a finger up and down your slit, making you shiver and moan as he touched you, occasionally fingering his cum back into you.

“I wanna see what we taste like together.” He whispered, kneeling down.

His eyes trailed up to your tits, and his other hand reached up to pinch a nipple, making you yelp. He chuckled, “So pretty, and all mine to play with, yeah?” He whispered, getting down on his knees so his mouth was mere inches away from your clit. “Now, keep your legs spread for me. Just like this. Okay?”

You nodded, looking down in between your legs as he leaned in and pressed his ravenous mouth shamelessly to your wetness.

His tongue, his lips, the gentle suction of his warm mouth – it was all too much. He moved his head side to side, his coarse stubble brushing against your soft inner thighs. You whined and trembled, trying to keep your voice down as he made you lose your mind by eating you out like a starved man.

Then he looked up, meeting your eyes as the lower half of his face was completely submerged into your wet cunt. And that did it. You came with a yelp and a moan, riding his face and tugging on his hair.

He got up quickly and grabbed your face, breathing heavily with wetness all over his lips, “You wanna taste us together? Yeah? Wanna see how good we are?”

You nodded, delirious. And he leaned in to kiss you again. A messy, warm, filthy kiss. Bucky only pulled away when you were breathless and begging him to stop. He was panting by the time he was done abusing your mouth.

Then he looked down at your cunt, seeing the way wetness kept oozing out your hole.

“Look at that,” He looked down in between your spread, trembling legs and pointed at the little puddle of wetness you’d left there on top of the desk. “You made a mess, baby. Better clean it up.”

He pulled you off the desk and bent you over, pushing your face down, right into the little puddle you’d created there when you came for him.

“I said clean it!” He hissed, sliding his cock back inside you from behind. “Let me see that tongue licking all that up.” He growled, “Yes, that’s it. Lick it clean, baby, come on.” He pressed down on the back of your neck, refusing to let go. “Did you get it all cleaned up? Huh? Give me a taste of that then, come here,” He pulled you up, manhandling you however he wanted. He grabbed your face and turned it to the side to kiss your open, wet, and warm mouth. You were panting by now. He didn’t care, he took whatever he wanted. Shoving his tongue into your mouth and sucking your taste, stealing it.

He pulled away and that wild look in his eyes made you throb. “So fucking good…” Then he spat in your mouth and pushed you back down, bending you over your desk again and went back to fucking you from behind, keeping a tight grip on the back of your neck.

You whimpered as his pelvic bone smacked against your ass each time he thrust into you.

“Look at that body,” He mumbled. “Look at how perfect you are.” He teased, “Who knew our resident, nerdy little scientist would be such a filthy little slut for me, huh?” He slowed down, grabbing your neck and pulling you back into his chest, getting closer to your ear as he said, “Is that what you are now, Doc? Are you my little slut? Tell me. Tell me you’re my little slut and I can breed you whenever I want to. Tell me I get to use you whenever I feel like it.” He hissed, “Fucking tell me.”

You whimpered, “Yes I am. I am your little slut, please just… you can do whatever you want, Bucky, just please make me come.”

Bucky chuckled, cocky now that he’d heard all that he wanted to hear. “Yes you are, baby. A perfect little slut for me. Just for me.”

Then he resumed fucking you like an animal. His moans and groans loud in your ear.

“You better come for me, slut.” He growled into your ear. “You hear me? Come on this cock, come on. I want it wet with your cum.”

His words made you delirious. Lust drunk even more than ever before. You moaned as he reached every single sensitive spot inside you. You felt a familiar warmth taking over you, and a pressure building in between your hips.

“Oh…” You whined, “Bucky, I’m gonna come.” You cried, and you were pretty sure you had warm tears streaming down your face.

“Come on, baby. Come on. Let me fill you up again, huh? You’re gonna just be a good girl and take it, huh? You’ll just be nothing but a cum dump for me, that’s it, angel. Milk that fucking cock, it’s all yours baby… all yours.”

You couldn’t hold it any longer. And you came all over his cock, crying with hot tears down your face.

“Yes… look at you.” He cooed, his voice laced with lust and desire. “You come so good for me.” He slammed his cock harder into you, and your eyes watered even more. He felt agonisingly good, even though you were so sensitive that each stroke had you whimpering and trembling.

Bucky came right after you, grunting and sighing in pleasure. His warm load shooting inside you as your body shook against the desk.

“Fuck, angel, you’re so full of my cum.” He pulled out and pushed back into you, a shallow thrust, as if to test something out. “There, I can feel it all inside you.”

Your mind was a foggy mess. The lab was clearer now though, no more smoke poisoning your brains. But there was enough in both your systems that Bucky only had to wait another minute, before he was ready to go again.

Turning you around and stepping in between your legs and slid back into you again. “It’s getting better, huh? The pain? Are you okay, baby?”

You just nodded and let him take over.

A few slow strokes, then the animal in him took the reins again. Bucky fucked hard and fast into you, his teeth bruising your lips. His mouth swallowing your moans, as he whispered against your open mouth, “It’s all yours, all fucking yours. This is what you wanted, huh? This cock is all you wanted? Should’ve just asked, baby. You didn’t have to do all this. Should’ve just looked up at me with those pretty eyes, gave me one of those please fuck me looks and i would’ve done it.” He chuckled, ending with a loud moan. “Fuck, I would’ve done it. I would’ve taken care of you so fucking good…”

“Please,” You begged, “Please, Bucky, can you–,” A loud moan escaping your mouth cut you off.

“What?” He hissed.

“I want to taste you, please come in my mouth.” You asked, your brain barely registering what you were asking for.

He chuckled, “No, no, no. I can't waste all this.” He reasoned. “This goes in you, right? That’s why you did all of this? To be pumped full of my cum, right? So no, baby. Can’t waste it all by shoving all this down your throat instead of in your womb.” He teased, “Sorry, but not this time.”

Moments later, you were coming undone loudly while Bucky was spilling inside you, some of it oozing out all around his cock, which was still snug inside you. “There,” He gathered some on his finger tips, chuckling, “I guess you can have some of it.” He shoved his fingers into your mouth, which you greedily sucked on like it was fucking ambrosia. Bucky hissed, “Yeah, you like that? The taste of me?”

You nodded, his fingers still deep into your mouth.

“You want more?” He asked.

You nodded again.

“Let’s go then. I need a bed to properly break you in.”

—

Hours later, finally satiated, Bucky decided you two could stop now. That agonising hunger subsided.

He was spent. As were you. And he had barely any energy left. But he made an effort, hissing as he got up and out of bed, feeling all his muscles screaming after hours of non-stop fucking. He stood there, stretching his limbs a little as he looked over at you.

You were buried under his blankets and pillows, only your pretty face was visible. And your eyes were shutting more and more. Bucky leaned over and caressed your face, waking you up gently. “Hey, baby. Wake up.” He whispered gently. “I need you to drink something, okay? Don’t fall asleep just yet.”

You whined, “Just wanna sleep.” You mumbled.

“I know, I know.” Bucky walked over to his mini fridge and got some sugary drinks out. “But you need to drink this, okay.” He walked back to bed and forced you up, pulling you onto his lap so he could better observe whether you were drinking all of it or not. “Come on, have some more. You need it, angel, please.” He reasoned, kissing your shoulder, and rubbing your thighs.

You finished your drink, and leaned back against Bucky, thankful for his warm chest and his strong arms holding you up.

“I got you, angel, I got you,” He murmured, his hands rubbing all over you. He didn’t care that he was smearing his own cum all over your thighs and abdomen, it felt weirdly good. Like he was marking you. “I’m sorry I got so rough earlier,” He apologised, kissing your shoulder. “You just felt so good, I wanted your body to bend and break for me.” He kissed your tired body wherever he could, “Am I forgiven?” He kissed your neck until it tickled, “Hmm? Do you forgive me for being rough earlier?”

He earned a sleepy drowsy giggle. “Yes, Buck.” You answered, letting him tuck you back in bed. “Need to shower,” You mumbled.

Bucky answered, saying, “Later, baby.” And he kept kissing you, murmuring praises and post-sex rambles into your ear. “You’re perfect, you know that?” He spooned you from behind, not minding the sticky, sweaty mess you both were. “My perfect girl…”

You were too close to falling asleep to note the change in his tone. The slight darkness lacing his words. Still.

Bucky pressed his body to yours, caging you in his arms. Then noticed the way you backed up into him, purposely because you did it twice.

“Again?” He asked you, chuckling when you nodded at his question, your butt pressing into his crotch as you drifted off… barely conscious and letting out the tiniest, softest moans as he slid his cock back inside you. Hard already. With ease. Fucking you slowly and enjoying the feeling of your wet warmth wrapped around him.

He knew your body by heart now, so even in the dark he let his hands roam all over you. Touching you exactly where you needed to be touched.

You let out a sleepy whimper, “Mhmm,” And mumbled some nonsense, “...feels so good.” You let out a sigh. “Gonna need you all the time now.”

“I know, baby.” Bucky murmured, already spilling inside you. Filling you up with his cum again. “I know it feels good.” He tightened his arms around you, left his cock snug inside you and pulled you closer to him, whispering against the back of your neck, “And we would’ve never known how good it can be if I hadn’t intervened to speed things up, now would we?”

How long had he yearned for this? For you? Months maybe. But you were always so cautious, always so proper. Always so distant and with frozen, icy walls around your heart. Bucky could never get in. But he wanted you. Oh, how he wanted you since the day he first saw you.

Gods… it was so easy to sneak those files into your computer. And he knew you were so curious by nature that you wouldn’t have been able to resist looking into them. And once you looked, you wouldn’t be able to resist trying to recreate something so forbidden.

All he had to do was let you believe that he’d left that morning with the team as well. But he never did. He planned things too well. Stalled just enough so that right as they were about to take off, Bucky was able to pull back. Showing everyone that the system had alerted him that there was something going on in the lab. The team agreed that Bucky would stay behind and deal with that while they went away and carried on with the mission.

So then, just as he had planned, you two were all alone in the tower and he was at the lab at the right time. Barging in to get you out, like a hero. And accidentally inhaled all that vapour that drove him wild…

And here he was now. His plan was well executed.

Bucky playfully bit your skin, tasting you like you were there just for that. “You played your part well, baby. Thank you for that.” He smiled upon hearing another one of those sleepy moans escaping your mouth. “And now you’re all mine.” He whispered into your ear.

—

a/n: what? I was horny okay…

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #thunderbolts #bucky x reader #dark!bucky

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sanguineterrain · 7 months ago

Text

knight in shining helmet | jason todd

Summary: You're a princess who's visiting Gotham City. You weren't loving it to begin with—then you of course had to get kidnapped. Needless to say, your expectations of the night are in hell. You're hoping, at least, that you'll be rescued by the famous Batman. Instead, it's the infamous Red Hood that finds you.

Pairing: Jason Todd x princess!fem!reader

Word count: 6.6k

Warnings/tags: kidnapping, rescue, reader and jason don't get along at first, violence, drugging, meet-ugly, 7-eleven food as a courting strategy, kissing, softie jason (he always makes an appearance somehow!), strangers to...not-so-strangers.

the divider

You suppose that, for a princess, you ought to have expected a kidnapping to pan out at least once in your life.

You just didn't think it would happen tonight. In Gotham City. A place you weren't loving to begin with.

“Unhand me!” you scream as soon as your taker's filthy, sweaty hand leaves your face. “You'll be executed for this!”

You're not actually sure of Gotham's death penalty policy, but you feel like it's something you should throw in. In any case, the three men who've dragged you away, tied you up, and bruised you in the process, should be a little more afraid of getting caught.

“Batman will find you,” you add. “He'll save me.” You've heard great tales of Gotham's hero. If anyone can help you, it's him.

That makes one of them pause. But the ringleader sneers at you. “If he finds us. He's got a lot on his plate every night, ya Majesty.”

“I am a priority guest in this city, of course he would—”

“Shut her up,” the leader snaps, and suddenly, you're being gagged. Disgusting. Completely unsanitary. You don’t want to imagine if the gag has ever been washed.

You keep screaming and fighting through the gag until a needle pricks your neck. Your terror spikes as you realize there's suddenly an ultimatum to the fear: either Batman finds you in time, or he doesn't.

That's your last thought as the drug renders you unconscious.

When you awaken, it's still nighttime. Nearly pitch black, except for a dim lightbulb in the center of the room. It looks like you're in some kind of warehouse. You can't see much of anything and it makes you claustrophobic. Your head aches and your vision is blurry, and your cheek is pressed against a grimy floor. You just want to go home.

You try to sit up first, but that nearly makes you throw up, and you do not want to throw up through this ratty gag. So you swallow the feeling and close your eyes, waiting until the nausea passes. You open your eyes and they begin to adjust to the darkness. You’re alone, which confuses you.

Then you spot the explosives hooked up at the bottom of your dress.

The good news is that your kidnappers aren’t here. The bad news is that the reason they aren’t here is because they can remotely explode this place and you inside of it. If they don’t get the ransom they’re no doubt demanding, tonight will be your first and last night in Gotham.

Another thought chills you to your bone: what if the explosives are set to go off whether they get the ransom or not?

You squeeze your eyes shut as the tears come. You’re going to die.

But wait. Maybe not. Surely, Batman is looking for you. And his young, brightly-colored companion. You never understood that color palette choice.

They’ll save you. Your father has no doubt alerted authorities. You’re the most important person in the city tonight! Of course people are looking for you.

Yes, you’ll be saved, the criminals will be punished to the highest extent of the law, and you’ll be escorted back to your hotel where you can take a long, luxurious bath. That’ll be very nice.

You’ll also never visit Gotham again, that is for sure.

The door to the warehouse rolls open with a boom. You flinch and squint, trying to make out the figure. If it’s your kidnapper, you want to act like you’re still asleep. You think you saw that trick in a film at the cinema you snuck out to watch when you were young. You didn’t catch the whole film, though—you were found out by your guards before you could. Maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation if you’d watched the whole film!

As the figure gets closer, you realize firstly that he’s a lot bigger than your kidnappers. You sigh in relief. Batman.

“‘Lo?” asks a gruff voice. “Anybody here?”

You shout through your gag. You can’t make out a face, but it’s alright. Relief floods you. You’re saved.

Your savior jogs to you. You tilt your head as you make out a… red helmet? With glowing eyes?

Wait a minute.

“Holy shit,” Not-Batman says. He pulls out your gag first. “Y’okay?”

Realization strikes you; you recall a story one of the party guests shared earlier in the night about a crime lord and his terror on Gotham.

"You're that terrible gangster that left a duffle bag of heads!" you blurt.

"In the flesh," he says, tapping the barrel of his gun to his helmet in a salute. Red Hood. “You don’t look very happy to see me, all things considered.”

“I don’t want your help!” you say, wriggling away from him. “I’m in an alliance with The Batman!”

He tilts his head. “‘S that so? What alliance would that be? Beauty Pageant Runaways For Bats?”

“I am not a beauty pageant contestant,” you say hotly. “I am a princess, and I have a small militia looking for me.”

He kneels in front of you, holstering his gun. His one of many, many guns. Your skin itches with sweat and adrenaline as he approaches. Those glowing eyes in his helmet flip your stomach. This is all wrong. You're supposed to be saved by a hero, not an outlaw. A criminal.

“Princess, huh?” Hood nods. “Ah, yeah. I heard somethin’ about that. They took you from the Plaza. Just my luck that I’d run into ya.”

“You mean, you weren’t actively looking for me?” you ask in a small voice.

“Nope. You’ve got every vigilante and cop in the city looking for you, Your Highness. I came in here ‘cause I smelled motor oil.”

Now that he’s found you, what does he plan to do?

“Are… are you going to release me?” you ask.

“Depends. Is this place rigged to blow?”

“My dress,” you say, unsure whether you should let him know about the explosives. A man who leaves severed heads in a duffel bag doesn’t seem wrapped up too tightly.

“Hm?” Hood lifts your skirt slightly. He whistles. “Damn. This is some excellent work. Whoever did this is a pro demolitions expert.”

His praise doesn’t comfort you, oddly enough.

“Is it live?” you ask.

“Doesn’t look like it. And I’ve got a lot of experience with explosives. Just stay still for now.”

Hood squats and pulls out a knife. You shift. He's bigger than you even like this, crouched at your level. His shoulders nearly block your entire view.

“Who were they?” he asks.

“Who was who?”

“The people that took you.”

“I don't know. They were wearing masks. Three men,” you say, frozen as he takes the knife to your feet.

“Mm.”

Hood begins to cut the ropes around your ankles. You delicately point your feet, unsure if he'll slip and get you.

Your lip curls. "Where's Batman? Or that boy who works with him? Aren't they in charge of this city? I want to speak to one of them."

“I don’t work for the Bats,” he says, an edge to his words.

“Well, I don’t feel comfortable with you rescuing me,” you say. “You’re a criminal.”

Hood stops cutting and looks at you. "Y'want Batman? Fine. I don't mind letting you wait around for the Bat.”

He pockets the knife and rises, walking out of the warehouse and disappearing. Just like that. Your heart jumps.

"Wait!" you shout, squirming in your binds. "Wait, come back!"

But it's silent. Panic digs its claws into your chest.

"Red Hood! Red Hood, come back! Please!"

You begin to cry out of desperation, tears dripping onto your already soiled dress. You try to pull your feet apart, but the rope isn't cut enough and all you do is worsen the burns around your ankles.

You bow your head and cry onto the floor. You just want to go home. You want your goose feather pillows and Egyptian cotton ten-thousand thread count sheets. More than that, you never want to return to this stupid city.

"Are you cryin'?"

Your head shoots up. Hood stands over you, arms folded.

"You-you came back," you say, voice wobbly.

He shrugs. "I had an inkling that you had a change of heart, princess.”

You look away. "You left me.”

"I did,” he says. “But as much as you might deserve abandonment, I'm duty-bound to rescue everyone. No matter how obnoxious of a Batman fan they are."

"I'm not a fan. I just didn't want the morally corrupt, violent drug runner to save me."

He leans down and snaps away the ropes from your ankles—a feat of strength that doesn't go unnoticed. Then he saws the ones around your wrists. "Yeah, well, I don't do that anymore, and for such a pretty face, you suck at sweet talking."

He tosses the rope aside and pockets the knife. You rub your wrists and attempt to sit up. This time, you don’t want to throw up. Success!

“Anything hurt?” he asks.

“My legs,” you say miserably.

“Okay, let me rephrase: anything that'll make you bleed out in the next ten seconds?”

“Um… no.”

“Fantastic. I can probably getcha back to your hotel in an hour.”

You hold out your arms expectantly. He tuts.

“I don’t give hugs until the third kidnapping. Fourth one is free.”

You huff. “You expect me to walk like this? They took my shoes! Gotham is so uncouth.”

“And what am I s’posed to do about that?” Hood asks. “I look like a Payless to you?”

“I don’t know what that is,” you say. “Don’t you vigilantes have a protocol to follow? I cannot possibly walk through this filthy warehouse on my bare feet. I’ll catch a virus! You’ll have to carry me.”

Hood lets out a full-bellied laugh. It’s somewhat eerie through his modulator. You lift your chin, maintaining your composure.

“Oh my God! Highness, you’re a diamond-encrusted piece of work. I don’t carry anybody unless they’re unconscious and I like ‘em a lot. It’s a short list.”

Your brows furrow. “I’m a guest in your city, and I’ve been kidnapped! The least you can do—”

“The least I can do is leave you to rot here,” Hood says, tone cutting. “Or let your kidnappers come back and finish the job. You aren’t in whatever palace they carted you out of; you’re in fuckin’ Gotham, and if y’want my help, you’re gonna suck it up and walk.”

You look away, tears brimming once more. You sniffle.

“You don't have to be so mean,” you say, voice watery. “I’ve had a difficult night.”

It's quiet for a few moments. You've never cried as much as you have tonight, especially not in front of a stranger. A dangerous stranger.

“...Look, I think I got some spare boots,” Hood finally says. “Stay here.”

“Where would I go?” you mumble. Whether he hears you or not, he doesn’t reply, stalking out of the warehouse. He returns thirty seconds later with a pair of ugly, black, man boots.

“Used?!” you ask, voice high.

“Lightly, Your Majesty. They’re my spares. Here.”

Hood tosses the boots at you. You stare at them like he’s flung a pair of rats at you. He taps his wrist.

“Time’s a-ticking, princess. I’m on a schedule. I can always let you wait for Batman. He’ll find ya. Eventually.”

So you put on the boots.

You attempt to stand next, but the drugs and binds have made your limbs weak. You try and fail to get up twice before Hood hooks his arms under yours and hauls you up without a sweat. You squeal, fingers digging into his brown leather jacket.

He towers over you, doubly intimidating now that you're standing.

“Got it?” he asks, arms slipping away.

You definitely don’t have it, and you wobble backward. Hood grabs you again, hand on your back.

“Whoa. Easy.” Hood cups your face, a little rough. You squirm, mind flooded with all the germs that are probably on his gloves. “Look a'me. Look—stop fighting, Jesus Christ.”

“This is no way to treat a princess!”

“Yeah, I missed that day of training,” he says dryly. “Stay still, I'm tryna see if your pupils are dilated.”

“Your grip hurts!”

Hood loosens his grip and manages to keep you still long enough to examine your eyes. He hums and lets go.

“Seems like you’re still feeling the effects. Should wear off soon. Now…”

Hood steps back, but not so far that you can’t grab onto him should you fall again. He gives your dress a onceover.

“So that’s not gonna work.” He takes out his knife again. Your eyes widen.

“What on earth are you doing with that?” you ask, taking a small step backwards.

“Cutting your dress,” he says, like it’s a perfectly normal thing to do.

You gasp, backing away. “No you will not!”

“Princess—”

“This dress is one-of-a-kind, handmade for tonight’s gala. You’re not going near it! It cost seventeen thousand euros!”

“Is it worth more than your life?” Hood snaps. “I don’t have any spare clothes and I’m not dragging a ballgown with three pounds of C-4 attached to it around. You have to be able to move and you have to get on my bike. Now quit whining.”

You sulk as he cuts and tears the bottom layer of your gown. He isn’t as savage about it as you expect: the cut is neat and could even be salvaged in the hands of a good seamstress. The night air makes your legs prickle with goosebumps. Then his words register.

“Bike?” you ask as Hood sets your dress remains aside. You’ll grieve for your dress privately.

“Mmhm.”

“I thought you had a Batmobile.”

“That’s Batman’s car. Hence the name. I have a bike ‘cause I’m a morally corrupt, violent, drug runner.”

Your nose wrinkles. “Can’t we take a taxi? Or call a car service?”

Hood snorts. “No one’s driving to this part of Gotham at this hour. It’s my bike or nothing. Or, of course, you can wait for Batsy.”

He starts walking and you hurry to follow. Hood’s strides are long and you’re unsteady in his too-big boots.

“Can you please slow down? These boots are enormous!”

He doesn’t say anything, but he does slow down, waiting until you catch up before leading you to his bike. It’s a nice motorcycle, you suppose, if you were into that thing. You’ve always thought motorcycles were a stupid risk to take. Being on the road is dangerous enough—why remove the comfort and protection of a car?

Hood’s bike is shiny and cherry red, just like his helmet. He produces a proper motorcycle helmet from nowhere and hands it to you.

“Are you sure this is safe?” you ask, inspecting the helmet. It looks fairly clean and unused.

“Hasn’t killed me yet, and I’ve been dead once.”

Is that his idea of a joke?

“You’ll be fine,” Hood says at your silence. “I’ll go slow.”

“Alright,” you say, putting on the helmet. It smells oddly pleasant, like spicy cologne. “Very slow.”

“Yeah, yeah, very slow. C’mon.”

Hood kicks a leg over the bike and straddles it, all muscle memory. His muscles flex as he bends his legs. He pats the space behind him.

Cautiously, you attempt to do the same, but you soon realize that doing that exact move in a dress is probably not the smartest. You hold onto the seat with both hands instead and clumsily try to fold a leg over. It doesn’t work.

“Yo, Bambi. This century would be good.”

“I’ve never ridden on a motorcycle!” you say, glaring at the back of his helmet. “You could help me.”

“For fuck's—”

Hood turns around, grabs the back of your calf, and pulls. Your legs part and you shriek, certain you’re about to flash him. He holds your waist as you flail so that you don’t bang into him as you sit.

“What is wrong with you?” you hiss, smoothing down your dress.

“Re-lax, I didn’t see anything.”

“This is highly undignified—”

“Yeah, we don't really do dignified in Gotham, princess. Comfy?”

“No.”

“Mm. Hold my waist.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Beg all ya want.” Hood takes your arms and wraps them tightly around his waist. He’s warm and, oddly enough, soft despite his bulk. “You’re drugged and unsteady. If y’don’t hold on, you’re gonna fly off. Press up against me and hold tight.”

“Go slow,” you say again, obediently holding his waist.

“Yeah, I’ll go slow,” he says.

“Do you promise?”

“Promise.”

Hood turns the ignition. The bike roars to life, louder than you expected. You suck in a breath as he revs the engine and starts off.

True to his word (and what a flimsy word it is), Hood goes slow. He takes gentle, easy turns and breaks at all the stop signs, even though this part of the city is essentially abandoned at this hour. You’re able to study the streets, twinkling streetlights a little too bright to your recovering eyes. But you look anyway, shocked at the dilapidated buildings and uneven pavement. You’re definitely not in the Gotham you were earlier tonight. It hardly looks like the same city.

You turn your attention to your savior. It feels like an odd word to use for the Red Hood, whom you’ve heard enough about tonight. Your father had warned you excessively about what a dangerous area this was, and who exactly made it so dangerous.

But a savior is exactly what Hood has been to you. You decide that, despite his roughness, he still deserves a good reward. Perhaps a Hoodmobile. Or new boots.

Your rescue is going smoothly until you cross the bridge. That’s when another biker turns onto the road behind you.

“Shit,” Hood says, and you’re startled that you can hear him so clearly despite the noise. It’s like he’s in your head. “We’re being tailed.”

Well, that’s not good. You turn around briefly but you can’t make out your follower; you’re too scared to move on the bike.

But then you hear the bike behind you speed up.

“Motherfucker,” Hood says, and speeds up. Your arms tighten into a death grip.

“Hold on,” he says, like you'd do anything otherwise.

Hood speeds up and takes a sharp left turn. You tense and yelp, squeezing your eyes shut. He takes several winding turns and you keep your eyes shut through all of them. The nausea has returned and you’d prefer not to ruin the inside of his helmet with your stomach contents.

“We lose him?” he asks when the road levels off and it doesn’t feel so much like you’re on a rollercoaster.

“Um…” you begin, and chance turning around.

It’s clear for a few seconds until…

Well, to echo Hood’s sentiment: motherfucker.

“He’s there!” you yell, and Hood growls.

“The helmets are mic’d, you don’t have to shout,” he says, leaning into a left turn.

“I see him!” you say, and grab one of Hood’s holstered guns. He scrambles to grab it but misses, surprise slowing him down.

“What the fuck are you doin’?!”

You ignore him and take off the safety. Moving your free arm up to Hood’s neck, you fire. He curses up a storm, throwing in a few words you’ve never even heard.

The shots go wide; one dents a parked car, and one hits a stop sign.

“You’re fuckin’ nuts!” Hood yells and snatches the gun out of your hand.

But your tail falls back, evidently spooked enough by you and your poor aim. He turns on a side street and disappears.

“He’s gone! We’ve lost him!” you say happily.

“Are you insane?”

You wince at his volume. “The helmets are mic’d, you know.”

“You’re so—”

Hood cuts himself off and pulls sharply onto the sidewalk. He dismounts and pushes the kickstand down hard. Then he turns to you, chest heaving.

“Don’t ever fucking do that again. Are you crazy? You could’ve gotten us killed!”

“It worked, didn’t it?” you ask, putting out your arms. “We lost him!”

“No, we didn’t. All we did was throw him off our trail a little. We gotta walk the rest of the way now because he probably fell back to get more guys to follow us. But that’s not the point: what you did was insanely risky and stupid. You don’t know how to use a gun and you could’ve hurt yourself.”

You stay silent, chewing on his words. Hood isn’t wrong, he’s just… loud about it.

“Do you understand me?” he snaps.

You don't reply.

“I need a yes.”

“...I wanted to help.”

Hood sighs. “Yeah, well… just don’t. I’m good at what I do and I’ll get you back in one piece. But you gotta trust me.”

“Okay,” you say quietly. You feel small, but you don't want to cry in front of him again and confirm that you really are just a spoiled, whiny princess. “I'm sorry, Red Hood.”

You sit down on the curb, feeling exhausted. Tonight is awful.

It's quiet for a long moment. Then Hood says, “Don't cry.”

Your jaw works as you swallow hard. “I'm not.” You turn your head so he won't see.

“Christ on toast,” he mumbles above you. “This is exactly why I don't do rescue missions—”

You sniffle. “I'm not crying.”

“—’Cause I'm the world's biggest asshole,” he finishes, voice miles softer.

Hood sinks onto the curb next to you. He scoots in just enough so that your shoulders brush against each other.

“Look, ‘m a jerk. The Bats are better at handling civilians and being nice. You got the potty mouth with a bad attitude.”

You rub your eyes. “I don't like yelling.”

“Yeah,” Hood says quietly. “Okay. I'll try not to yell unless you're in immediate danger. But you can’t pull stunts like that. Deal?”

You nod. “I won't fire any more of your guns.”

He snorts. “Yeah, no kidding. Where’d you learn how to shoot, anyway? I mean, y’didn’t do it well, but you did it. Not half-bad for your first time in Gotham.”

“My father wanted me to learn gun sports,” you say. “I learned how to take the safety off and point and shoot, but I refused to do any more lessons after my instructor shot a duck for target practice. I think guns are uncivilized and destructive, and I don’t condone killing animals for sport.”

“Uncivilized unless you're getting tailed by kidnappers?” You think you detect a smile in his question.

“Everything has its exceptions,” you say primly.

“Ain't that the truth. C'mon, we should get moving. We're, ‘scuse the saying, sitting ducks out here.”

Hood stands first and offers you a hand. You take it, letting him pull you up. He does that so easily. It makes your spine tingle.

“How far are we from my hotel?” you ask.

“‘Bout two miles. If I had my gear I'd call for an assist,” he says apologetically. “Wasn’t planning to save lost princesses tonight.”

“I don't suppose there's any chance that you'll carry me, is there?”

“Pretty and funny,” Hood says. “You're the whole package, beauty queen.”

Your snarky reply is cut off by your stomach growling. Your eyes widen.

“Pardon me,” you say, mortified.

“What, ‘cause you're hungry?” Hood asks. “‘S a normal human condition.”

“You don't know anything about royal manners,” you say, but you're relieved. Your father would give you a tight, deadly look if you were hungry in public.

“No, I really don't. Born and bred Gotham, baby.”

“Showing any signs of hunger or thirst around company is highly undignified,” you say.

“Being a princess sounds exhausting.”

No arguments there.

Hood starts walking. You scramble to follow, and he seems to remember your shorter stride and slows down.

“There's a pretty decent 7-Eleven nearby,” he says. “I'd take ya to my favorite diner, but we're on a tight schedule. Those guys won’t be far behind.”

“A seven and eleven? Oh, I've heard of those!” you say.

“I’m… glad you're so excited about convenience stores?”

“I saw it in a film once. My father didn’t catch me watching this one. It looked so rugged, eating in a convenience store and fighting crime afterward. I've never been to one.”

“I know I shouldn't be surprised considering how much your dress cost but it does kinda blow my mind that you've never tasted anything but the finest cuisine,” Hood says. “Wait, did you say your dad didn’t catch you?”

You hum. “He doesn’t like me watching films that aren’t pre-approved.”

“Wow. Y’know, I could pirate you some movies if y’want. I know a great website for it.”

You laugh. “That’s alright. I manage to sneak out to the cinema more than I used to, now that he’s older.”

“Pretty sneaky, beauty queen.” He sounds impressed.

You shrug, trying to hide your pride. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

You turn on the corner and he leads you through a residential area. A few people outside of their apartments stare at you, but when they see Hood, they relax.

“Red!” a little boy shouts from a fire escape. He waves excitedly. Hood waves back.

“Hope you’re listening to your ma,” Hood calls to him, mock-stern. To anyone else—to you—it would be unnerving.

But the boy grins. “I am!”

“Then why aren't ya in bed, huh?”

The boy shrugs. “Not tired. Who's the lady?”

“The lady is a princess, so be nice,” Hood says.

“Whoa!” The boy gapes at you. You wave at him and he jumps up from the window.

“Mom!” he yells. “Red Hood found a princess!”

You giggle as Hood leads you away.

He shakes his head. “Kids.” He sounds terribly fond.

You stare at his back for a moment.

“They like you,” you say. “You keep them safe. But you're also a friend.”

“Helps to earn their trust,” he says gruffly.

You walk a little more in silence.

“I was wrong about you, Hood,” you say. He doesn't look at you.

“Lotta people are. Nothin’ new.”

No, it probably isn't.

“‘Kay, here we are. C’mon. We gotta be fast, alright?”

“Alright,” you say, following him into the 7-Eleven.

“Hey, Benny,” Hood says to the tired cashier behind the counter.

Benny nods. “Long night?”

“You got no idea.” He gestures to you. “She’s a princess.”

“Sweet,” Benny says. “What’s up?”

“How do you do?” you say politely.

Hood leads you to the rolling hot dogs and other cylindrical foods under the heat lamps. You frown.

“I have had a hot dog before,” you say. “I’m not that sheltered.”

“Yeah, but have ya had a buffalo ranch roller? My brother and I used to get these after patrol. That with a blue raspberry slushie? Heavenly after getting thrown into a dumpster.”

“Well, you’ve gotten me this far, so I suppose I’ll trust you,” you say.

“I’m flattered. Benny, my usual.”

Benny gives a thumbs-up and puts the ‘roller’ in a paper bag. Meanwhile, Hood takes you to the back where the slushie machine is. You watch as he fills a plastic cup with electric blue sludge. Your brows raise.

“Why is it that color?” you ask.

“Tasty chemicals,” Hood says cheerily. “It won’t kill ya, I promise.”

“That would be counterintuitive at this point,” you say.

“I appreciate your faith in me, princess.”

You return to Benny, who rings up the food. “Five twenty-seven.”

Hood looks at you expectantly. You look at him.

“What?” you ask.

“This is the part where you pay,” he says.

“A princess never carries money on her person,” you say, like it’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard.

“You–” Hood looks at Benny and sighs. “Why am I not surprised?”

He pays and you take your treats, trotting out the door.

“Thank you, kind sir!” you say as Hood waves.

“See ya, Ben.”

You hold out your slushie for Hood to take while you work on your fried goodie.

“I’m not a cupholder,” he says, but he takes the cup anyway.

“It’s warm!” you say, delighted. “Let me take a bite.”

Hood patiently waits as you bite and chew. You hum.

“Good?” he asks.

“I like it,” you say. “It’s unusual. Is this chicken?”

“So they say,” Hood says. “Try the slushie.”

You take the cup and first take a small sip. It’s cold and sweet and slightly sour and probably full of enough sugar to rot your teeth out of your head. You love it.

“This is wonderful,” you say.

He laughs. “Yup. Told ya, nothin’ like this combo. It’s a classic. C’mon, let’s get moving.”

You walk and eat, and it definitely improves your night, having something in your belly.

“This is just like Roman Holiday,” you say.

Hood snorts. “I don’t think we watched the same movie.”

“It has a likeness. You’re Gregory Peck.”

“Yeah, sure. If Gregory Peck was a street fighter, then yeah. I’m Greg fuckin’ Peck.”

“No, you’re right. You’re much younger than he was in that movie. How old are you?” you ask.

“Twenty-four.”

“Really? Why are you doing this?”

“Took a career test.”

You bump his shoulder. “Seriously, Hood. You’re young. You’ve so much potential. I can tell that you’re smart.”

“Hence why I do this,” he says.

You tut, shaking your head. “That’s ridiculous. You could do more. Be more.”

“You’re just fulla charm, aren’t ya?” Hood says.

Your next step is hesitant. Hood keeps walking.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way,” you say. “I guess I assumed…”

“Yeah, I know. You assume a lot, princess. And you’re wrong.”

“You made assumptions about me! You thought that I was stupid and naive and I’m not.”

Hood stops, turns. “Maybe I like doing what I do, huh? Ever think of that? I meant it when I said I’m not a criminal anymore. I help people.”

“I know that,” you say quietly. “I see how the citizens treat you. They like you. You care for them greatly. I just… I just meant that you could try new things too. If you wanted to.”

He’s quiet for a bit. You keep walking.

“I didn’t think you were stupid,” he eventually says.

You scoff. “Yes, you did.”

“No, I didn’t. Yeah, I thought you were a little… sheltered. But you’re smart. You’re certainly tougher than your dad gives you credit for.”

You roll your eyes. “He still thinks I’m six years old. It takes me getting kidnapped to see a city.”

“Pretty shitty tour.”

You smile behind his back. “Oh, I don’t know. The tour guide is alright.”

Hood stops. When he doesn’t speak, you approach.

“Hood?”

He suddenly puts a hand over your mouth and drags you backwards into an alleyway. Your yelp is muffled. Hood puts a finger to where his mouth would be under his helmet.

That’s when you hear voices.

“—single fuckin’ clue. She could be in the fuckin’ Atlantic by now. Halfway to China!”

“China’s on the other side, dumbass.”

You look up at Hood, eyes wide.

Those are your kidnappers' voices.

He seems to understand and nods. He squeezes your arm and removes his hand from your mouth. He points to himself and points outside, then points to you and points down.

You assume that means stay put and don’t try to shoot anyone with his gun. You can take a hint.

Hood slinks out of the alley. You peek your head out to look, curiosity overtaking fear. Besides, you trust Hood. You figure with a reputation like his, he can more than handle his own.

“Nice night, ain’t it?” he says.

The two men turn, looking close to pissing themselves. Good.

“Hood, we weren’t doing nothin’!” one says.

“Yeah, Ricky and I are clean!”

“Oh, really? So you had nothing to do with the kidnapping of a certain visiting princess.”

“We was nowhere near the Plaza!” Ricky cries.

The other elbows his friend. Before you can blink, Hood has them both down on the ground, pistols pointed at their necks.

“You were gonna hurt her,” Hood says, and now there’s no trace of humor in his voice. “That poor, sweet princess. Strapping C-4 to her like a fuckin’ bank vault. Drugging her, tying her up. You fuckin’ animals.”

“It wasn’t our idea, it was Bobby’s!” Ricky cries.

“Shut up, Ricky!”

A shot rings out and you flinch. Ricky starts sobbing. Red seeps from his leg.

“The only reason I’m not killing you two right now is because I want a word with your boss. But make no mistake.” Hood leans in. “You’ll pay for hurting the princess. I’ll make sure of it.”

With two final hits, Hood knocks them out cold. The sudden silence is loud.

He looks at you then, those eerie eyes glowing. He beckons you out. You go.

You look down at the unconscious bodies. “You don’t have to kill them.”

“What?”

“I mean, I’d rather you didn’t. You shouldn’t have that on your conscience.”

“They kidnapped you. They would’ve hurt you had their boss ordered it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “I don’t want you to bear that burden, Hood.”

“‘S not a burden,” he says, gently taking your wrist. Your eyes fly open. “If it’ll make you feel better, safer, anything. It’s no burden.”

“Okay,” you say quietly, frightened at how pleased a part of you is at his words.

“I’ll tie ‘em up and send for ‘em when we get back. One second.”

You watch as Hood drags their bodies into the alley like they’re sacks of feathers. He handcuffs them to a drainpipe and ties their feet and gags them.

“So they can see what it feels like,” Hood says, dusting his hands. You can’t help your small smile.

“Ready?” he asks.

You look up at the starless sky, suddenly exhausted. Your limbs feel like lead. “I guess so.”

Hood looks into the distance, then back at you. He sighs.

“Climb on my back.”

You blink. “Pardon me?”

“You’re pardoned.” Hood shrugs. “I can tell you’re tired. We don’t have far to go.”

“Won’t I be too heavy?” you ask. “All that way…”

“Princess, I’m honestly offended. I once carried Batman and my brother to Bludhaven. I’m more than capable.”

“But what about your rule?” you ask. “About carrying people.”

“Turns out you’re not so bad,” he says. “Get on ‘fore I change my mind.”

So you climb onto Hood’s back. He secures you easily, and you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Don’t choke me out,” he says. “Otherwise we’re both goin’ down.”

You smile and relax on his back. “Thank you.”

“Mm.”

At first, it feels like an eternity, waiting for the familiar Plaza sign. You can’t complain, though: Hood is warm and being carried by him is even better than riding on his bike.

You blink, startled at the thought. What are you even talking about? This is the Red Hood. You were terrified of him a few hours ago.

And yet, the rhythmic bumping and Hood’s solid figure lulls you to sleep. You don’t even realize until you’re being nudged and a voice pulls you back to consciousness.

“Hey.”

You’re gently jostled awake. You blink blearily, yawning into Hood’s shoulder.

Oh. Right. You’re on his back.

“Hm?”

“Ride ends here,” he says. “We’re at the Plaza.”

“Oh.” Sleepily, you try to climb off. Hood sets you on your feet. Embarrassment fills you as you become more awake.

“I’m so sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you. You could’ve woken me! I—”

Hood holds up a hand. “Hey, chill out. ‘S fine. You had a long night, I get it.”

“Right. I, um…” You look up at the hotel. The top floor windows disappear in the layer of fog that’s settled over the city. You wonder what Hood’s windows look like.

“I’m gonna track down your main kidnapper and make sure they don’t hurt anyone else. I’ll kick his ass, at the very least.”

You look at Hood, blinking. “Oh. That’s very nice of you, thank you.”

He shrugs. “‘S my job.”

You nod clumsily. “Right, of course. I could give you something in return, though. Money or, um, firearms. A car, perhaps?”

He snorts. You smile shyly.

“Cute,” he says, but he’s not being mean. “No, that’s okay. I’m pretty set, actually. Doing what I do is surprisingly lucrative.”

“Surely there’s something—”

“Seriously, princess, no charge.”

You bite your lip. Is this too bold? Yes, definitely.

“What about a kiss?”

At first, you think Hood hasn’t heard you. Then he turns to face you in a way that tells you no, he definitely heard you.

“Ex-cuse me?”

“Um.” You scratch your neck. “Well, princesses kiss their knights goodbye, don’t they?” you ask, but it’s weak. It’s stupid. You’re so young.

You think he’s going to just walk away. That would be the kindest thing to do in response to your blunder.

“I’m sorry, forgive me. That was a terrible joke,” you blurt.

“No, it wasn’t.”

He steps forward, close enough to kiss you if he didn’t have the helmet. You look up at him, heart pounding.

“Wasn’t terrible or wasn’t a joke?” you ask, blood roaring in your ears.

Hood’s quiet.

“Haven’t done much kissing, to be honest with ya,” he finally says, not answering your question.

You shake your head. “Nor I.”

“Mm. And y’wanna kiss me? Don’t offer ‘cause you think you owe me.”

“I want to kiss you, Hood.”

He tilts his head. “Y’wouldn’t be kissing a knight. More like kissing a toad.”

You frown. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, I’m no Greg Peck. And I’m no hero either.”

“Do you give this speech to everyone who wants to kiss you?”

“You’re the first one who’s wanted to,” he says.

You inhale sharply. “Oh.”

“Uh-huh.”

You wait. He waits. You both wait for the other to back out. You don’t. Neither does he.

“Can’t believe a princess wants to kiss me,” he mumbles.

And then he covers your eyes with his hand.

You blink, lashes sweeping over his glove. You hear a click, then a hiss of air. His helmet hits the ground with a dull thud.

Hood gingerly holds your chin with his free hand. You keep your eyes closed even though he’s covering them, out of respect.

His mouth is warm and so, so gentle. You barely feel his lips at first, so you press a little harder. Hood doesn’t know what to do with his mouth, resting it on yours, so you take the lead, following what you’ve seen others do and what you’ve watched on television.

You reach up and hold his face. He makes a soft noise in the back of his throat. You stroke his stubbled jaw, feel strong cheekbones and the ends of curls above his ears.

“Your Highness? Your Highness!”

The hand leaves your face so quickly, your eyes stay closed for a second longer, slow to react. Then you open your eyes and see the empty street.

Your lips tingle with heat. It’s all noise around you, policemen and your guards flitting around you, asking questions, alarmed by your torn dress.

You exhale, disappointment overtaking you.

Your father is in front of you, taking your wrists. “Can you hear me? Doctor, I need a—”

“I’m fine,” you say, finally meeting his eyes. “I’m alright, Father.”

He exhales and pulls you into a hug. It startles you. He pulls away before you can hug him back.

“I am so glad you’re alright,” he says. “The police say they saw a figure with you. Who was that? Was he your kidnapper?”

“No, not at all,” you say, staring out into the street beyond. Your lips are buzzing. “He was my hero.”

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood x reader #red hood x you #jason todd fanfiction #dc fanfiction #batman fanfiction #red hood fanfiction #jason todd imagine #princess reader

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bywons · 2 months ago

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I HOPE NOBODY CATCH US ★

BABY, YOU’RE THE BADDEST─────𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎

❪ 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐄 ❫ 𝖾𝗇𝗁𝗒𝗉𝖾𝗇 & 𝖿𝖾𝗆!𝗋 ✶ 𝟑𝟑𝟕𝟐 慕 ، 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝗁𝖼𝗌 ──────𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𓈒 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾

reb𝑙ogs& ˊᗜˋ 𝑓eedbacks 𝖼𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄

LEE HEESEUNG

“don’t fret, i know how to get out of these lockers.”

it’s pitch black and cold inside the narrow space where heeseung pulls you in. the only light is the dying flicker of a neglected tube light in the hallway, its glow slicing through the vents in pale, trembling beams. just enough to catch the curve of his smirk—the glint in his eyes that spells nothing but trouble.

you exhale a shaky breath, half nerves, half anticipation. “i don’t think this is a good idea, ‘seung.”

“then you should probably stop thinking,” he whispers, taking one slow step forward until your back meets the chilled metal behind you.

his arm wraps around your waist with ease, fingers pressing into your side like he’s done this a hundred times. his other hand cups your cheek, tilting your face upward. “what? are you nervous?” the low murmur is a dare.

you lift a brow, masking the flutter in your stomach. “not at all,” you say, curling your arms around his neck, “so... are you not going to kiss me?”

heeseung’s grin turns devilish. “you’re playing with fire,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours—featherlight, taunting.

“and you love the burn,” you whisper back, your voice barely steady.

that’s all he needs.

he kisses you—no hesitation, just heat. it’s fast, breathless, the kind that knocks the world sideways. his grip tightens; one hand on your waist, the other in your hair, holding you like he can’t get close enough. your back hits the wall with a soft thud, but you barely register it—too consumed by the fire in his touch, the desperate push and pull of lips and teeth.

he pulls away just enough to breathe, his forehead pressed against yours.

“you taste better than i thought,” heeseung breathes, voice rough, ruined.

you barely have a second to respond before he’s kissing you again—slower now, deeper. like he’s trying to memorize every part of your mouth, the way you gasp into him, the way your fingers twist into the fabric of his hoodie.

“wait... do you guys hear that?” footsteps. laughter. voices.

“heeseung said he left his charger here, right?” jake.

“maybe he’s just making out with someone in a janitor’s closet again,” sunghoon laughs.

your eyes widen, panic rising, but heeseung doesn’t budge. “relax,” he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw. “they’ll leave.”

they don’t. the locker door creaks open.

light floods in. jake stares, stunned. sunghoon whistles. jay just nods. “called it. you two always do wonder off.”

you hide your face in his hoodie, mortified.

heeseung smirks, still holding you like he’s proud of being caught. then, calm as ever, he reaches out—

and slams the locker door shut in their faces. in the dark, he leans in again, lips ghosting your ear.

“now… where were we?”

PARK JONGSEONG

“you clearly don’t want to pass this semester,” jay murmurs, pushing his rimless glasses higher on his nose, his tone too calm for the way he’s currently cornering you between two forgotten shelves in the library’s quietest wing.

the second floor is dim and silent, almost sacred, except for the soft rustling of papers in your trembling hands. he takes another step forward. your back lightly bumps against the bookshelf behind you, heart beating somewhere between your throat and your stomach.

“i do want to pass,” you breathe, gaze flicking to his mouth—just for a second, but long enough.

jay notices. of course he does.

his lips curve. “funny,” he says, voice low and amused. “then why are you staring at me like i’m your final exam?”

heat rushes to your face. “you’re distracting.”

“so you’ve said,” he hums, his fingers brushing the hem of your sleeve, a barely-there touch that sets your skin alight. “but you haven’t done anything to stop me.”

you try to glare at him, but it falters when he leans in, close enough for your noses to almost brush. his breath is warm, laced with the faint scent of cinnamon gum, and you swear the air itself grows thinner around him.

“you’re not serious,” you whisper, pulse racing.

jay tilts his head. “aren’t i?”

and then he kisses you.

it’s deliberate—no hesitation, no asking. he kisses you like he already knows the answer, like he’s been counting down the seconds to this moment. his lips move slowly at first, savoring, testing, but it’s not long before the tension breaks, and he pulls you impossibly close. his hand cups the back of your neck, thumb brushing under your jaw as if grounding you while everything else inside you spins.

your hands fist in the front of his hoodie, dragging him in as you match the rhythm, letting him take over. the kiss deepens, grows messier. he tastes like coffee and certainty. your back presses harder into the shelf, and you don’t care about the books threatening to fall.

his other hand slides to your waist, gripping it with enough force to make your breath hitch. when he breaks away, your lips are swollen, your lungs desperate for air.

you barely have time to recover before he kisses you again, harder this time—urgent and consuming. you forget the setting, the time, the reason you were even studying in the first place.

then—

“what the hell—jay?”

the voice isn’t loud, but it’s shocked. jake. followed by a stifled gasp from sunoo and an audible snort from riki.

you break apart instantly, lips swollen, heart in your throat.

jay doesn’t flinch. he glances over his shoulder, unbothered, adjusting his glasses with the same composure he had before kissing you. “can i help you?”

“we were looking for that book on behavioral psych,” jake says, blinking. “didn’t realize you were—uh—conducting your own experiment.”

riki just claps sarcastically. “academia’s alive and well, i see.”

your face burns as you bury it in jay’s chest. he only smirks and strokes your hair.

“if you're done interrupting,” jay says smoothly, glancing at them like they're the problem, “we were just getting to the good part of chapter seven.”

SIM JAEYUN

“you shouldn’t be here,” jake murmurs, voice low and husky, though he doesn’t step away from you. in fact, he takes a slow step forward.

his room is dimly lit, shadows stretching across the walls from the bedside lamp. the soft scent of his cologne lingers in the air—clean, warm, dangerously addictive. you’re standing near his bed, back almost brushing the edge, while he watches you from the doorway with that same unreadable expression he always wears when he’s thinking something he probably shouldn’t.

you meet his gaze, arms folded loosely. “and yet, you haven’t asked me to leave.”

his lips twitch at the corners. “maybe i like the trouble.”

you raise an eyebrow. “maybe you are the trouble.”

another step. he’s closer now, close enough that you can hear the subtle hitch in his breath. “am i?” he asks softly, head tilting. “do i look like someone you should stay away from?”

“you don’t look like anything,” you whisper, pulse skipping. “you feel like danger.”

that earns a quiet chuckle from him, low in his throat. “good,” he says, leaning in. “because i’m not safe.”

you don’t answer—not with words. your hand finds the fabric of his shirt just as his fingers brush the side of your jaw, tilting your face to his. the kiss is instant. desperate. it starts like he’s been holding back for too long—slow for a second, like he wants to savor it—but then his lips part yours and the floodgates break open.

his hand slips around your waist, pulling you in as your back hits the bedpost. the lamp casts a golden halo across his cheekbones, eyes half-lidded, mouth devouring yours like he’s afraid to stop. your fingers tangle in his hair. he groans softly into the kiss, deepening it—his tongue brushing yours, teeth grazing your bottom lip, every movement charged.

he pulls back just enough to breathe, forehead resting against yours. “fuck,” he pants, “i’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

you don’t give him the satisfaction of a reply. instead, you tug him down again, kissing him until you're breathless—until your body melts into his.

and then—knock knock. the door swings open without warning.

“yo, jake, have you seen—” sunghoon’s voice dies mid-sentence. standing behind him are riki and jungwon, frozen in place. jungwon’s eyes widen like saucers. riki drops a bag of chips.

“holy shit,” riki mutters. “i knew it, something was going on with the two of you!”

you rip away from jake instantly, cheeks flaming. jake doesn’t even flinch. instead, he grins, wild and utterly unbothered, arm still looped around your waist.

“you could try knocking,” he says, breathless but smug.

“the door was open,” sunghoon retorts.

jake shrugs, leaning into you with a smirk. “guess you just caught a good scene.”

you bury your face in his shoulder, and jake just laughs, lips brushing your temple. “don’t worry,” he murmurs for your ears only, “we’re not done.”

PARK SUNGHOON

“we won’t get caught,” sunghoon says with a grin that borders on cocky as he glances down the empty hallway. “trust me.”

the school is quiet, almost eerily so. the last bell rang a while ago, and most students have cleared out—leaving nothing but the hum of distant lights and the faint echo of your own footsteps. lockers line the walls like sentries, silent witnesses to your nerves.

you hesitate, arms crossed, scanning the hallway once more. “this feels like the start of a horror movie.”

sunghoon laughs under his breath, then shrugs off his jacket and flips it up over both your heads, draping it behind you like a makeshift curtain as he pins you gently against the lockers. “then let’s make it a good one.”

the world narrows—just his breath, his cologne, the tension between you both in the small darkness under that jacket. the metal of the locker is cold at your back, but his hands are warm, settling against your waist with a practiced ease.

“sunghoon,” you whisper, but your voice catches when his fingers press a little firmer.

“hm?” he hums, already dipping down, brushing his lips across your cheek before finding your mouth in a slow, deliberate kiss.

it starts soft—just the barest press—but it doesn’t stay that way. his hand slips up your side, your fingers knot in his shirt, and then his mouth opens against yours, tongue tasting, teasing. the jacket rustles slightly with every shift of movement, but it stays in place, cloaking you both in heated secrecy.

his kisses are addicting. deep, breathless, spine-tingling. his other hand cups your jaw, angling your face as he kisses you like he’s starving—slow but consuming, like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth.

you gasp softly between kisses, voice barely there. “someone might—”

“shh,” he mumbles, lips brushing yours again, “you worry too much.”

and that’s when you hear it. the sound of a shoe squeaking. a plastic bottle dropping. footsteps that stop dead.

“are they… under a jacket?” jake’s voice is filled with disbelief and too much amusement.

“i think they are,” jay adds flatly. “they really thought this was stealth.”

sunghoon doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch. he exhales through his nose like he’s annoyed by the interruption. “we’re in the middle of something,” he says calmly, without removing the jacket or even looking up.

you bury your face in his shoulder, mortified. your entire body is burning.

“okay, okay, carry on, romeo and juliet,” jake laughs, footsteps retreating with teasing echoes. “don’t let us stop true love.”

only when the hallway goes quiet again does sunghoon speak, voice low, smug, lips at your temple.

“told you they wouldn’t catch us,” he murmurs, kissing you again before you can argue—slower this time, like he has all the time in the world.

KIM SUNOO

the door to the rooftop creaks behind you as sunoo leads the way up, glancing over his shoulder with that telltale glint in his eyes. the city stretches out beneath you—lights twinkling like scattered gems against velvet darkness. it’s quiet, save for the occasional car horn echoing from below, and the wind brushes past your cheeks, sharp and cold.

“we shouldn’t be here,” you murmur, hugging yourself as the breeze cuts through your hoodie.

sunoo just smiles. “that’s why it’s perfect,” he says, unbothered as he shrugs off his cardigan and gently drapes it over your shoulders. his fingers linger on your arms for a beat too long. “see? better already.”

you nod, but your breath hitches when he steps closer—barely an inch of space left between you. his eyes soften, the mischief in them giving way to something more tender.

“you okay?” he asks, his voice low, careful, like he’s afraid he’s overstepped.

“yeah,” you whisper. “just… nervous.”

sunoo chuckles quietly, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “you don’t have to be.” his touch lingers, and his fingers trail down to your jaw, featherlight. “not with me.

the wind swirls around you again, but you barely feel it—not when his face is this close, not when his gaze drops to your lips and your heartbeat begins to drown everything else out.

“sunoo,” you breathe, like a warning and an invitation all at once.

he doesn’t hesitate anymore.

his lips meet yours, soft and slow at first, like a secret passed in the dark. his hand cups your cheek, tilting your face toward him as his thumb brushes against your skin. your fingers twist into the sleeves of his cardigan, holding onto him like he’s the only thing tethering you to the ground.

the kiss deepens—still sweet, but more urgent now, as if he’s been waiting for this moment longer than he’s let on. his other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer until you’re flush against him, your breath mingling in the cool air.

your heart thunders in your chest when the rooftop door creaks open.

“yo—sunoo?!” jungwon’s voice cuts through the moment like a blade.

you both freeze, lips still inches apart, hands locked in place. sunoo turns his head slightly, not letting go.

jungwon stands in the doorway, stunned. “you said you were getting air!”

sunoo smirks, not missing a beat. “and i did,” he says, looking back at you. “the kind that knocks you breathless.”

you bury your face in his chest, half-mortified, half-laughing, while jungwon groans dramatically and mutters something about needing therapy.

sunoo just hums, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “worth it.”

YANG JUNGWON

the gym feels different when it’s empty. not silent—just hushed, like the walls are holding their breath. overhead, one flickering light buzzes faintly, casting long shadows across the polished court. basketballs are lined neatly on their racks. the bleachers sit folded and bare.

you lean against the far wall, arms crossed, pulse quickening as jungwon approaches with that signature calm that always makes your stomach flutter.

“you shouldn’t be here,” you whisper, but it doesn’t come out stern—not when you’re already smiling.

he doesn’t stop walking until he’s right in front of you, one hand resting casually against the wall beside your head. “neither should you,” he says, voice low, soft, teasing. “but that hasn’t stopped you before.”

you scoff under your breath. “we’re going to get caught.”

“no one’s coming back. practice ended twenty minutes ago. coach left.” he leans in closer, eyes on your mouth. “it’s just us.”

the heat radiating off his body is intoxicating. it seeps into you, makes your breath hitch as his fingers brush your wrist—lightly at first, then firmer, more certain, like he needs to hold on. the tension simmers between you, thick and magnetic.

“this isn’t smart,” you murmur, but your hand betrays you, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie, tugging him in. jungwon only smiles, gaze flicking down to your lips. “that’s what makes it fun.”

he kisses you before you can argue. it’s slow, deliberate. not rushed or clumsy, but intense—like he’s got all the time in the world and still chooses to use it here, with you. his hand moves to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, while the other slips around your waist to pull you closer.

the cold wall presses against your back, but the chill doesn’t matter. not when jungwon’s mouth moves like that—patient, tasting, stealing every breath you try to take.

your fingers twist into the front of his hoodie, holding him like he might disappear if you let go. he sighs into the kiss, tilts his head just enough to deepen it, and your knees nearly buckle when his teeth graze your lower lip.

it’s perfect—until the door creaks open.

you don’t register it right away. not until a sharp voice echoes from across the court.

“um… am i interrupting something?”

your entire body tenses. jungwon pulls back slowly, just far enough to look over his shoulder.

riki stands near the entrance, a basketball tucked under his arm, eyebrows raised so high they nearly disappear into his bangs. he’s frozen, blinking like he’s unsure whether to laugh or scream.

you shove at jungwon’s chest, trying to step away, but he just slides his hand down your arm, lacing your fingers together.

“relax,” he murmurs, cool and unfazed.

“this isn’t what it looks like,” you blurt out quickly, even though it’s exactly what it looks like.

riki cocks his head. “sure. two people making out in the dark gym? totally innocent.”

jungwon doesn’t let go. he just glances at you, smile tugging at his lips, then back at riki.

“door will be locked next time,” he says. and this time, you don’t even argue.

NISHIMURA RIKI

the rehearsal studio is nearly empty now, the clatter of shoes and echo of laughter long faded into silence. riki grabs your hand with a grin, tugging you toward the dim backstage area behind the curtain.

“what are you doing?” you ask, breathless from the run.

“hiding,” he says simply, and you let him.

the glow of a lone utility lamp casts long shadows on the walls, painting the space in soft amber hues. the air smells like sawdust and sweat and something unspoken between you two. your back hits the cold cinderblock wall gently as riki stops in front of you, still holding your hand.

he looks down at your intertwined fingers, then up at you. “you’ve been avoiding me all week,” he says, voice low.

your breath hitches. “i wasn’t—”

“don’t lie,” he cuts in, but his tone is gentle. teasing. he steps closer until there’s no space between you. “if you didn’t want me to kiss you, you wouldn’t have followed me back here.”

your heart slams against your ribs. “who said i didn’t want you to?”

his grin is pure trouble. “then let me.

he doesn’t give you a second to overthink it. his hand cradles the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone as his lips find yours. the kiss is warm and urgent, all the tension from the past few weeks unraveling in seconds. he kisses like he’s been holding back for days—fast, almost rough, but grounding.

his free hand grips your waist, pulling you flush against him as his lips part yours. your fingers knot in the front of his sweatshirt, your body arching into his as the kiss deepens. he tastes like strawberry gum and something distinctly him—reckless, electric, addictive.

you barely hear the sound of footsteps over the rush in your ears.

“riki?” a voice calls out from the main stage. “did you leave your phone—?”

you both freeze.

riki sighs dramatically against your lips, but doesn’t pull away. “ignore it,” he murmurs.

“riki?” the voice comes closer now. “are you hiding again—oh my god.”

you tear away from him in panic as sunoo stares, mouth agape and very much not alone. jake peeks in over his shoulder, then promptly turns around and walks back out.

“i told you not to come back here,” riki groans, dragging his hand down his face.

sunoo snickers, already pulling out his phone. “this is so going in the groupchat.”

your face burns as you bury it in riki’s chest. “we’re dead.”

riki just shrugs, arms looping around you with zero shame, as he shoos away sunoo “whatever.”

스루 ܃ tysm juni and dani for helping me with jakehoons’ !

797 notes · View notes

ruinix · 2 months ago

Note

Can you write a smut story of Quinn Hughes and y/n having car sex right before entering Dice & Ice?

Hi, lovely anon. I apologize for just getting to your ask. I fear I have been so distracted (Quinn withdrawals are hitting me so badly). But here it is! I hope you enjoy it even though it’s late.

Cramped Space

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Semi-Public Sex (car sex), Unprotected Sex (protections, yesyes), Just Quinn…being horny, of course, and fucking you so sloppy until you're a puddle but it's just a quickie...

Count: 3036 words | Masterlist | Taglist

You’re nervous. Quinn can see that. You are fidgeting with the pendant of the necklace he gave you last night. Its matching earrings and bracelet glint on your ears and wrist. He glances at you.

Now, you’re biting your lower lip.

You shift again, so he rests his hand over your thigh, sliding into the slit of your dress, his fingers curving over your inner thigh, giving you a firm squeeze. You sigh which makes him worry more. You scoot closer, spreading your legs an inch to invite his touch, so he squeezes again.

He spots a great parking spot in the venue for Dice & Ice Gala. It’s quite a close off area that’s sandwiched by a thick square column and a wall. He likes the slightly isolated areas because some people park way too closely. He doesn’t want you to have any difficulty going out your door, rather, him getting to you when he opens it for you.

“What are you worried about?” he asks.

Another squeeze. He feels your shiver. Then he hears a slight sound which he assumes to be a small plea of discomfort. A tiny whimper that feels like a stabbing knife to his heart. How did he not see this before leaving the house? You clearly don’t want to go to the gala. He’s stupid.

He bites down his tongue to prevent him from speaking, waiting for you. He briefly lets go of your thigh, hearing another fucking sharp inhale, so he quickly slides into the spot, putting the car on park—shifting the gear and lifting the hand break. He places his hand back to your thigh as he turns to you.

You’re looking around everything except him. Your lips are slightly trembling as you twist and tug the pendant. Quinn reaches to hold your hand. Only then, you look at him with worry and…What’s that? Is that…lust?

There’s no way. Why would you be turned on when you’re anxious? Maybe he’s just projecting his need for you. Fuck, he is, isn’t he?

Mentally, he slaps his head for being an idiot.

He needs to know what you’re worried about. He has to. He must. It feels awful being clueless when something eats at you. He needs to make it right. How will he make it right if he has no idea what it is?

“They’ll be lots of cameras, Q,” your voice quivers.

He hums, urging you for more.

“I don’t want to be photographed tonight,” you say.

His lips part as he gets more and more concerned. That doesn’t explain it. At all. His head goes into a full assessment mode.

This is most likely not about being seen with him. You’ve been photographed with him in several Canucks’ events. You’ve never minded that. Even when you two have gone out, there are fans who purposely get you in their shots. In those occasions, he always convinced said fans to delete the picture when you were uncomfortable, tugging on his sleeve as a silent confirmation of what you felt.

Most of the time, you don’t really care about it, especially when you are all dressed up. Like you are now. Before you left the house, you were so proud of how you did your hair and makeup. He looks over your whole appearance. Definitely beautiful. You’re wearing a dress that looks so good on you, especially with that generous slit. It exposes your thigh so much when you’re sitting and he’s eating it up. He almost jumped you when you first showed it to him. Hell, even now, he wants to jump you. Blood rushes down his cock, unable to stop his hand to slide up your thighs, getting closer and closer to your—

‘Not the fucking time, Quinn,’he scolds himself.

He doesn’t understand the problem. Why do you not want to be photographed tonight? Do you not want to attend the gala? If you’re not comfortable going, then so be it. He can drive you back home. It doesn’t matter if he’s already running late. He’ll do it for you. You’re the most important thing in his life. He’ll do it.

“Wanna head back?” he silently asks, leaning closer, unconsciously sliding his palm up and up your thighs until he almost grazes the lace you’re wearing.

“No, I…” You bite your lip that’s painted with a perfect shade of muted red that compliments your skin. The action makes Quinn’s mouth water. You sigh, looking away. “Do you really think I want to go home? Why are you dense today?”

What are you talking about—

Then you do it, tugging his hand closer so that the side of his finger gets into contact with your drenched panties.

Oh. Oh.

He’s not projecting?

“Just don’t want them to see how horny I am. Isn’t it obvious on my face?” You continue.

No. Not at all. You’re just so pretty. Quinn shakes his head, a bit too roughly to emphasize his disagreement and to clear his head from the lust that’s griping him in a chokehold. His breath hitches when he finally notices how your blush is deeper now than a few seconds ago, how your eyes keep peering around—more of assessing the windows of his car—it’s all tinted heavily except the windshield—how you bite your lips at the isolated parking spot, how your pupils are blown out.

Then he realizes that you didn’t whimper because you’re anxious. You’re horny. That’s fucking hot.

Admittedly, he feels stupid, for having you blatantly spell it out for him. He normally doesn’t need you to. He knows you like the back of his hand. He just really thought he’s fucking horny again. He always is.

Now, his cock stirs when you keep your gaze on him, looking up him through your lashes, your lips slightly pouting, your hand still playing with your pendant. He feels your legs spread more, inviting him to touch you, so he does. The softness of the wet lace sends shivers down his spine. His dick hurts.

“Hop on the back,” Quinn murmurs, barely holding himself back from ripping your dress to shreds.

Your lips curve into a smile, but like the tease that you are, you shift, kicking your legs over his lap. You say, “Take my heels off first.”

It takes all of him not to pant as he unclasps your left heel, his palms burning from your heated skin, absently discarding them on the dashboard. He can’t focus on your heels at all when your legs are bare from the dress. Your soft and silky skin feels so divine under his touch. When he takes the heel off, he can’t help but trace his thumb on your arch, pressing. A moan escapes you, your head tipping up as he massages the particular spot along the arch that you make him rub every night.

“Oh, that feels good,” you pant, gasping as he makes quick work with your other heel, dragging his touch on your skin. “Quinn,” you say in a breathless moan.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, my Love.”

“You’re the one—oh my gosh, Quinn!” you writhe as Quinn kisses your ankles then your heels, making sure to lick for ever kiss. When he softly brings up your feet, he moves to kiss the inside arch of your left, but you pull away. “Okay. Calm down, sir.”

Sir?

How can you call him sir and expect him to calm down?

Fuck calming down.

A rumble escapes him as he tries to kiss your arch, but you basically kick him by his shoulder and crawl over the center console, leaving him all flabbergasted. Protests tease the tip of his tongue as he turns around, his hand gripping the passenger seat, but they die down at the sight of you pulling your dress up to your hips. You slide your fingers down the wet seam of your panties.

“What are you waiting for, Q?” You taunt, baring your pussy by slipping your panties to the side. “I’m already here.”

Oh, you shouldn’t have done that. Everything blurs past Quinn’s head. One moment he is undoing his seatbelt and basically lunges into the back seat, the next he is kissing you so deeply that you are whining, rubbing his erection against your sopping wet pussy.

“Your pants are getting—

He cuts you off because he doesn’t give a shit. He wants you to make a mess on him. The thrill of him wearing your arousal just makes him harder. He wants you on him. That’s not too much to ask for, is it? He doesn’t care about how wet his pants are getting. He’s also spilling pre-cum inside his briefs. Besides, he’s wearing a dark suit anyway.

He kisses you like he wants to devour you because he truly does. He hooks one of your legs over his arm, lifting and spreading you wider, his knee planting on the seat for leverage, as he humps you harder. He bets he can make you come just from this. He already did it before. For countless times. He always ends up coming in his pants. He’s used to it by now, but he prefers coming inside of you so you can be full of him during the event.

With that, he quickly undoes his belt, tugging his pants down, hissing when your hand wrap around his cock the moment it’s free. When your thumb swipe over his slit, coaxing a bead of pre-cum out him, he is already panting like a starved dog. Then you guide him to your pussy.

“Fuck,” he curses as he sinks into your cunt, doesn’t stop until he’s fully inside you. Your slick and quivering pussy feels so good. You always feel so fucking good.

“Quinn, please,” you plead, writhing and clutching his shoulders. “Kiss me.”

Your wish is his command. He kisses you. Hard. He harshly nips your lips, tasting the sweetness of you combined with your lipgloss—or whatever it is, it’s fucking shiny.

When he can’t get enough, he licks the seam of your lips, shivering at the feel of your slight tremble, at every puff of air coming from your mouth. Then he slips his tongue past your awaiting lips. He groans at how your flavor fully intensifies, drowning any sense left in him.

He just wants to kiss, fuck, and hold you.

He needs it.

One taste of you isn’t enough.

He needs you to come around him until you can’t stop. He fucking needs it. Maybe he can just drive you both home. Fuck the event—

“This gala is important,” you whisper into his lips.

‘Did he say that outloud?’ he thought, groaning,“I know.” He ruts into you faster. “I just need you.”

“You always need me,” you say so smugly.

Quinn agrees. Forever and always. He needs you. You keep him grounded when he’s getting beat up from all the game losses or all the media shitshow he experienced. You make him live for so much more than just hockey in this place so far away from his family. You give him another home with you. You made him feel loved and cherished, wanted and yearned.

As much as he does with you.

But, alas, this Canucks event is truly important. It’s a fundraiser where he, as a captain of the team, needs to attend and he’s already late. As if on cue, his phone rings, breaking the calmness of the situation. He needs to pick up the pace to satiate you. Yet both of you choose to ignore it, because there’s no reason to rush.

Before Quinn would be beating himself for not being punctual, you changed that. You taught him that things in life must be savored.

Things being you and you and you.

Just you.

Every intimate moment with you is important to him. Whether it’s in the bedroom where you both talk until you two falls in a deep slumber in each other’s arms, or in a café where you drink at least two cups of coffee—while he barely drinks his tea—and feeds the both of you small bites of cake, or in the movie where you’re basically glued against his side as you watch the film with extremely wide eyes, or the park where you two bask under the sun while you eat the picnic you either had Quinn make or order, or just you two sitting in his car as you two people-watch while rambling about how your days are. Whether it’s casual moments or sexual. Like how you two always seem to take at least five minutes in a restroom cubicle for a quickie, or a sudden hotel visit because going home will take longer than a check-in, or maybe a quick make-out session.

Every moment with you is locked safely in his head.

No one can take it away from him.

Nothing can.

Every single one is a notch in his soul. He’ll carry it until the day he dies, until he gets reborn, until he finds you in that new life, so he can collect more notches that he will carry over to another life. Then again. Over and over again.

Quinn fucks you harder, kissing you to convey all his love for you. His hand slips between you two so he can flick and toy your clit with his thumb, as he drives his cock against that spongy spot that has your back arching, has you screaming into his lips. Your whines are music to his ears. He needs you to come.

A flash of movement catches his attention. Somebody just parked in the other side of the column, but it doesn’t deter Quinn from fucking you. Not one bit. Not when he’s inside of you. If only he can live inside your pussy for every second in his fucking life, he will.

He feels amused when you part from him to breathe. You yelp when you notice the person get out of the car, barely looking over the car that’s probably moving with your tryst. Your hand comes up to his shoulder to give him a slight push, but he will never fucking stop. Sweat drips down your temple, your cheek, your jaw, and Quinn already there to lick it up. His tastebuds explode with the saltiness of it. He loves it. He needs more, so he dips his head to your neck, so he can lick up the sheen of sweat forming on your skin.

He’s just so fucking greedy over you.

He can’t help himself.

Your pussy clenches around him. Your thighs quiver around his hips, his other hand pushes one to spread you wider as he presses right over your clit with the other, teasing the small bundle of nerves, until you come. Every pulse, every clench. He feels everything as he fucks you through it.

He needs you to come at least three more times. He needs—

“I need your cum right now, Quinny,” you demand, grabbing him by his nape, making him stare straight into your beautiful eyes. “Now. I need you. Please. Please. Please.”

Oh, the chokehold you have on him.

You have him coming right there like someone’s perfectly trained to your every plea.

“Fuck, fuck,” he grunts, gritting his teeth for every thrust to take every spurt of his hot cum deep inside you, gripping your thighs so tightly that he is living hand imprints onto your flesh. The tiny moan escaping you makes him come harder as you clench around him. When he’s done, he’s spent a moment kissing your shoulder, collarbone, up your jaw and finally your lips. “So good, my Love. Maybe—”

His phone goes off, signaling that there’s another call.

While he rolls his eyes, you chuckle at him, truly pushing him off. Your voice is light as you say, “Later, Quinny.”

Quinn grumbles, getting annoyed that he needs to get off you. He needs to because he falls into the temptation of fucking you again. Still, he does it, getting absolutely hypnotized by the cum that spills out. No, actually. Maybe you two can get another round—

And his phone just fucking rings once more.

“Damn it,” he curses, quickly leaning over to center console to get the small bag you brought, getting his phone along the way. He ignores the missed calls that are piling up as he hands over the bag. He quickly types a text, “Will be there in 15-20 minutes.” Then he turns it in ‘Do not Disturb’.

He watches you start to clean up. You have this satisfied grin that makes him feel so fucking giddy. It doesn’t faze him when you playfully throw a fresh wet wipe for him to clean his dick. He absently does it to appease you, plus he doesn’t want you to be the only one fixing yourself when he’s looks as freshly fucked. However, he makes sure that he only does half-assed job before he tucks himself in. He’s not lying when he wants your cum on him.

Then he helps you with brushing your hair. Clumsily. He honestly doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he just does it, because you handed him the brush.

He’s totally mesmerized at how beautiful you look while you powder your face then while you put on your lip things—totally a balm and gloss. So utterly beautiful that he has to swallow the urge to ask for another round, because if he doesn’t, you two won’t be leaving the car for an hour or two or three.

With the way that you’re smiling, you know exactly what’s going on his head.

When your eyes dart towards his crotch, your grin turning into a smirk. “You might be the one who shouldn’t be photographed right now, Quinn.”

Then you laugh, a mix of a giggle and a chuckle.

His chest tightens as his heart pounds harder in his chest.

He wonders if he can survive the gala when he’s fucking hard and sensitive again.

He wonders how many times will you let him fuck you in the restroom when he can no longer bear it.

He wonders.

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bobasbn · 4 months ago

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a flame that ignited fire (2)

1.6k words again | Sylus achieved his goal and is finally having a daughter but now he must deal with his wife's pregnancy cravings. Read part one <- here

“Are you alright, my love? Is the pillow fluffed up to your liking? Should I get you some snacks? Do you want anything else?” Sylus asks you profusely. He’s been nothing but attentive and worrisome ever since you were confirmed to actually be pregnant.

Sylus was driven to tears when you showed him a positive pregnancy test after all his effort to convince you that a baby is just what you two need. It’s been six months since then, you haven’t gotten the chance to even feel any discomfort without Sylus swooping in and pampering you with every available resource he has.

“Everything’s fine, thank you,” you say with a smile. You hold onto Sylus’s hand, your thumb gently turning the wedding band on his finger. All you wanted to do was lounge on the couch and watch a movie but your husband refused to let you move without him preparing the couch for your maximum comfort.

Sylus lowers himself to his knees in front of the couch, resting his elbows up right beside you. His eyes have been carrying a certain sparkle to them lately, an undeniable softness has been gracing his features, reminiscent of the way he looked at Riley when he realised that the baby wasn’t afraid of him.

“I’ve been having the tendency to be… overbearing,” Sylus admits sheepishly. His hand raises to smooth your hair back in a soothing manner. “Just tell me if you need me to just shut up and leave you alone.” He reminds you. He’s more than aware of his new habit of pampering you to an almost overwhelming degree sometimes. It’s endearing for the most part except for the select few times where your mood was naturally sour due to the pregnancy and you had chided Sylus for not giving you space.

“You know I will,” you joke, admiring the way Sylus has been stealing your pregnancy glow. You definitely envy it, the way his skin has been glowing and eyes glistening. You always thought it was the pregnant lady who was supposed to have that shine laid upon her skin, not her husband who is far too elated to be a father.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against your knuckles. He never fails to remind you of that either. “My precious girls.” Sylus gently rubs his hand over your pregnancy bump. Along with being driven to tears once he found out you were pregnant, his waterworks started up again when you found out you were going to have a daughter. You swear he’s been bearing the larger half of the emotional instability and moodiness between you two.

A girl is exactly what you were wishing for. The idea of giving Sylus a daughter that will melt down his tough exterior and bring out this vulnerable side like this is heartwarming.

Sylus stayed home because he was feeling worried after you had expressed your discomfort in your lower back. He prepared hot water bottles, fluffed up all your pillows and catered to your every request.

“Aren’t you tired? You’ve been awake all day,” you ask Sylus as you climb back into bed. After an adventurous day of laying on the couch on this bright weekend, you’re back in bed.

“Truthfully, I’m a little fatigued. But it’s nothing that I can’t handle,” Sylus says, but he’s already sitting up in bed with his hands folded in his lap. His eyes look like they’ll fall shut at any moment now.

You fix the blanket over your body. You’re just about to say something back to Sylus but when you look back at him, he’s already snoozing away. You can’t help but chuckle. Of course he pretended as if staying up all day didn’t bother him at all.

You relish in the moment of silence that lulls you to sleep in the peaceful atmosphere of the room.

In the early hours of the morning, about 4am, you’re jolted awake by your own senses.

You were feeling warmer even though the temperature of the room hasn’t changed. A sudden itch prickles around your abdomen and you feel some discomfort from the position you ended up in while sleeping. You lean over to turn the lamp on your bedside table on, feeling yourself involuntarily becoming more awake. To top it all off, you have a hunger for something cold. Cold, sweet and fruity, slightly floral. You smack your lips, noticing that your husband isn’t up and around like he usually would be at this time.

Despite not abiding by his usual sleep schedule, he’s still an incredibly light sleeper and his scarlet eyes are soon open and adjusting to the dim lighting.

“Sweetheart? Are you alright?” He husks, his deep voice almost inaudible from just waking up. He stretches his arms out, his muscles flexing as he props himself up.

“I’m not feeling good,” you admit. Sylus immediately becomes alert.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m hot, I’m itchy, uncomfortable and I want blueberry lavender ice cream,” you list out your issues. Your husband’s fingers touch your cheeks, noting the slight warmth to them.

“Blueberry lavender ice cream? Where would I find that at… 4 in the morning?” He inquires out loud, already planning on how he’ll fulfill your craving at this ungodly hour.

You shrug your shoulders, your mind running a bit too rampant about all the negative things you’re experiencing and not caring at all for the new quandary you’ve imposed on your husband. He gently rubs your back as you stiffly sit up, your joints feeling as if there’s something jammed between the sockets.

“I’ll be right back,” Sylus assures. His tiredness from just a moment ago disappears in a blink as he walks out of the room. Soon enough he comes back and props a hot water bottle behind your back and adjusts your pillow to make you more comfortable.

“Ice cream…” You mutter, clutching to the fabric of his shirt. The more you were awake, the more you craved the cold, sugary treat. You felt as if you would die without the ice cream you desire, like your stomach will simply twist up and kill you.

“Of course,” he responds and immediately nods his head. He presses a chaste kiss to your temple before heading out on his exploration for ice cream, specifically blueberry lavender ice cream which isn’t just found anywhere. Sylus has never run so fast in his life for something so trivial as ice cream. He knows he’s on limited time but the task isn’t an easy one, and every convenience store he stops by doesn’t have this specific flavour.

You rest your head against the pillow supporting your neck, shifting a bit as you absentmindedly rub your hand over your pregnancy bump. This daughter of yours is already giving you such a hard time before she’s even been born. She already has her father running mindlessly through the streets to fulfill her every whim.

Half an hour goes by and your cravings do not settle at all. If anything, they’re growing stronger. You try to distract yourself with your phone but everything is swirling into blue and purples hues, breaking into mosaics and forming the image of blueberry and lavender in your mind. It’s driving you insane.

The door almost breaks down when Sylus makes his return and he immediately starts making a big clatter downstairs which catches your attention. You tried to ignore it for the first few minutes but your curiosity grew to know if he ended up getting the ice cream or not. You muster up all the strength you can to push yourself off the bed and you pad downstairs curiously to see what your husband is up to.

To your surprise, when you enter the kitchen you’re met with the sight of Sylus handling an ice cream machine. A violet mixture churns in the machine, looking like the product of all your wishes right now.

“You’re making ice cream?” You lean your head against his arm, earning a kiss on the head from him.

“I couldn’t find it anywhere. But, fresh ingredients will taste much better,” Sylus says calmly. He had gone ahead and bought the raw ingredients just to make the ice cream you want at home. Despite being married to him for a significant amount of time, he still finds ways to make your heart melt.

You watch the ice cream being mixed for a few more minutes before he opens the lid to get a peek of the creation inside. You couldn’t resist swiping a finger through the smooth cream, taking a taste and your body instantly rests as you do. All the senses in your mind that were screaming for blueberry lavender ice cream were silenced the moment you finally got access to the fruitful, floral treat.

“Yes, this is it,” you nod. Even though the ice cream wasn’t set, it was calling your name. You served yourself a large bowl with every drop of the ice cream that Sylus made for you. You brought the bowl back to bed with you, your husband following behind closely like a puppy making sure that this was enough to satiate your craving.

“Is it good, sweetheart?” He asks. You hold up a spoonful of the ice cream to his mouth, it’s more cream than ice. He takes a bite, eyebrows raising with delight.

“I’ve been waiting my entire life for this,” you murmur. You hog the rest of the bowl, shoveling spoonful after spoonful into your mouth as your husband watches with a sense of admiration for you. He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, a small smile on his face.

“I’m glad you’re happy,” he gently taps his finger against your nose. His eyes flit down to your belly.

“I can’t wait to meet her,” he whispers, his eyes full of wonder. He wouldn’t get annoyed even if he had to fly to the ends of the Earth to satisfy your cravings. It all didn’t matter as long as he was helping you feel better, and that he was getting closer everyday to meeting his daughter.

He was already ready to give up everything to take care of you two, his girls, his entire world. You two were definitely going to be spoiled rotten by Sylus.

#love and deepspace #lnds sylus #lnds #qin che #sylus qin #more sylus girl dad #more domestic fluff sylus

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bumpkinspice0 · 2 months ago

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Take a Bullet

Logan Howlett/ Wolverine x Mutant!FemReader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: “I’d raise hell. I’d tear down whatever took you away…but you’re still here. If the price of that is death, then I’ll pay it every goddamn time.” he lets the words linger. It almost stings when they start to sink in. Did he really think this was all he had to offer? Only his invulnerability, his strength? Of course it was. It’s all anyone ever told him he was worth. All anyone ever wanted from him. He did exactly what thought he should. What he was made for. Logan always thought he was anything except a man. An animal. Another expendable tool. OR Logan never told you he couldn't die, and it scares you how far he's willing to go to keep you safe.

AN: Just the briefest sprinkle of smut. Didn't feel right to go full feral in this one. This is another one that's vaguely tied to my first Logan fic HERE. Totally not required reading, reader just has the same powers and codename cause I'm lazy. She's an earthmover called Dozer. The GIF choice is incredibly unserious but I couldn't not

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, injury, shock, Hurt/comfort, angst (obvi), Logan has some low self worth guys, Confessions of love, Protective!Logan, Smut, Tender sex

AO3 if you prefer to read there

Logan Masterlist

_______

You weren’t new to fighting. Hell, you’d been doing it most of your life. You were an X-man after all— but this was getting ridiculous.

They just kept coming.

You faced down the brotherhood countless times, fought gods and mad scientists— but a few dozen humans with guns was proving to be the most exhausting task you faced with the team. Their ranks were depleting, that much was true, but holy shit was this getting old.

“Dozer!” you hear Scott shout your codename from the left. “Barrier on the east entrance, quicksand for the ones approaching from the west!”

“Aye, aye, Captain!” you, a little less than enthusiastically, respond before plunging your fist into the dirt to change the very earth to your will.

As an earth-mover, you have the wonderful task of being both on defense and offense— well, mostly defense. A lot of defense. You could put up walls and literally stop people in their tracks. If all the firepower was focused outside, the job could be finished inside.

This was a prison break, after all.

“The last of them are out!” Jean’s voice crackles in your ear. “Let’s get the hell out of here!”

The last of the MRD facilities is finally falling. It’d been over a year since they’d been defunded and mutant registration was banned. Still, hate always found a way to limp on.

And limp on with a few hundred guns at that.

A stray bullet whizzes past your ear as you move behind a newly erected stone wall. You’d been at this for hours. You're tired. You’re slower and it’s making all of this a hell of a lot more dangerous.

“We need some support over here!” Scott screams into his comm, sliding behind the shelter next to you.

“North gate is clear. I’m coming to you!” You almost sigh in relief at the sound of Ororo’s voice. She’d be tasked with taking care of all other possible exits while you and Scott got the main entrance. With the power of flight and hurricane-level winds at her fingertips… Well, you always thought Storm could take care of herself better than the rest of the team.

The barrage of bullets stops as soon as there’s a crack of thunder, all of the armed men looking up to the sky to see the goddess that brought their demise. In an instant, tyrannical winds start to sweep through their ranks.

“Almost out!” Jean announces in your ear.

“Dozer, give them a clear path!” Scott orders you, jumping out from behind your barrier to help Storm thin the herd of armed men that waited.

You call to the dirt beneath your feet, pulling up several jagged walls of rock to protect the entrance and path to the Blackbird. They’re sloppy and uneven, but they’ll do for cover. You catch just a glimpse of the team through the cracks in the rock. Somehow, Logan’s eyes find yours in the fraction of a second you have.

“Spare anyone you can. Let’s clear the last of these scumbags out before we evacuate.” Scott orders through the comm set. You want to argue back and groan in protest. The mission was complete. The prisoners were out and heading for safety, but you knew he was right— Time to cripple MRD once and for all.

With any final strength you can muster, you send a shockwave through the battlefield, several agents falling in its wake. You quickly enclose whatever parts of their bodies in rock that you can. You just have to immobilize them and there are only a handful left. It’s almost over.

“Remind me never to piss you off, sweetheart.” a familiar gruff voice cheekily says behind you. In a flash, he’s at your side— Logan. If the situation were different, you’d have kissed him. Too bad there’s a task at hand.

“Oh, you should know never to piss me off by now.” you chuckled back, doing your best to multitask in the chaos of it all.

Logan jumps in front of you defensively. He was against you being the outside offense since the beginning, likely just because he couldn’t be there if you needed him. In the handful of months since you’d been together, he’d proven to be a rather protective partner. The more you learned about him, the more you understood why. He’d only had a small handful of things happen to him that were actually good. You did your best to be one of them.

“Two dozen left at most,” Scott shouts in the dwindling chaos.

Looking out at the jagged battlefield, Scott’s estimate seemed to be correct. This could be over in a matter of seconds, and your job would finally be done. You could take the last of them out with the same move you’d just done… that is if you had one more in you still.

You reach your weary hands out and call to the earth one final time. Cripple them. Immobilize them. The ground starts to rumble under your command.

You're so focused on your finishing move that you don’t hear it. Storm warning you all reinforcements are coming up from the south, directly behind you.

“DOZE!” It’s Logan’s voice that pulls you out of your concentration.

You only have a split second to turn your head to see him jumping for you. He pushes you to the ground, your body skidding a few feet away. There’s a deafening ring of new gunfire before it’s immediately silenced by a new jagged wall of rock you rip out of the ground. With a crack of lightning, Storm rushes over to Scott’s side, quickly followed by Rouge and Kurt. You scramble to your feet, ready to join them, but Logan doesn’t move. He just stands there, back to you, completely stone still.

“L-Logan?” You dare to take a small step toward him, afraid of what you’ll see.

He starts to turn around, his movements jerky and stiff. It hurts him to move.

You attempt to hide the horrified gasp that escapes your lips, covering your mouth with your hands at the sight of him. Your eyes immediately meet his and you can almost feel it through his gaze— the excruciating pain.

You weren’t fast enough to stop them.

Bullet holes peppered his entire body. God, even his face— the bullets still sat embedded in his metal skull. The blood pouring out of each new hole in his body was starting to stain his suit— painting over his skin with red. He choked out a pained sound that almost sounded like your name before collapsing to his knees and falling face-first at your feet.

“Logan!” You immediately drop down and pull him into your arms, the battle around you now completely forgotten. You erect three more small walls on your remaining sides. The team could handle the rest. They’d be fine. Logan would be fine. He just needed time to heal, and you’ll give it to him.

You cradle his head in your arms. All hope disappears when you look into his eyes.

There was… nothing.

Those warm, hazel eyes that were always so inviting are now cold and blank. Lifeless. Streams of blood marked his rugged face you adored so much, a bullet in his forehead and two through his left cheek. You’d seen death a handful of times in this rotten job. You’d just never seen it in someone you loved.

You can’t help the wail that escapes when you pull him in. You clutch his lifeless body, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

Yes, Logan healed, he barely aged, but could he cure death? He’d never mentioned it. How could a mutation still possibly work after you died? It couldn’t. Logan was dead. He’s dead because of you. Because you weren’t fast enough to stop this.

You only faintly register the battle falling silent around you. The commanding voices of your friends at least tell you that you’ve won. There was no joy in this small victory for you. Not while you clung to the body of your now dead lover.

You jump at the sound of several metallic pings within your space. Has someone breached your quickly constructed walls? You pull back and gasp at an entirely new sight.

Logan was healing, newly formed tissue and bone pushing the bullets out of his body one by one. The final ones to leave are three that marked his face. As soon as they’re gone, there’s light in his eyes again.

His whole body arches in your arms as he heaves in his first gasping breath. His hands grasp onto you, finding anything to ground him. You can’t bring yourself to say anything comforting, shock grabbing hold of your vocal cords.

He’d come back to life in your arms in a matter of seconds.

He takes a few steadying breaths before his eyes finally find yours.

“Are you okay?” His voice is shaken, almost ragged.

You still can’t force yourself to speak. You only look at him, only able to see the blood that streaked across his face in every direction. His blood. He was still covered in his own blood. The hole in his forehead is still mending itself back together and he’s asking if you're okay?

He sits up from your lap, his hands gently resting on your arms.

“Hey,” he tilts your chin up to look him in the eye. Warm and inviting again. Full of life, “Talk to me.”

You’re not sure how long it is before you can force words out of your throat, but eventually, you do.

“You died.”

The silence that follows is haunting. Suddenly, it feels like there’s an ocean between the two of you. You should be the one comforting him through this, yet here he is, cradling your face in his hands, suddenly unable to make eye contact. He’d saved you, he was alive, you were alive, yet you feel like something in you changed. A small piece of you died with him just then. Unequivocally fear that you could never forget. He died. You just watched him die.

“But you didn’t.” He says it with no regret in his voice. No pain.

He knew his actions would likely be fatal. He sacrificed himself to save you. But was it worth it? Was it worth it to watch him die in front of you?

And knowing Logan… he’d do it again without hesitation.

“Hey, guys!” It’s Kurt's voice that pulls you out of your little world, calling for you just beyond the walls. You quickly lower them to see the rest of your fellow X-Men standing in wait. How long have you both been sitting here?

“Jesus, what happened?” Rouge exclaims, clearly referring to Logan still caked in blood. His blood.

He was still fucking covered in his own blood.

You quickly get up, not sparing Logan a single glance, and brush past your teammates as fast as you can. You board the Blackbird alone, hugging yourself in the corner. None of them come after you, and truthfully, you don’t want them to.

Your face collapses into your hands, sobs racking your whole body.

______

The flight home was dead quiet. Even the rescued prisoners said almost nothing except a quick thank you once you dropped them off at a secure mutant-run location just past the border. Logan was smart enough not to sit directly next to you. You’re not sure if you're relieved or mortified by that fact. No, no, you needed space and he was giving it to you.

You still felt his eyes on you the whole time.

He may not have sat right at your hip, but he was in eyeshot of you at all times. Logan’s emotions were always so palpable to you. You can always just feel him. He was worried.

Ororo was the first to approach you with a quiet hello and a gentle hand on your knee.

“What happened out there?” she asked somewhat hesitantly.

You took your sweet time answering, shock still grabbing some part of your mind and urging you to just keep staring at your feet like you had been the entire time.

“I saw him die, ‘Ro.” you eventually answered.

You swear you felt her touch tense a little.

“But Logan can’t die.” Maybe she was holding back a laugh, you thought briefly. You’d been with this man for months, and you had no idea his healing factor was so advanced. You were a child pouting in the corner over seemingly nothing— but it was everything.

“But I didn’t know that, ‘Ro,” you spat back at her. “I didn’t know that.”

And, of course, she pulls you into a hug with a comforting warmth only Ororo Munroe seemed to have. It was stupid of you to think she’d mock you for something like this.

You’re in your bedroom now, sitting on the bed with your knees curled into your chest, stripped out of your suit and freshly showered. Logan was in the bathroom just a few feet away, brushing his teeth. Just fucking brushing his teeth like nothing happened. Like his soul hadn’t left his body and you had to fucking watch.

It wasn’t just that, though. It wasn’t the fact that he was brushing off the fact that he’d died and come back to life.

You loved him.

It’d been a good handful of months, and neither of you had said the big one yet. People always said you and Logan were the same kind of stubborn, probably what drew you to each other in the first place. Both skittish and afraid to ruin something by going too far. But it’s gone past that point for both of you now, hasn’t it? What risks are there left to take? It took seeing the light draining from his eyes to realize you loved this man. God, why can’t anything in your life be easy?

You feel the mattress sink behind you, but still don’t turn to look at him. His body shifts with a heavy sigh.

“I can’t…we can’t go to bed like this.” There’s that gentle pleading in his voice you’d only heard a handful of times. When he woke up from nightmares, mostly.

A heavy hand comes to rest over yours and to your surprise, you don’t pull away. You finally turn to face him… and there he is. As rugged and beautiful as he always is. Not a speck of blood left. No holes in his body. The familiar hair of his bare chest already grown back in the same familiar patterns. The man you loved, as good as new.

With a deep breath, you ask your first question.

“Have you died before?”

He’s taken aback at first but eventually answers.

“Yes.”

“How many times?”

“I’ve lost count.”

“Logan—” you bury your face in your hands, not sure if you are willing away tears or an irritated groan.

He reaches out for you, ready to pull you into him before he decides against it.

“I’m sorry,” he simply says.

“Logan, it’s not—”

“I thought you knew,” He quickly cuts you off. “You knew how old I was… what I’d been through. I figured you knew.”

In retrospect, it seems obvious. He’d fought in wars, been ripped apart and put back together, he’s hundreds of years old, for God's sake. But what normal person would ever correlate that to complete and total resurrection? You knew Logan had suffered… but this…

“You’re okay and I’m okay. That’s all that matters.” He reaches out to you again. You stand up from the bed and start to pace before he can touch you.

“It’s not about that! It’s not about being okay now— it’s that I had to watch you. I saw you die. I saw you suffer because of me and I—” You cut yourself off before admitting to your newest and most terrifying secret. “You can’t do that again. I can’t watch you go through that again.”

He just sits there, looking up at you like a scolded puppy.

“I can’t promise that.” He says without an ounce of regret in his voice.

“Then you’re going to have to try.”

You see a flame flicker in his eyes then before he looks away. He sits there, hands squeezing into white knuckled fists on his lap before he releases them with a deep breath.

“You can’t just ask me not to protect you.”

“I don’t need you to protect me.”

“You did tonight.”

You turn away again, trying to keep yourself from screaming. He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t fucking get it.

You pause, facing the wall adjacent to the bed, and take a few deep breaths before daring to continue.

“I don’t want you to just be a human shield for me.”

“I’m not…I will do anything as long as it means you stay alive.” He’d finally raised his voice, the tendons in his neck tensing from what little restraint he had. “You have no idea… No idea what I’d do.”

And finally, his nonchalant attitude toward this monumental thing started to make sense. What he’d done, sacrificing himself for you— it meant nothing to him. A blip in his long existence. What’s a little more pain to it all? Logan never gave a shit about himself, you already knew that— but the people he cared about…he’d move mountains for them.

“I’d raise hell. I’d tear down whatever took you away… but you’re still here. If the price of that is death, then I’ll pay it every goddamn time.” he lets the words linger. It almost stings when they start to sink in.

Did he really think this was all he had to offer? Only his invulnerability, his strength? Of course it was. It’s all anyone ever told him he was worth. All anyone ever wanted from him. He did exactly what thought he should. What he was made for. Logan always thought he was anything except a man. An animal. Another expendable tool.

You have to show him he’s more than that. More than some blunt object. More than a weapon. He’s a man… the man you love.

You pull at his wrist, urging him to lean into you. He does, his arms circling around your shoulders and yours sneaking up around his back.

“Logan… you still don’t get it…but I guess I’m not getting it right either,” you start gently, running your hands soothingly up his back. “I’m not saying I’m not happy to be alive. That we’re both alive…but…I can’t be entirely grateful because…because I watched the man I love die tonight.”

You feel him tense around you.

“Just for a moment, I thought I lost you. I lost you and it was my fault. You’re not just something that’s expendable. You’re a man. A man that I— And I’d never get to tell you…” You trail off, the thought of it is too unbearable.

He doesn’t let you bury your face in his chest like you wanted, hiding yourself from his searing gaze. Instead, his hands come up to cradle your face, gently craning your neck back to look at him. You were right to want to hide away from him, his eyes are more desperately burning than you’d ever seen.

He holds you there, unmoving, unspeaking. Just boring into your soul with a million words that his mouth could never say. You don’t need him to speak. Those deep pools of hazel and topaz say it all.

In a way, Logan took the first step. He took a few dozen bullets for you, endured unspeakable pain and the first thing he did when he could breathe again was ask if you were okay— what is that if not love?

You don’t recall the last time a kiss felt more natural. Kissing Logan always felt right, but this was different. Whatever words he couldn’t say, he was pouring into this kiss. An all-consuming embrace. A silent promise. His own way of saying he loved you back.

Logan was always a man of action rather than words.

He pulls you into him, holding you flush against his body with a desperate moan and a need to have you impossibly closer. He cradles you like a treasure, tongue coming out to explore your own.

He pulls you down to the bed, hands starting to desperately paw at your whole body. You straddle his lap, cupping his jaw so tightly you fear hurting him. As if you ever could. Your shirt’s discarded in some blinding flurry of motion, his lips immediately trailing all over your chest as soon as you're exposed to him.

Logan was always a lustful and sometimes feral lover. It was always something that was intoxicating about him. This was more than that, though. There was a sense of desperation in his touch— a need. A need to have you closer. To touch you. To taste you. To have you just feel how much he needed you.

How much he loved you back.

He brings you down to the bed, pulling off your sleep shorts before you can even get a breath in. You rise to meet him once he’s discarded his own pants and straddle his lap again. He pulls you back into him as you sink down over him, your cunt stretching to his familiar girth.

“Don’t leave me again,” you plead as your hands reach up to cradle his face, tears pricking at your eyes. “Don’t ever, ever do that again.”

“Okay,” He says passively, dropping his mouth down to nip at your neck. “F-for you I’ll… Okay…Okay…”

It’s not a promise, not really. But it’s a start.

You both find a rhythm here, pushing and pulling into each other in ways that were already familiar and somehow completely new at the same time. It’ll never be the same after tonight. Whatever you and Logan are, it’s something entirely new. Equal parts thrilling and terrifying.

Love always is.

It’s hours, it’s days, it’s… You don’t really fucking care. An eternity with Logan inside you would still not be enough, but eventually, you both find solace in your pillows, your bodies and hearts weary from… everything.

You both lay there, finally still and the initial emotions quelled. There was still so much more to talk about, so much more to say… but not tonight. Not right now.

“Do you ever remember anything… when it happens?” you find yourself asking, your fingers lazily brushing through his facial hair.

He says nothing at first, hand reaching up to yours and bringing it down for a kiss.

“No. Never. But… waking up to you wasn’t half bad.”

You flinch again at the memory of those empty eyes.

“I don’t want to see that happen to you again.”

“I can’t promise that, darlin’.” He reiterates from earlier.

“I’m not asking for a promise… I’m just asking you to try.”

He pulls you into him, resting his chin on top of your head and his hand gently stroking up and down your arm. It’ll take time, but you’ll show him. You’ll show Logan his life is worth something.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he says, placing a kiss on your head, “l’ll try. For you, I’ll try.”

#logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan smut #Wolverine #logan howlett fic #wolverine x f!reader #wolverine fanfiction

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sweet-as-an-angel · 2 years ago

Text

Zombie! MW2 w/ a Human Sex Slave

Warnings: 18+, Monster Fucking, Zombie Fucking, Implied Initial Dubious Consent, Stomach Swelling, Cum Inflation, Unprotected Sex, Brief Worry of Infection, Rough MW2, Gentle MW2, Zombie! MW2, Human! Reader, Sex Slave! Reader, Captive/Captor Relationship, Implied Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapping, Descriptions of Smut, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except You.

Zombie! MW2 who found you scavenging alone one day out in the wasteland, entirely unaware of their presence.

Zombie! MW2 who capture you soon after, not ones to waste time.

You were the first lone human they’d seen in months, and they’d be damned if they were going to let you slip through their fingers.

Zombie! MW2 whose intentions with you are unclear. Until you notice the bulge in their trousers and the purr in their groans as they watch you writhe against the restraints, watch you helplessly struggle against a fate they’ve already decided for you.

Ghost, König and Soap are the roughest with you, often the ones to just tear a your pants off when they’re desperate, filling you not long after.

They’re rarely gentle, instead opting to take you raw and use you for their own ends, slamming their hips into yours until you hear them release a guttural roar, emptying days’ worth of semen inside you.

Your first time with Ghost almost left you feeling like you were about to burst with how backed-up he was, his balls almost bursting and slapping the skin of your backside red and raw with each thrust.

He’d made sure to leave his mark on you, the prominent bulge in your stomach slowly deflating as his semen leaked out of you.

And while Soap and Ghost’s loads are somewhat palatable given how frequently they use you, König almost always leaves you feeling like you’re about to burst.

Given his height, he’s the biggest of all your captors. Not only that, but his cock is thick enough to leave you feeling like you have rocks in your stomach whenever he forces himself into you, his strokes long and pounding, making sure you feel every inch of him.

Price, Gaz and Alejandro are a lot more gentle, understanding that, while you’re human, you’re still fragile.

They’re soft and slow with their thrusts, giving you time to adjust to their size before continuing.

While they can’t talk, they do try to comfort to as best they can.

They’ll stroke your head, press their forehead to your shoulder (only to feel you tense beneath them, anticipating a bite) — anything to try and make you feel less like you’re a sex slave and more like a friend with benefits.

Of course, you worried the first few times they had their way with you that their pumping you full of their seed would infect you, turn you into one of them.

However, after weeks went by, you were still you. No rotting skin, no cannibalistic thoughts, no loss of autonomy.

But, much to your horror, you felt as if they’d infected you with an idea, a feeling.

That being that you enjoyed what they were doing to you, ravaging you, pumping you full of their load until they were satisfied and your stomach was swelling.

And while your sanity tried to reason your way through your acceptance — that you were being held prisoner by literal parasite-infested corpses — your mind, for better or worse, didn’t care.

Not when they were providing for you, bringing you food, clothes, blankets — things you were certain would be nigh impossible to obtain were you roughing it alone in the wastes.

Or, perhaps you were rationalising your willingness to stay here with them, to live as their human sperm bank, reduced to an existence of bending to the will of militant captors whose semen dripped down your thighs, whose hands forced your face into pillows or made you bounce on their cocks while looking at them, giving you a glimpse into their eyes, the people they once perhaps were: whose surprising stamina and strength left you whining, crying and almost begging for more whenever they finished, more often than not forcing orgasms out of you, too, making you push back into them, body willing to take every ounce of their cum and inch of their cocks.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

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bonny-kookoo · 6 months ago

Note

Hey Bonny!! I saw you wanted to play a game, so how does this sound for a drabble? Dragon! Yoongi (or Kookie since I know he's your guy) x Fairy! Reader?? Idk if you've written fairies before, but I know you've done dragons! 💜🤍

I have a dragon kook x fairy reader on my patreon as early access, so I'll make this one yoongi!

-----------------

Yoongi

Hidden in the woods

Dragons are rather social creatures- but when a young Dragonblood named Yoongi fails to find a partner while all his friends and family have moved way past those events already, he isolates himself, believing he might just be destined to be a loner. But maybe, he was just impatient.

Tags/Warnings: Dragon hybrid!Yoongi, Fairy!Reader, strangers to ???, reader is described as short oops, SFW

Wordcount: 1.6k (it was supposed to be a Drabble... oops)

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

“You rarely visit these days.”

His mothers words still echo in his mind as he tries to find a new composition on his piano that doesn’t sound like everything he’s already put out. Of course he hasn’t visited- with his brother’s twins constantly around, he’s always reminded of how far ahead everyone around him is, while he’s yet to find his first real love. He’s thirty, for god’s sake- and yet all he has is his house, a stable career as a musician, and a lot on his mind.

All his friends are married. Some have kids, others are busy preparing for the day they’ll have them. He feels out of place.

Yoongi has made peace with the fact that he’ll be the uncle to all of them, the one guy who never really seems to be happy about anything, never has a family of his own. It’s alright.

He sighs, loudly, gripping his hair for a second in frustration. This is stupid- why is he having an artist’s block right now of all times? People are waiting for something new, especially after he’s already taken a break to help his creativity. And yet, it did nothing- except for giving him a little bit more room to breathe and most of all move out of his apartment and into his new house near the woods. It’s nice here- about half an hour away from the bustling neon city he’s used to after years of living there, and also a bit more distance from his family and friends. A newfound excuse for when they ask him once more where he’s been.

The doorbell rings, attracting his attention. He’s not awaiting any guests or packages- who could it be?

Via the camera installed he can see that there’s a person he doesn’t know at the door- you're rather short, but visibly curious, looking around for any signs of life inside his home, and for a short moment, he sees them;

Delicate little slightly translucent wings. Pointy ears, tilted a bit downwards.

A fairy.

As he opens the door, you seem startled for a second or two, taking a step back, before you speak. “Oh, hello!” You greet him. “I was just about to ask- do you have uh.. Jungkook’s number?” You wonder, and he becomes hostile, crossing his arms. “A coworker of mine, Jimin, said you have it. I’m sorry I’m just, you know, showing up here like that-”

The door closes. But despite what he was expecting, you just ring the doorbell again- and again, until he opens.

“Okay, as I was trying to explain before you so rudely interrupted me-” You tease a little, arms now crossed as well as your wings flap around a bit. “-tell him at least that I need his help fixing my washing machine. He broke it and left the crime scene for me to find, and that’s, pardon my language-” You lean in a bit as if you’re about to tell Yoongi something secret, “-pretty crappy behavior.”

Yoongi stares you down for a moment, before he speaks.

“That’s it?” He asks, and you nod. “Why don’t you ask Jimin for Jungkook’s number?” He wonders, not entirely convinced. Jungkook is pretty much a magnet for people no matter what gender, and the worst part about it is that many if not most always try and get to him through Yoongi.

No one’s ever interested in him. Only his friends, or the things he can provide.

“Cause Jimin doesn’t have it either!” You whine, stomping your leg on the ground in agony. “Listen, I don’t know how to fix it and my bathroom smells like a laundromat already, my coffee machine is also broken and my script has been rejected for the third time, I really need some good news. Please?” You ask, and Yoongi contemplates.

“What if I fix it?” He asks, and your eyes begin to sparkle, wings lifting to flutter in excitement. It’s like in this very moment, he can hear the keys of his piano chime, creating a new piece in his mind.

“You can?!” You ask, stepping closer.

“Probably. Where do you even live?” He asks, before you point towards the woods.

“I live in the woods, pretty much. It’s not that far.” You say, and Yoongi sighs, looking back inside his house. It’s not like he’s going to get anything done either way, so who cares? It might take his mind off of things for a moment or two-

So a few hours later, he’s in your house, enjoying some hot coffee from your machine, which he’d fixed as well while he was at it. Well, fixed is a strong word- he pretty much just explained how it properly worked to you. It was working just fine- you just lost the manual and couldn’t figure it out on your own.

“I always thought dragons were scarier.” You say suddenly, opening a pack of cookies to put in the middle of your wooden coffee table. “You’re really nice. Tall, and a bit gloomy looking, but very nice.” You say, sitting down on the couch next to him, legs pulled up towards you.

He’s noticed something glittering all over the small house- like sparkling glitter, but much finer, and barely noticeable. Looking closer to his pants, he notices it there as well- and even after a brush with his hand, it sticks to his fingers now.

“Oh- I’m sorry! It keeps getting everywhere, especially now.. Wait- I have like, a plastic thing-” You hurry, getting up to search for something in a drawer close by your TV. “Ah, there!” You say, giving him the lint-roller. “It’s one designed for fairy dust. I’m sorry, I should’ve thought about that..” You say, but for some odd reason, he declines.

“It’s fine.” He denies. “Doesn’t bother me.” he tells you, and again, you look at him like he’s just told you the earth is flat after all.

but it truly doesn’t bother him. It would, technically, if he was anywhere else. But right now, in this moment, he couldn’t be any more indifferent towards the ‘mess’ you leave sticking to his clothes and skin.

As soon as he’s back home, the sight of your sparkling smile is still in his mind, as his feet almost automatically move towards his piano, where he sits down, and presses a record button to play something new. The melody has been stuck on repeat in his head the entire way back home through the thick snow, like his imagination was finally finding color again.

But it’s different from what he usually creates.

This piece is playful almost, intriguing. It’s a little hesitant, like someone holding back a thought itself just to not indulge too much in a fantasy they’re already creating in their mind. Fluttering notes interrupt these parts however, sneaking in with excitement and curiosity, trying their best to convince the player to let themselves go.

And Yoongi does, as he finishes the piece, and leans back in his chair, recording finished before his phone chimes with a message.

“You left your scarf at my place!” Is what you tell him.

“I’ll get it tomorrow.” He texts you back.

“I could make us dinner?” You question.

He contemplates, finger hovering over the virtual keyboard of his phone, before he begins to write his answer. Fluttering touches of his fingers moving with a hint of excitement, fine fairy dust on the skin of his hands shimmering in the setting sun dipping everything in a golden glow.

“I’d love that.”

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #yoongi imagine #min yoongi imagines #yoongi x reader #yoongi imagines #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi imagine

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bubbbii · 5 months ago

Text

Early Gift

title : Early Gift

pairing : Jungkook x Reader

genre : kpop smut, bts smut, jungkook smut , very dirty content

warning : doggy style, missionary, spitting, choking, name - calling , dirty talk, hair pulling , edging , christmas sex , scratching , 21+ content

Summary :

“This is where you tell me merry christmas and bend over that counter, questions?”

[CHRISTMAS REQUEST]

[Ya’ll … i’ve been SO SICK you have no idea but i am back idk what’s been going on with my schedule but i will stay consistent all 2025 !! Merry Christmas, Happy New year .. this is dropping after christmas lol <3]

!PURELY FICTION! !NOT REAL!

do not steal idea or story without permission please and thank uu :))

Legooooooo

_________________________________________________

“Alright we got food , drinks , and the others are on their way over here” “W-Who?” I asked Jimin who looked up at me. “The others ! Our friends?” “Ok .. who, exactly” Jimin sighed, crossing his arms. “Yes Jungkook is going to be here!” “IN MY HOUSE!?” “Y/N don’t start this, you agreed and i’m pretty sure you had a feeling he was going to be here” “Ok i didn’t wanna believe it!” Jimin raised an eyebrow, having me sigh.

“Chim does he have to be here?” “Set aside your differences, and let’s have a good stay! it’s just a couple of days, it’s gonna be ok” “How you know i’m gon be ok?!” “Because my feelings never lie, they’re always right” I huffed, rolling my eyes as i leaned one arm on the counter. “Now, they’ll be here any moment … i say let’s get dressed so we can go out for a luh bit” I sulked my way all up the stairs, really not wanting to face that bitch of a man. “Cut it out! I’ll meet you in the car!” Jimin yelled from downstairs, making me take a deep breath.

You and I both know he’s not a ‘bitch of a man’, he’s the sexiest man on this earth. I have a huge crush on him, who wouldn’t .. difference is , they shoot their shot. I on the other hand flip it and make the other individual hate me. Except, that didn’t work. Instead, we had sex.

And it was amazing.

Then i found a way to avoid all parts possible, but now i cant .. because hes gonna be in MY house, in MY face … a part of me is excited, and another part of me hates myself for even having the crush in the first place. But hey, what could happen? Of course not anything bad, right?

I made it down the stairs and went outside, locking the door behind me and made it into Jimin’s passenger seat. “They’re behind us” My eyes widened, looking behind me and saw the rest coming out the multiple cars. “WHAT?!” “You should’ve hurried, maybe you wouldn’t have to witness” “Hey yall where yall goin?” “Me and Jimin goin out for a little bit, we’ll be back” I responded to Joon who was leaning against my side of the car. “Alright we’ll get everything ready for tonight. Jin found a spot so we’ll wait till yall get back to discuss it” We nodded in agreement.

Wishing i didn’t wonder my eyes elsewhere, to see Jungkook walking past us, but locking eyes with me in the process. I quickly looked away, my heart beating fast as all i wanted Jimin to do was to drive. “You saw kook didn’t you” “Drive Jimin” “Ok my bad” Jimin and Joon fist bumped before Jimin drove out my parkway and drove off.

“You know, you could just … talk to him” “Jimin don’t piss me off” “What! I can tell you right now kook has been missing you and wondered why you blocked him!” “YOU KNOW WHY I BLOCKED HIM! You think i didn’t feel a certain type of way when he took that girl out on that date !? I was crushed Jimin, i was hurt. And i know it’s my fault because i wanted him to hate me but the least he could’ve known was that i was crushing on him” “Well Y/N he blocked the girl, his eyes are on you … and my spirit says, sum stuff is gon happen” Jimin responded, making my heart beat even faster.

Jimin never lies, it’s like he predicts the future. So it’s best to trust his gut.

Time Skip .

“We’re back already?” “It’s been an hour, let’s go stop being scared” I sighed, getting out the car and went inside the house. “Where yall go?” “Oh it was just this hangout spot, it’s pretty cool i think we should all go down there tonight” Jimin responded to Jihyo as she attatched to me. “That was the spot Jin was saying! Ok we’re all on the same page on that” Joon said and we all nodded. “When we wanna leave?” “We could leave in a couple of minutes .. how about 2 of us stay back for a little bit to fix sum things then join us when it’s done?” Hobi said and everyone nodded.

“It’s only 7:30 .. who wants to take the task?” “Well it’s my house, so i’ll take responsibility” I spoke up, still linked arms with Jihyo. “Cool .. i’ll stay too, i’m quick” Jungkook spoke up, locking eyes with me as my pupils was quick to disappear. “Huh-“ “I think that’s a good idea, yall gon get the job done” Lisa said, smirking at me as my heart rate went up again.

I’m cooked .

“Why can’t Hobi-“ “Ohhh no no. Yall got that. I’m gon get ready” Everyone left in sync to get ready and i looked at Jihyo. “Don’t do this-“ “You’re gonna be just fine” Jihyo responded, squeezing my arm before leaving as well. I slowly walked towards my empty kitchen, not aware that Jungkook was right behind me. “Jungkook?” “Glad to know you still know my presence” I sighed as he made his way towards the other side of the counter.

Everything about him .. it’s insane.

“Why .. why are you - putting me in this position?” “Question is, why did you put me in a position where i couldn’t fucking reach you !?” I blinked, shocked at his voice raise. He’s hurt, i see it. “Now you’re quiet .. i WANT you, Y/N. I took that girl on that date ok sure .. but you blocked me !? You blocked me to a point where i couldn’t even reach you through any of our friends Y/N why you put me in that situation !?” I sighed, lookin at the counter as i didn’t know what to say.

“Hey we’re out let us know if you need anything alright? Yall good?” I looked behind me to see Jimin. “Yea we good” Jimin looked at me and i nodded in agreement before he left and left the house.

It was just us two.

“Look .. there’s things you don’t know Jungkook” “Ok that’s fine, i’m here for it all - why, am i blocked?” “I like you Jungkook! And you fucking know that we had sex for gods sake! You took that bitch on that date what else could i have done i was crushed! I was hurt! But who would’ve known you would be in front of me right now considering i thought i was doing a pretty great job staying hidden!” Jungkook sighed, a little smirk showing up on his face.

“Oh what’s so funny? WHATS SO FUNNY-“ “You’re gonna lower your tone” I huffed, rolling my eyes. “Come here” “Why?” “Y/N” I sighed, slowly going towards him and was now in front of the tall, smell good looking man. “I didn’t deserve, any of that bullshit that you decided to pull,” Jungkook said, his tone lowering as he dug his hands in his pockets. “And how you’re gonna make it up to me Is bending over that counter” My eyes widened a little, not daring to break eye contact as his face showed nothing but seriousness. “What-“ “Oh don’t act all shocked like we never done it .. how eager you were to do whatever i say. I still don’t see you bent over that counter”

I gulped, going in front of him and bent over the clean marble counter, arching my back naturally. “Good girl, tell daddy what you want” “Y-You .. i want you, please” “Why should i even, consider this? After what you done, i was hurt Y/N” “J—Just consider this as an … an early christmas gift yea? I need you, i want you. Daddy please” Jungkook hummed, his hand cupping and now playing with my aching pussy through the sweats i had on making my eyes roll.

“F-Fuck … daddy, like that” “You’re wet as shit. Merry christmas to me then. Top of the counter” I got on the counter, Jungkook taking my sweats and panties off and my warm hood was exposed to him. “I’m gonna have a field day” Jungkook smirked before diving in, slurping and sucking all that i had in me making me jolt in surprise. “F-FUCK, Oh my god, daddy!” “Hold still princess” He held my thighs in place, sucking me out with all his might.

I can’t believe i agreed to this, you know what? I can’t complain. I’m loving it.

“Fuck, i feel like im close already!” “You wanna cum baby? Why should i let you cum huh, what you think” “Pease .. daddy i’m sorry, i apologize i just missed you. I missed you daddy please let me cum. Let me cum please” He shyly smiled, working his tongue and pleasure rode over my body. “Gon head, cum for me. Show daddy how much you’ve missed him” I threw my head back, my eyes shut and soon came all over his face, seeing the sly smirk he hid as he sucked all the cum outta me.

“Good girl, that’s the good girl i know” “Shut up” Jungkook chuckled, taking me off the counter and turning me around, planting soft kisses on my shoulders and neck. “Feel that?” Jungkook whispered in my ear, rubbing the hard cock across my lower back causing my breath to hitch. “You know,” Jungkook started as he slowly inserted his cock inside of me. “How would you know that i even liked the girl anyway?” “Easy .. you don’t care ‘bout no other bitch but me” Jungkook smirked, humming to himself as he laid me down gently over the counter. “Sounds about right” Jungkook responded before unexpectedly began to vigorously fuck me.

He gets on my last damn nerve.

“SHIT! A warning would be fucking nice” “Oh shut up” His grip on my hips tightened, fucking me with not a single ounce of mercy in him. “It feels so good, fuck! Just like that, just like thAT! DADDY FUCK!” “Ooh there you go baby, i need you to nut again for me ok? Just for me alright?” “Yes d-daddy” “Good girl” He continued to fuck me, abusing the sensitive spot in me as heat rushed all over my body. It felt too good, almost surreal. It’s been so long.

“I-I’m close .. daddy, i’m close” “There it is” He twisted a handful of hair in his hand and yanked my head back to meet his eyes. “Now you listen, don’t ever think of blocking me, ignoring me again in your godamn life because i am not the one. I suffered godamn it for a long period of time, and i’ve got you again, under me like a little bitch whimpering and shit - you will not, pull some bullshit like this again you understand?” “Y-Yes daddy, i’m so-sorry!” “I can’t hear you” “I-I’M SORRY! Please let me cum!” “That’s what i thought, come on”

Jungkook’s pace quickened, grabbing anything i could to keep me stable as my body got more heated. “I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum daddy please!” “Cum for me baby, squirt on that dick you know you want to. Let ‘em know who be fucking you so good” My moans got louder, and i soon squirted all on his dick, hearing the chuckles come from the man behind me. “There she goes, that’s a good girl” I moaned softly, then feeling Jungkook paint my walls white, filling me up as i heard the groans coming from him.

I squeezed on him, squeezing every drop out of it before he pulled it out. He cleaned us up, coming up behind me as i felt the soft kisses on my back. “Feel good?” I nodded, humming softly as i sat up with the support of Jungkook behind me. “You know what this means right?” I locked eyes with Jungkook, both of us doing little smirks at each other.

“Sure do”

#bts smut #kpop smut #21+ only #jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #christmas season

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solxamber · 8 months ago

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Of Seashells and Sweet Nothings - Vil Schoenheit x reader

You're cursed to love everyone except Vil, and he's cursed to love only you. And yet somewhere along the way, it seems the curse has skipped you.

aka Merman! Vil x Reader

The wedding was simple, almost understated, despite the weight of its significance. You stood beside Vil Schoenheit, hand in his, as the officiant spoke words you barely registered. The setting sun bathed everything in a warm glow, but your mind was elsewhere—far away from the ceremony itself.

Vil looked impeccable, as always. His eyes were on you, piercing and focused, but you couldn’t quite make out what he was thinking. It didn’t matter. This wasn’t about feelings; it was about fulfilling a duty, one you had known was coming for a long time.

The vows were exchanged, and that was that. You turned, now bound together, walking side by side down the aisle, your thoughts already moving on to what came next. The ceremony was done. A formality.

And yet, as you glanced at Vil, something about it didn’t feel as hollow as you’d expected.

In this world, balance is everything. The fae of the forests, the beastmen of the land, the merpeople of the water, and the Valkyra—yes, birdpeople—of the wind, each control their own domain. They’re the most powerful clans, each lording over their respective elements like some kind of cosmic HOA. And, of course, they all have peace treaties in place to keep everyone from accidentally (or intentionally) obliterating each other.

But no treaty is quite as peculiar as the one between the merpeople and the Valkyra.

See, hundreds of years ago, some genius thought it would be a grand idea to curse the heads of these two clans with the most impractical love curse in existence. The curse works like this: the head of the merpeople is doomed to love only the head of the Valkyra, while the head of the Valkyra is cursed to love literally everyone else except the head of the merpeople. It’s like a bad romcom plot, but with deadly consequences.

Here’s where things get complicated: the merpeople’s head, their heir, only appears once every 30 years. If they’re not with their “one true love” (a.k.a. the head of the Valkyra) at least once during every full moon, they’ll keel over and die before the next heir can pop up. No heir, no merpeople, and—boom—extinction.

This is where the "deal" comes into play. To avoid this catastrophe, the Valkyra agreed to this bizarre matchmaking curse, which now means every new head of the Valkyra has to marry the head of the merpeople. No exceptions, no complaints. The two of them must meet monthly, like clockwork, for a kind of celestial forced date night.

And just to make things even worse, if the Valkyra head doesn’t marry the merpeople’s head, they lose their ability to fly. Wings, grounded—forever. Imagine that: a birdperson without the ability to fly, as if the universe needed to throw in an extra slap to the face.

Over the generations, this has become less of a romantic arrangement and more of a job requirement, with each Valkyra head treating it like an odd but unavoidable business deal. They don’t have to like it; they just have to show up, check the box, keep the merpeople from turning into tragic folklore, and—of course—keep their own wings in working order.

That’s the way it’s always been: cursed, inconvenient, and awkward.

It was supposed to be like every other betrothal ceremony between the Valkyra and the merpeople. The air was thick with the usual tension—two clans bound by duty, not desire, meeting at the ceremonial altar like this was some awkward, forced blind date.

You, newly anointed head of the Valkyra, stood there, your wings giving an occasional twitch behind you like they’d rather be anywhere but here. You had been briefed on the whole ordeal—“meet the heir, exchange some greetings, throw the ring at them, and fly off.” Simple. This wasn’t about love. It was a political arrangement to keep the merpeople alive and the peace treaty intact.

Across from you stood Vil Schoenheit, heir to the merpeople. His golden hair shimmered like the sun reflecting off the ocean, and his face? It was disgustingly perfect, like he had been carved out of marble by some lovesick artist. In theory, the curse would make him fall for you the moment he saw you. After all, that was how it worked—he was bound to love only the Valkyra head.

But what no one expected—least of all you—was that you would be the one caught off guard.

Vil was striking, yes, but it wasn’t just his looks. It was the way he carried himself, like he was fully aware of how radiant he was but still carried an air of unapproachable elegance. Most Valkyra heads would have felt the usual disgust at their cursed partner, barely making eye contact before tossing the ring and flying off. That’s how these things went. They were practically trained to do it with their eyes shut.

But you?

You found yourself staring, actually intrigued. Instead of the wave of revulsion that was expected, something odd stirred in your chest. It wasn’t love, not by a long shot. It was…fascination. A curious pull that made you hesitate, which was enough to stun the entire audience. This had never happened before.

Vil, on the other hand, looked as if he had just seen the personification of his deepest dreams. He was besotted, as was expected by the curse, but there was something different about the way he gazed at you. Normally, the merpeople heir would fall head over heels, but Vil was genuinely taken by the way you moved, the way you stood. It wasn’t just the curse making him like you; it seemed like you intrigued him beyond the curse's binding.

And then you did something no Valkyra head had ever done before.

Instead of throwing the ring and bolting out of there like your predecessors, you knelt down in front of him, offering the ring with all the grace and seriousness of a real proposal. The crowd gasped. This wasn’t in the script. You were supposed to go through the motions, not act like this was some kind of grand romance!

Vil’s eyes widened, and for the first time in this ridiculous tradition’s history, the merpeople heir didn’t just fall in love out of obligation—he fell head over heels, utterly smitten, entirely because of you.

The moon hung high in the sky, casting a silvery glow across the beach where you waited, wings fluttering with nerves you tried to ignore. This was it—the first official "date" since your marriage to Vil Schoenheit, the current head of the merpeople. A union bound by centuries-old curses, it was normally a formality, something both clans did with begrudging acceptance.

Merpeople were only allowed on land during the full moon, and this was the first of many such meetings.

But tonight, you felt something different, something almost... hopeful. Maybe it was the fact that you had brought a gift, a small but meaningful token. A delicate brooch shaped like a seashell, with silver feathers—merging your worlds into one. No one had told you to do this; in fact, most Valkyra heads would never bother. But something about Vil made you want to try.

You spotted movement as Vil emerged from the water, his sleek, golden hair gleaming in the moonlight, not a strand out of place. He looked, as always, impossibly perfect, like he had stepped straight out of a painting. His eyes—a sharp, intelligent violet—landed on you, though they didn’t hold the frantic eagerness you’d seen in other cursed merpeople heads before. No desperation to win you over with excessive gifts or grand gestures. Instead, Vil’s gaze was steady, though undeniably smitten, a subtle warmth in his expression.

“Good evening,” Vil said smoothly, gliding toward you with an elegance that felt effortless.

“Evening,” you replied, your voice casual but steady. You extended your hand, offering the small box with the brooch inside. “I, uh, brought you something.”

Vil’s brow raised slightly, but he took the box from you with practiced grace. “A gift?” he asked, his tone curious as he opened it. The faintest smile touched his lips when he saw the brooch, a rare expression on someone usually so composed. “This is... unexpected.”

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “Thought it’d be nice to bring something for a change. You know, switch things up.”

Vil inspected the brooch with an appreciative eye, his fingers brushing lightly over the delicate silver feathers. “It’s beautiful,” he said, pinning it to his chest with his usual attention to detail. “And thoughtful. Not many would bother with such an effort.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Yeah, well... I’m not like the others.”

Vil’s smile widened ever so slightly, the amusement in his eyes growing. “No, I suppose you’re not. And for that, I’m grateful.”

The two of you walked along the shoreline, side by side, the conversation surprisingly light. Normally, these meetings were stilted affairs, with the merpeople head desperate to please and the Valkyra head barely tolerating their presence. But this? This felt... different. There wasn’t the usual tension, the frantic attempts to impress, or the thinly veiled disgust. Instead, there was something approaching ease.

“You’re not what I expected,” Vil said after a few moments of comfortable silence.

“Oh?” you asked, glancing over at him.

“In the past, the Valkyra heads were always... distant. Formal. Like they couldn’t wait to leave,” Vil explained, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “You seem... different.”

You shrugged, a smile tugging at your lips. “Figured I’d try to make this less painful for both of us. I mean, we’re stuck together, right? Might as well try to get along.”

Vil laughed, a soft sound that seemed to surprise even him. “A practical approach. I like that.” His violet eyes twinkled with amusement. “And I must admit, it’s a refreshing change not to feel like I’m constantly chasing after someone.”

You smirked, crossing your arms. “What, the other merpeple heads weren’t exactly thrilled about this whole curse thing?”

Vil gave you a knowing look. “Imagine being hopelessly in love with someone who can’t stand the sight of you, every single time. That’s usually how these meetings go.”

You nodded, understanding the frustration in his words. “Yeah, well, I’m not about to make this harder than it needs to be. Besides, you’re not that bad,” you added, giving him a playful nudge.

Vil chuckled, shaking his head. “Not that bad? I’ll take it.” He paused, then added more softly, “You’re not like the others either. You’re... different.”

His words hung in the air, and for the first time, you saw something more in Vil’s eyes than just the effects of the curse. There was genuine admiration there, something deeper than mere obligation. It wasn’t just the curse binding him to you—he liked you, plain and simple.

The moonlight reflected off the water, casting long shadows as the two of you continued to walk, talking about everything from your respective clans to the pressures of leadership. It was the first time in centuries that a merpeople-Valkyra meeting wasn’t a disaster. There were no awkward silences, no rushed goodbyes, just... peace.

And maybe, just maybe, something more.

As the night wore on, you both found yourselves sitting on a rock near the shore, watching the gentle waves lap at the sand. The air was calm, filled only with the quiet hum of the ocean and the soft rustle of your wings.

“I wasn’t expecting this,” Vil said after a long pause, his voice softer than before. “Not the curse, not the marriage, and certainly not... this.” He gestured between the two of you.

“Yeah, me neither,” you admitted, your eyes focused on the horizon. “But hey, it could be worse, right? At least we don’t hate each other.”

Vil smiled at that, a real, genuine smile. “No, we don’t.”

For the first time, you realized that this might actually work. You weren’t just honoring the tradition anymore. You were connecting—really connecting—and it felt... right.

And as Vil glanced at you, a soft, unreadable expression on his face, you wondered if maybe, just maybe, this cursed love story wasn’t as doomed as everyone thought.

Vil looked away, his hand brushing against yours ever so slightly. “Until next month then?”

You grinned, your heart lighter than you expected. “Yeah. Until next month.”

The sun had barely risen when you made your way to the beach, the gift cradled carefully in your hands. You had spent days crafting it—a pendant of polished obsidian shaped like a feather, inlaid with shimmering sea glass that caught the light like scattered stars. You knew merpeople loved shiny things, and you figured this would catch Vil’s eye. The excuse to see him outside of your usual monthly meetings? Well, that was something you were still sorting out in your head.

By the time you reached the shore, the waves were calm, the water a deep blue-green that mirrored the sky. Vil had mentioned that he sometimes liked to swim during the day, despite the fact that the full moon was required for him to walk on land. It wasn’t a guarantee that you’d see him, but... you hoped.

And then, as if on cue, he appeared. Vil surfaced from the water with the same ethereal grace as always, his hair glistening under the sunlight, the sleek scales on his tail catching the light like gemstones. He spotted you instantly, his violet eyes locking onto yours. A small, amused smile tugged at his lips as he swam closer to the shore.

“Well, this is a surprise,” Vil said, his voice smooth as the sea itself. “It’s not our usual meeting time. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You shifted awkwardly, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I, uh, just thought I’d drop by. You know, casually. No big deal.”

Vil raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying your nonchalance. “Casually, hm?” He leaned slightly against the rocks at the edge of the shore, his eyes narrowing in playful suspicion. “You didn’t come all this way without a reason, did you?”

Your face heated up immediately. Great. This was going well.

“I, uh, made you something.” You fumbled with the box before finally thrusting it toward him, trying to avoid his amused gaze. “Here.”

Vil’s eyes lit up with interest as he took the box from your hands, opening it with the same precision and care he gave to everything. His smile widened when he saw the pendant, the sea glass glittering against the dark stone.

“A gift? For me?” His tone was teasing, but you could tell by the way his fingers brushed lightly over the pendant that he was genuinely pleased. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

You rubbed the back of your neck, trying not to be overwhelmed by the way he was looking at you. “I just thought you’d like something shiny. You know, since you—um—merpeople and all…”

“Shiny things?” Vil’s smile grew, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Yes, we do have a weakness for them. But this... this is exquisite. I can see you put a lot of effort into it.”

He clasped the pendant around his neck, adjusting it until it sat perfectly against his chest. He was absolutely preening, and you could feel your face heating up even more under his gaze.

“You’re... welcome,” you mumbled, desperately trying to keep your composure.

Vil chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming as he watched you fidget under his scrutiny. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you quite this flustered. It’s endearing, you know.”

“Flustered? Who, me?” You tried to brush it off, crossing your arms and turning your head away, but your cheeks were burning, and you knew you weren’t fooling anyone. “I’m just—uh—being polite. That’s all.”

“Polite, of course,” Vil replied, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “Well, I’m very grateful for your... politeness today.” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make your heart skip a beat. “And for the gift. Truly.”

You weren’t sure if it was the warm sunlight, the proximity to Vil, or just the fact that he looked so pleased, but you felt your heart flutter in a way you hadn’t expected. It was odd—normally, the Valkyra head’s instinct to despise the merpeople head would have kicked in by now. That strange hatred that had been passed down through the generations? It just wasn’t there. You liked him. Really liked him. And from the way his violet eyes held yours, you couldn’t help but think that maybe he felt the same way, curse or no curse.

Before you could say anything else that might make you look even more ridiculous, you quickly cleared your throat and took a step back. “Well! I should probably get going. Don’t want to, uh, overstay my welcome or anything.”

Vil tilted his head slightly, a knowing smile still playing on his lips. “Leaving so soon? Pity. I was rather enjoying your company.”

You tried not to trip over your own feet as you backed away, your wings fluttering nervously behind you. “Yeah, well, next time. I’m sure we’ll... have more time to talk.”

Vil chuckled softly as he watched you take off, his gaze following you until you disappeared into the sky. “I’ll be waiting,” he called after you, his voice filled with unmistakable warmth.

Later that evening, as Vil returned to his quarters beneath the sea, Epel leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, grinning like a mischievous cat. “Ya know, Vil, you can pretend all you want, but I’ve never seen you so smitten.”

Vil shot him a withering glare, though there was no real malice behind it. “Smitten? Hardly. I am simply... appreciative of their efforts.”

Epel snickered, clearly not buying it. “Yeah, sure. ‘Appreciative.’ That’s why you’ve been wearing that pendant all day like it’s some royal heirloom.”

Vil’s eyes narrowed, though a slight blush crept up his neck. “It’s a thoughtful gift, and it suits me. That’s all.”

Rook, who had been listening from nearby, chimed in with a delighted grin. “Oh, Vil, mon ami! It’s wonderful to see you so moved by affection. But do be careful. The merpeople’s curse has brought heartache to many before you.”

Vil glanced at the pendant around his neck, his expression softening just a little. “I know the risks, Rook. But this time... it feels different.”

Rook smiled, though there was a hint of concern in his eyes. “I hope you’re right, Vil. For your sake, I truly do.”

Vil didn’t respond, his fingers absently tracing the edge of the pendant. Deep down, he knew that Rook’s concerns weren’t without merit. But for the first time in centuries, a merpeople-Valkyra union felt like more than just a curse or a duty. And maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.

It was your usual monthly meeting, but this time, you had something special planned. The night was calm, the sea glimmering under the moonlight as Vil stood waiting on the shore. His presence was as striking as always—elegant, regal, with an air of serene confidence. And yet, tonight, there was something different about the way you looked at him.

You smiled as you approached, feeling your heart beat a little faster. "I’ve been thinking... since you bring so many treasures from the sea, it’s only fair I give you something from the skies in return."

Vil’s eyebrow arched in curiosity. “Oh? And what exactly do you have in mind?”

Without a word, you stepped closer, your wings unfurling behind you, casting long shadows across the beach. Before Vil could question you further, you gently scooped him up in your arms. He stiffened for a moment, his usual composure slipping just slightly.

“You’re trusting me to carry you, aren’t you?” you teased, your grin widening.

“Of course,” he replied, though there was a flicker of surprise in his voice. “I simply wasn’t expecting... this.”

With a strong beat of your wings, you soared into the sky, Vil held securely against your chest. The world below began to shrink, the crashing of the waves fading into a distant hum. Vil’s gaze widened as the mountains and clouds stretched out before him, closer than they’d ever been. For someone used to the ocean’s depths, this must’ve been an entirely new perspective—one where the world opened up endlessly.

You flew higher, taking him to the peak of the mountain your clan called home. The horizon stretched out in every direction, the first light of dawn beginning to paint the sky in hues of pink and gold. You landed softly, still holding Vil, and set him down gently on a smooth rock overlooking the expanse below.

Vil stood there in awe, his usually sharp eyes softening as he took in the sight. “It’s... beautiful,” he murmured, his voice almost a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would disturb the tranquility of the moment.

You, however, were no longer looking at the sunrise. “It is,” you replied, but your eyes were on him, drinking in the way the first rays of light illuminated his features—the golden strands of his hair catching the morning glow, his sharp profile outlined against the sky, his violet eyes reflecting the dawn. “It really is.”

He turned his head to you, catching the way you were staring, and for once, Vil seemed... uncertain. Perhaps it was the rare vulnerability of the moment, or maybe the fact that you were seeing him in a way no one had before. Either way, you didn’t look away.

“I meant the sunrise,” Vil said, his lips curving into a small smile, though the warmth in his gaze betrayed him.

“So did I,” you lied, the faintest blush creeping up your neck.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, Vil leaning against you as the first light of the sun bathed the mountain in gold. The silence between you wasn’t awkward—it was peaceful, almost as if the curse that tied your clans together had, for once, allowed something genuine to grow between you.

But as the sun climbed higher in the sky, you knew it was time to return. With a heavy heart, you carried Vil back down, feeling the weight of the impending separation settle in your chest. For the first time, parting felt harder than it should’ve been.

When you finally set him back down on the beach, Vil’s feet touched the sand, but he lingered close to you for a moment longer. “I’ll admit, that was... something I never expected.”

“I like surprising you,” you said, your voice softer now, unwilling to let this moment go just yet.

Vil smiled, his usual sharpness returning to his features, but there was an undeniable warmth beneath it. “You’ve become quite adept at it.”

As you prepared to leave, you couldn’t shake the sadness that gnawed at you. The monthly meetings were all you had, but each one felt shorter than the last. It seemed like the instinct your ancestors had—the hate, the disdain for the merpeople—had completely skipped you.

“You know...” you started, your voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t think I ever hated you. Not even when we first met.”

Vil tilted his head, curious. “And why do you think that is?”

You looked at him, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe the valkyra hate genes just skipped me. Or maybe... I’m just lucky.”

Vil didn’t respond immediately, but there was something unspoken in the way he looked at you. Something that told you he felt it too—that strange, undeniable pull between you both. Not just the curse, but something deeper.

With a final, reluctant glance, you spread your wings and took to the skies, leaving him on the shore once again. But this time, the separation felt heavier, like leaving behind a part of yourself.

And though you couldn’t see it, Vil stayed there for a long while after you left, his gaze fixed on the horizon, already counting down the days until he’d see you again.

The moon wasn't full, and yet here you were, standing by the shore once again. It had been weeks since you and Vil started meeting outside of the required "monthly date nights." You told yourself that each visit had a purpose—bringing him a new gift, asking about the state of the seas, or simply “checking in.” But after each visit, it became harder to deny the real reason you kept showing up.

Today, you'd brought a set of polished gems woven into a necklace, knowing how much Vil appreciated delicate craftsmanship and, of course, shiny things. You were proud of it, but there was an undeniable anticipation building inside you—not just to give him the gift, but to see him again.

As you neared the shore, Vil was already waiting for you, his figure poised like something out of a painting. His golden hair glimmered even in the fading light of dusk, and his violet eyes caught yours with a familiar, almost teasing look.

"You do realize it’s not the full moon," Vil remarked as you approached, though there was a clear warmth in his voice. "What brings you here this time, again?"

You smirked, holding out the necklace. “Just thought I’d drop by... with this.”

Vil’s eyes lit up at the sight of it, and he accepted the necklace with his usual grace, though his smirk was just as playful as yours. "You’ve been quite generous lately. I’m starting to think you're looking for excuses to see me.”

“Excuses? Never.” You chuckled, though the heat rising to your face betrayed you. "I'm just keeping the tradition alive—maybe putting in a little extra effort."

Vil raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “A little extra? Darling, this is bordering on obsession.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no denying it—especially when you saw the way Vil’s fingers traced the necklace, his appreciation clear in the way his lips curved into a satisfied smile.

“Well, you’re one to talk,” you shot back. “I seem to recall a certain someone gifting me a chest of pearls the last time I dropped by. You could decorate a palace with the amount of sea treasures you’ve been giving me.”

Vil laughed softly, his voice like velvet. “I wouldn’t want to be accused of neglecting my duties as your devoted spouse, now would I?”

The teasing back and forth had become your favorite part of these meetings—there was something light, effortless, in the way the two of you communicated. And the more time you spent with Vil, the more that odd sense of duty morphed into something genuine.

Suddenly, Vil’s attention shifted to the cliffs behind you, and when you turned, you saw two figures approaching—both of them unmistakable.

Rook and Epel.

“Oh,” you muttered under your breath, feeling a bit exposed. You hadn't expected company.

Rook, ever the observant one, smiled widely when he caught sight of you. “Ah, the elusive Valkyra head themselves! A rare sighting, but of course, you must have been drawn here by our beautiful Vil, oui?”

Epel, on the other hand, snorted as he sized you up. "Yeah, no kidding. You look like you’ve been hit with the ‘love curse’ pretty hard. I bet if we got closer, we’d see little hearts in your eyes.”

Your face flushed immediately. “W-what? No way! That’s ridiculous. I’m just—uh—here to visit. That’s all.”

Rook’s eyes gleamed, and he exchanged a knowing glance with Vil. “Oh, but I think there’s more than just a simple visit in play here! Non, non, non—you have the air of someone who has fallen hook, line, and sinker as they say.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the blush on your face wasn’t helping your case. Epel grinned mischievously, crossing his arms. “You should just admit it. You’re so head-over-heels, you don’t even see it.”

Vil, standing beside you with a graceful smirk, finally spoke. “They do have a point, you know. It’s becoming rather obvious.”

You glared at him, feeling both flustered and betrayed. “Whose side are you on?”

Vil’s lips curved into a teasing smile. “I’m always on my side, dear. But if it helps, I do appreciate the attention.”

Epel snickered again. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so whipped.”

“Oh, merci, Epel,” Rook chimed in, his gaze turning fond as he looked at Vil. “Though it seems our beloved Vil is no different. A love so mutual—ah, it’s truly a sight to behold!”

Vil shot Rook a warning glance, but it didn’t diminish the contented gleam in his eyes. “I wouldn’t go that far,” he muttered, though the slight blush on his cheeks said otherwise.

You, meanwhile, were desperately trying to hold onto the remnants of your dignity. “Alright, alright, enough of this. I’ll be going now.”

But before you could make your grand escape, you acted on impulse—a bold, unexpected impulse. Leaning in, you quickly pressed a kiss to Vil’s cheek, your face practically burning with embarrassment the second your lips made contact. You barely had a second to register the shock in his eyes before you turned on your heel and shot into the sky, your wings carrying you away at lightning speed.

Behind you, you could just barely hear Rook and Epel erupt into laughter.

After you left, Epel turned to Vil with a wide grin, clearly trying to contain himself. “Well, that was somethin’. I ain’t ever seen you look so...”

“So elated?” Rook finished for him, smiling like the cat that caught the canary. “Oh, Vil, you are besotted, aren’t you? Don’t try to deny it!”

Vil’s hand slowly rose to touch the spot where you had kissed his cheek, his expression softened, his eyes glittering with a rare mix of surprise and delight. Despite himself, a small, pleased smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Vil replied, his voice carefully measured but the satisfaction in his tone impossible to miss. “But they certainly know how to make an exit, don’t they?”

Epel raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, keep tellin’ yourself that. But don’t think we didn’t notice the way you lit up the second they kissed ya.”

Vil glanced at Epel, one elegant eyebrow raised, but he couldn’t entirely suppress the smirk that followed. “Maybe I’m more appreciative of affection than you give me credit for.”

Rook clapped his hands together, looking utterly delighted. “Oh, Vil, this is magnifique! But remember—while this love may shine brighter than the stars, the curse has not yet been broken. Tread carefully, my friend.”

Vil’s gaze flickered, but the smile didn’t leave his face. “Yes, well... I’m willing to take that risk.”

And for the first time in centuries, a merpeople head wasn’t just a smitten puppet of a curse—he was utterly and entirely in love.

The vow renewal was supposed to be a dignified affair, steeped in tradition and whatever formalities came with being the head of the Valkyra clan. But dignified was hard to maintain when your heart was doing somersaults every time you so much as glanced at Vil Schoenheit. It didn’t help that he was ridiculously perfect in that “effortlessly ethereal sea deity” way, while you were standing there, sweating like you’d just run from a sea witch. Not that you had, yet.

This year was different. After a full year of avoiding your feelings like the plague, of meeting Vil whenever you could justify it (and even when you couldn’t), you were done. If there was one thing you were more tired of than being cursed, it was this weird romantic limbo where you both pretended you didn’t want to rip each other’s clothes off every time you were alone together.

And so, you stood at the sanctum, between the mountains and the sea, surrounded by both your clans—Rook’s over-the-top grin already making you nervous as he clearly prepared to be... well, Rook. Epel was next to him, arms crossed, his face a mix of intrigue and really?

But you had your ace: the magnum opus of gifts. The first gem ever given by a merperson to the first head of the Valkyra clan. A symbol of true love that—if things went sideways—could also be the final nail in the coffin for your cursed family line. Yay for high stakes!

The vow renewal started, and there was Vil, looking so majestic that you kinda wanted to scream. Why did he have to be so damn perfect? Couldn’t he just look a little tired, or maybe slightly disheveled? Nope. Not Vil.

Your vows were an absolute blur. You muttered something that vaguely sounded right while trying not to pass out from the sheer intensity of his gaze. When it was finally over, you had the spotlight, and there was no backing out now.

“I have something,” you said, your voice wavering but determined. “Something to prove that I’m done letting fear rule over us.”

You pulled out the gem, and suddenly, it felt like every pair of eyes in the sanctum was laser-focused on you. Especially Vil’s. His violet eyes widened slightly, and you almost dropped the damn thing right there. But no. Not today, curse! You were going to face this head-on, and probably make a fool of yourself in the process, but hey, at least you were trying.

The second Vil’s fingers touched the gem—it shattered.

For a brief, terrifying moment, you stared at the fragments in your hands, heart pounding as your mind raced to some truly unhinged conclusions. Oh my god, I just cursed us even more, didn’t I? Have I doomed the entire Valkyra clan to eternal hatred of the ocean? Will we be landlocked forever? No more beach vacations, no more seashell necklaces—

Before you could spiral any further, a soft light emerged from the shards, and two shimmering figures appeared. A merperson and a valkyra, their voices carrying through the sanctum like a breeze. They told the real story, about how a jealous witch had cursed them, making sure they could never be together. The cure? True love despite the curse. And, as fate would have it, you and Vil had just broken it.

“Well, that’s one way to kick things off,” you muttered under your breath, still half-expecting someone to start panicking about the broken clan treasure. But instead, Vil—bless his elegant, perfect self—took your face in his hands and kissed you.

In front of both your clans, in front of everyone who mattered, Vil kissed you like the world had finally aligned in your favor. The kiss wasn’t just tender—it was a promise, a declaration that the curse had no power over what you two had built.

Then, predictably, Rook gasped. “Ah, l'amour! A love that shatters curses and binds souls together for eternity! The stars themselves tremble at the magnitude of your passion!”

You could hear Epel snickering next to him, probably waiting for a punchline. “Well, hell, guess we should’ve seen this comin’. That’s the most dramatic vow renewal I’ve ever been to.”

Rook, undeterred, continued his monologue as if he were on a stage. “True love! It breaks all chains, transcends all curses! You have done what many could only dream of!”

Meanwhile, you were trying to stay upright after that kiss. “Did... did we just fix everything? Is that it? Can I stop worrying about accidentally damning the clan now?”

Vil smirked at you, his hands still lingering on your face, his thumbs brushing gently across your cheekbones. “If you’re asking whether the curse is gone—yes, we’re free.”

You blinked at him. “No strings attached? No hidden fine print? The curse isn’t gonna boomerang back on us in a few years, right?”

Vil’s eyes glittered with amusement. “No fine print. You and I are no longer bound by fear.”

The next morning, you woke up beside him, which, honestly, was a surreal experience. Vil, looking all peaceful and not like the intimidating figure he usually presented to the world, was kind of adorable. Of course, you couldn’t resist leaning over and planting a soft kiss on his forehead.

He stirred slightly, eyes fluttering open as he murmured, “If you keep doing that, I might get used to it.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you teased, sliding out of bed to make breakfast, because if you were going to start your curse-free life with Vil, you might as well impress him with your domestic skills.

You didn’t get very far before you felt arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back against a warm chest. “Leaving so soon?” Vil whispered against your ear, his voice low and just a little bit too seductive for this early in the morning.

“I was gonna make breakfast, but I can see how I might’ve gotten distracted,” you shot back, trying (and failing) not to grin like an idiot.

Vil chuckled softly, his lips brushing your neck. “Well, since we have all the time in the world now, maybe breakfast can wait.”

You turned in his arms, raising an eyebrow. “Are you proposing we spend the entire day in bed?”

His smirk was enough of an answer.

But you had plans. “Okay, okay. How about this: breakfast first, then we can lounge around and plan our next big adventure.”

Vil leaned in, his lips ghosting over yours. “Deal. But I’m holding you to that promise.”

And so, you started your first day of freedom together, planning all the adventures the world had to offer. Because now, there was nothing stopping you—no curse, no fear, just the two of you, ready to face whatever came next.

there's a lot of lore dump but I hope yall enjoyed it!!

also this was supposed to be star crossed lovers but I absolutely cannot do angst no comfort because I'm a baby.

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #vil schoenheit x reader #vil x reader #vil #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x you #vil x you

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readerihardlyknowher · 1 month ago

Note

Would you do a Spencer x Reader where the reader is constantly shipped with someone else and he gets jealous? ❤️❤️❤️

Ok I really really liked this, I ended up writing both this and the last post yesterday but wanted to space it out some.

Spencer Agnew x Reader, mostly gn except for one mention of gf at the end Warnings: None WC: 1,735

“Y/n and Damien would lowkey be cute together ngl”

“The way Damien looks at Y/n ASKSJFLAJF”

“Have you guys seen the edit of them from the latest video 👀👀"

Spencer was not blind to the massive fanbase surrounding you and your fellow coworker, and he can see why; you both get along like glue. He doesn’t even know why he really cares for what the fans think in that way, he knows it’s not good for his mental health. But seeing something so innocent such as the two of you leaning against each other during Reddit Stories made him clench his jaw when he saw it. Not because he thought you were into Damien, but because the fans thought you were. Spencer knew as well that he had no right to be upset when neither of you had gone public with your relationship. It’s why he was so happy to be with someone as amazing as you, because despite your love of being on camera, you were more than satisfied keeping your relationship private, even with the downsides it came with.

“Spence! Come on, we’re on!” Your voice snaps him from his thoughts, he barely has any time to process before you’re pulling his arm and into the bright and shining lights of the VidCon stage, letting go once you’re about to become visible.

The cheers from the audience is deafening, and makes everyone on stage a little nervous, but especially Spencer, who’d rather do anything than sit in front of a large crowd. The only thing that manages to distract him from his anxiety is seeing you and the smile on your face as you take a seat in your chair, right beside him and the rest of the cast.

The show begins with everyone briefly introducing themselves to the audience, before Shayne announces that they’ll be doing another live Reddit Stories video, which of course, everyone cheers for. Shayne begins with the infamous iPad, reading a story from r/Relationships. The whole time he reads though, Spencer was preoccupied with thoughts of anxiety, both from being in front of such a large number of people, and being right next to you. Some part of him hopes that the fans will hone in on that, say something like “wait, Spencer and Y/n look kinda cute together.”

You, on the other hand, notice Spencer’s worried expression, knowing him well enough to know when he’s nervous. So, you decide to reach your hand out to hold his in your own, gently running your thumb over the back of his hand. The both of you sit behind Courtney, Keith, and Trevor, and the seats are low enough that your hands can’t be seen if they’re low enough. Spencer looks over at you, meeting your eyes and searching for any sort of support he can find. You see the look and offer him a soft smile, as if to say “it’s okay, I’m here” without a single word exchanged. This does manage to help him and he tunes back into the story being read, despite having missed most of it.

“Wait, okay, so this guy thought inviting OP’s sister into a threesome was a good idea?!” Courtney shouted, shocked by the content of the story that the two of you had missed, saying enough in that sentence alone for you to know what the post was about. Everyone makes their rounds of comments on the story before eventually moving on to the next post.

By the second post, Spencer has significantly calmed down, but he still has not relinquished his hold onto your hand. He tells you frequently how there’s something about you that grounds him, and right now he needs it. You, on the other hand, feel a little nervous about holding his hand for so long, worried that someone from the audience or a camera might see. You had refrained from being public because it was Spencer’s request, and you understood it completely. So, with his hand in yours in such a public setting, you wonder how long it will be that you two are kept private for, and hoping that you two will get to be the ones to announce that instead of someone else happening to catch you holding hands.

Eventually, it’s time to move onto the Q&A section of the show, and Shayne’s once again reading them all from his iPad. It starts out simple, with questions like “What’s everyone’s favorite videogame?” “What’s Shayne’s workout routine?” “How do people feel about AI?” and then eventually delved into some more personal questions, with some of the cast more willing to answer than others. One of the questions asked is “What’s everyone’s type?” Despite getting a laugh from the cast, only a few actually decide to give their answer, including you.

“Okay, just talking personality here, I really like nerds. It’s true, I love when people will just yap about their interests, there’s something so attractive about it.”

Spencer didn’t even need to look at you to know you were making an inside reference to him. The words excited him, you announcing to the world that your type is him. It brings a smile to his face, a smile almost nothing could take away. Nothing except–

“Like Damien!” Someone’s voice shouts through the audience, causing a ripple of people cheering and some shouting your ship name.

Spencer had never been angrier than in this moment. It took all his energy to not visibly show it on his expression, taking it out instead by squeezing your hand a little tighter. You could feel it, the anger and frustration in your boyfriend that your fans wanted you to get with another man. It’s a discussion you’ve had in private a few times before, not about Damien directly, he had nothing to do with the problem, but about how hurtful it was, not having your audience see the two of you together and not ship you. Of course, there were the few fans who did, and you had followed them on your secret account, but they were far from the most popular. You hold his hand tighter before answering, trying not to seem upset by the question.

“Look, Damien’s great and all you, you guys – I mean, he’s one of my closest friends – but he’s not the only nerdy yapper in existence,” you respond, which makes the audience laugh, with a few people booing. Spencer looks over at your face, seeing how you’re clearly straining to remain happy looking. But how could you feel happy when people are unintentionally hurting your boyfriend? You had to set the record straight once again that you and Damien are just friends. Luckily, Damien speaks up as well.

“Yeah, and let’s maybe keep all that energy on the internet. You don’t know if people are going to be okay with that being said to their face. Besides, in this cast alone there’s like, five nerdy yappers, pick someone else for once,” Damien says, a little exasperated but trying to play it off as a joke. The two of you had both connected over the fact that while you do love each other, you don’t like to see each other in that way. Your heart was already taken by Spencer. At this point, Spencer had gained enough confidence that he decided to make a comment as well.

“I mean, if anyone needs to pick another nerdy yapper to ship Y/n with…” Spencer said with a smug expression, causing the fans to cheer and you to shoot him a surprised expression. You give him a small, confused glance, as if to ask if he’s really being so bold in public, which he just responds to with another smug look. You consider his comment and the implications of it. Just that alone will cause people to see you two that way, which you had assumed he didn’t want in order to keep your relationship private. However, you weren’t going to complain if it meant he was feeling more confident.

The Q&A eventually ends and so does the Smosh Live segment. As you all head back behind stage, everyone hugs each other and says how amazing everyone did. You turn to Spencer, still reeling from his comment, before practically jumping into his arms with a hug. He holds you tight, burying his face in your neck and planting a small, secret kiss there before pulling back. He stares at you for a second, not saying anything, before suddenly rushing out a sentence.

“I want to talk with you later in our room.”

The words confused you and even worried you a little, but the excitedly nervous expression on his face told you that there was nothing to be worried about. You nod as a reply for now, before turning back to join the rest of the cast.

It takes a while to get back to the hotel, first having dinner with the cast and some crew, then going out for a couple drinks, before finally getting back to the hotel room you share with your boyfriend.

Once you both unwind a little from the busy day, Spencer takes you to sit on the bed beside each other, facing one another. You give him some time to formulate his words as they anxiously sit on his tongue.

“Y/n…” He begins. His mind is torn in many different places. He wants to be known as your boyfriend, he wants to know that people won’t want you with someone else, he wants you to not be ashamed of him. “I think… I think I’m ready to be public. For us to be public.”

It takes you a moment to process his words. To you, being with him had been all you ever wanted, even before you had known it’s what you wanted. You didn’t care if fans knew or not, you just wanted him. But right now, his tense expression and vulnerable words made you want to do whatever it was he requested, and you had no problem obliging this one.

“Spence, I’d love to go public.” A sigh of relief left him at your words. A part of him had wondered whether or not you’d even want to after he made you wait for so long, but either way, he was happy. “Would you like to make a post tomorrow announcing it?”

“That would be amazing, hun.”

(ignore how there's more comments than likes, I forgot to add an extra digit to the likes)

#spencer agnew #spencer agnew x reader #smosh fanfiction #smosh fic

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evilmenenjoyer · 19 days ago

Text

Dead-end roads.

Pairing: Shane Walsh x fem!Reader.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: age gap (legal, reader is 24 years old and Shane is somewhere in his mid-late 30s), drinking, drunk sex (as in both parties are drunk), rough sex, gratuitous use of the word "kid" as a pet name, grief and implications of past familial abuse. Both of them are a mess basically.

A/N: thank you so much to the anon who requested age gap Shane/Reader! I had so many ideas I had to split them into different parts or this would've been ridiculously long, so let me know if you would like to see part 2!

You, Shane, trauma, and way too much booze for your own good. What could possibly go wrong?

–––

Sneaking out of the camp was easy. Dale likes to keep watch on top of his RV, but even he can’t see everything, and when you’re determined to leave a place even trained eyes can’t seem to catch you. With everyone else busy trying to recover from the massacre and digging graves for the dead, it felt like the perfect opportunity.

The graves. You couldn’t bring yourself to watch them do it, much less to step in and help. Four deaths just last night; Ed, Amy, a man whose name you regret not memorizing. And your mother.

You haven’t shed a single tear yet.

Instead, you find yourself alone in the heart of Atlanta, in the apartment you used to live. Your legs dangle from the edge of the tiny balcony, and in your hand you clutch a half-empty bottle of vodka. It’s cheap, the kind you can’t hold back a grimace every time you swallow, but it gets the job done — and more importantly, quickly. Five big gulps in and you can’t even taste it anymore.

The city looks so eerie from up here, empty and dead silent save for the distant groans of walkers below. Every now and again you’ll see one drag itself along the street, aimlessly making its way into one of the nearby buildings or further into the city, oblivious to your presence ten stories above. You briefly entertain the thought of tossing the cap of the bottle down into the concrete, just to see if you could hit one of them from this distance, if they’ll be smart enough to look up and spot you.

Just as you’re considering the pros and cons, the sliding door behind you opens.

Your heart jumps inside your chest and it feels like the vodka hits you all at once, making the world spin and blur around you. You whip your head towards the sound, your eyes taking a second longer to catch up to the movement and to make sense of the shape invading your vision.

“Shane,” you gasp, half in surprise and half in relief. Not a walker. You don’t want to think about how, if it was one, you’d have nowhere to run to except maybe jumping down and taking your chances with the pavement. “What are you doing here?”

“Lookin’ for you. What else would I be doing here?” Shane looks pissed, like he can’t decide whether he wants to snap at you right now or if he should wait until you’re not half-hanging out of the frail balcony fence. He draws in a deep breath, seemingly in an attempt to calm himself down. “You can’t just sneak out like that. We were worried.”

“Sorry.”

You’re not sorry. You don’t even try to sound sorry. You bring the bottle to your lips, swallowing down a mouthful of vodka that goes down your throat like liquid fire. You only vaguely feel it, like your entire body is a limb that has fallen asleep.

Of course Shane would know you’d be here. None of the other remaining survivors in the group would know where to look, but he’s not just any stranger you’ve been camping with for the sake of survival. He had rescued you and your mother from this very place in his departure from Atlanta, before the bombs from the military started coming down on the city.

Shane crouches down beside you, his eyes taking note of the bottle but not lingering on it.

“We’re leaving the camp today,” he tells you. You don’t react save for a tiny nod around another sip of vodka.

“Where to?”

“CDC, or Fort Benning. We’re still working it out.”

You don’t voice your opinion; both sound fruitless to you. Silence stretches on for long enough that he must get the hint, because he takes the opportunity to say, “You’re coming with us.”

“Thanks, but I’m fine here,” you reply, your words slurred as the alcohol works its way through your system.

“You can’t be serious.” He rubs at his face, the same exasperation in his gesture as in his voice. “You’d die in a week, kid.”

The pet name instantly gets on your nerves, even if he’s called you that since the day he met you.

“I come here all the time and I’m still not dead.”

“For supply runs. How the fuck do you expect to live here? All alone? Look around you,” he gestures to the street below, where a walker crosses the street towards an abandoned store. “You’ve never even killed a walker.”

“I can learn.”

“It ain’t that simple.”

“How hard can it be? Everyone else does it.” You can’t pinpoint the exact moment you went from buzzed to drunk, but you realize now you’ve crossed that line a long time ago. Your voice goes from soft and nonchalant to increasingly, irrationally annoyed at his concern. “‘Sides, if I’m that useless why’d you want me to come along? I’d just slow you down.”

The worst is you know he has a point. You’re not a fighter; never have been, really. Your entire life, the one thing stopping you from becoming a sitting target was your ability to run, both literally and figuratively. You’re fast, sneaky, crafty. Qualities that have served you well, but they can only take you so far in this new brutal world. What happens when you can’t run? What happens when someone else is cornered and you can do nothing to help them?

There’s still blood from last night under your nails, no matter how hard you scrubbed your hands clean at the river.

“I’m sorry about your mom.”

The words, the genuine, unexpected gentleness of his tone, it feels like a knife being jammed into your stomach. You only shake your head, unable to look at him; unable to, even now, admit that you can’t decide whether you’re devastated or relieved that she’s gone. That that woman was capable of leaving you with the deepest scars without ever laying a finger on you.

You stare down at the street. You still don’t cry.

“She would’ve wanted you to keep going,” Shane insists.

Your eyes finally meet his. “You clearly didn’t know my mother, Shane.”

You watch the surprise in his eyes as he tries to make sense of it. Still, he doesn’t relent. He pushes himself back to his feet.

“Come on, we need to go while there’s still daylight.” When you don’t move nor give any indication that you’ve heard him, you feel a hand circle around your forearm.

“I said no!” You yank your arm back like he burned you, even though the touch was gentle. “You’re not a cop anymore. You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I sure fucking can when you’re bein’ a danger to yourself.” He grabs you again, this time firmly enough to pull you to your feet. You stumble, too drunk for something as simple as balancing yourself. “Let’s go.”

You do the only thing that crosses your mind — you swing the bottle at him.

It doesn’t break. There’s just not enough power in the movement, no real intention to hurt him; you just want him to let go. It hits him on the shoulder, splashing vodka everywhere as it falls and crashes into a million pieces in the pavement below.

The crash is so loud in the silent city.

Shane’s got you back inside the apartment in an instant, in the bedroom that was once yours. You thrash around in his arms like a wild animal, the differences in strength between you and Shane as well as the alcohol running through your veins making your attempts at best comically futile.

“Stop! Christ, the fuck’s wrong with you?”

“It’s pointless, Shane!” You keep on fighting even when you know you’re overpowered, when you can barely move against his grasp. “I’m dying either way! What difference does it make if I die here or at Fort Benning or wherever the fuck!?”

“You ain’t dying, that’s what I’m tryna stop from happening!” He’s got you effectively trapped, your back pressed against the wall and his arm across your chest. “Why do you gotta be so fucking stubborn?”

You try to move away; you can’t. His arm applies pressure across your chest, making it hard to breathe. Or maybe it’s just how close he is — close enough that you can feel the body heat emanating off him, your faces inches from touching. You can see every pore on his skin, the light stubble starting to grow, the way his nostrils flare with anger.

“You think you’re the only one who lost someone?” he says. “We all did. And you’re the only one needin’ to be cared for like a little kid.”

“Who did you lose?” you snap back. “Far as I can see, everyone you love is doing just fine. That boy, your girlfriend. Even your buddy came back to steal her away.”

He pushes you even harder against the wall for that, his muscles flexing with how impossibly tight he’s gripping you. Your breath caught in your throat, you try to kick him away only to find his knees also trapping your legs in place, so much of his body pressed flush to yours it’s making you a little dizzy.

“You gonna drag me back, or are you gonna fuck me?” you ask, all drunken defiance and bravado. There’s no way a sentence like that would ever leave your lips if not for the copious amounts of alcohol clouding your judgment. “‘Cause I’m getting some mixed signals here.”

You can tell you’ve caught him off-guard, but neither of you have an opportunity to react to what you’ve just said. Somewhere in the hallway, there’s a bang as something is pushed to the floor, followed by the unmistakable groans and heavy footsteps of a walker.

Shane spins you around so fast you nearly fall over again. His arm circles around your waist, and before you can even think to object, his free hand clamps over your mouth.

He drags you both into the walk-in closet, closing the door as silently as he can. It’s a dark, cramped space, the mess of clothes making it feel even smaller. Shane’s right behind you, his chest molded against your back and arms wrapped around you, his hand still covering your mouth even though you wouldn’t dare to make a sound.

All you can do is listen: Shane’s breath so close to your ear, your own racing heartbeats inside your chest, the walker that has now found its way into the bedroom.

For a few long moments you’re both still as statues, listening in to the sounds outside the closet. Your mind races with the worst possible outcomes; what if there’s more than one walker? What if they realize you’re both here, with no way to escape except for the same door you came in from? What if you both end up dead, and it’s all your fault for coming back here in the first place?

Seconds stretch into minutes that stretch into what feels like an eternity. The walker — or walkers — circles the room quite a few times, in no rush to leave. At some point, you see its shadow right in front of the door, standing there for several beats before it finally, finally walks away.

Shane waits even longer, until you’re certain you can’t hear anything on the other side. Only then does he slowly unwrap his hand from your mouth. He reaches for the door, still holding onto you, pushing it open just enough that he can peek out at the bedroom.

“I think it’s gone,” he whispers. “It probably went to the other room, but we can—”

He looks at you, and his voice dies out in his throat when he realizes you’re weeping.

You don’t know when it began, but the tears just keep on coming, rolling down your cheeks and into your shirt. They’re silent save for a few quick pauses for air, and your body shakes ever so slightly with your sobs, so soft and subtle it could’ve just been mistaken for fear if he couldn’t see your face. You want it to stop, to get your shit together or at least hide from Shane, stop him from watching you fall apart like this.

His grip around your waist loosens, but doesn’t release you. Instead, he carefully wraps his other arm around you as well, cradling you in an embrace.

It’s like the final pillar holding you together crumbles, and you let it all pour out of you, all those emotions you don’t even know how to name taking the shape of tears. Shane feels like a warm blanket at your back, reminding you that things can still feel good, somehow, in the midst of so much sorrow. He coaxes you to turn around to face him, and you immediately burrow your face into his chest, arms clinging to him like a lifeline.

“It’s okay,” he shushes, resting his chin on top of your head. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“You can’t know that,” you breathe, your voice quieter than a whisper, but he hears you.

“Yeah, I can. Y’know why?” He pulls back just enough to see your face, the gun callouses on his fingertips scratching your skin when he wipes away a tear. “‘Cuz I’ll be right here the whole time, and I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you. I promise.”

You know it’s an empty promise, that this is something he can’t possibly guarantee. But he says it so earnestly, like really means it. And, for a moment, you let yourself believe it, let him pull you out of the closet and into an imaginary world where things will be okay.

CDC was the right choice, after all. It’s disheartening to see it empty rather than bustling with doctors and scientists, but there’s electricity, there’s hot water, and there’s dinner with plenty of food and wine, and that’s more than you could ask for.

You continue the party in the room you’ve claimed as your own, with yet another bottle you managed to sneak from the cabinet. It takes you nearly the entire bottle and over an hour of psyching yourself up before you bring yourself to knock on the door you’d seen Shane retreat into.

He doesn’t answer for long enough that you wonder if you should knock again or go away. Right when you’re about to make a decision, the door opens.

“What’re you doin’ here?” he asks, his voice slurred.

“Just wanted to ask if you wanted a drink.”

He looks like hell. Attractive, of course, as he always is, but disheveled. His hair is all over the place, shirt ruffled and open just enough for you to catch sight of the tattoo on his chest. There’s an edge to his gaze, matching the red, angry scratches on his neck.

Even in this state, he cracks a smile when he sees the bottle in your hand, the liquid inside not even enough for a full glass.

“Drink what? There’s barely anything in there.”

You smile back. “You have more, don’t you?”

Of course he does. He’s just as drunk as you, and you know for a fact he didn’t get to this point by just drinking a couple of glasses of wine at dinner. Shane runs a hand over his face, pausing to softly pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Look, kid, ’s not a good time.”

You try not to let your disappointment show, or to feel discouraged. “Come on, I bet I could cheer you up.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but perhaps he finds your confidence endearing, or he simply doesn’t have the energy to send you away. With a tiny sigh, he steps aside to let you in.

You and Shane, alone in a room with a bottle of liquor. It sounds like something you would only dare to fantasize about in the depths of your brain, except it’s happening right now. He doesn’t turn on the lights save for a small lamp at the corner, engulfing the two of you in warm dimmed lighting as you sit on opposite ends of the couch.

“D’you always do that?” he asks.

“What?”

He nods at the bottle in your hand just as he reaches for one of his own, a liquor you can’t make out in the darkness. “Drink like your liver is indestructible.”

You breathe a light chuckle as you bring the bottle to your lips. “Considering everything, I think my liver is the least of my problems. And you’re not too better off tonight.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a grownup. I can drink.”

You roll your eyes with a scoff, finally finishing off your bottle.

“I’m not that young.”

“How old are ya, anyway?”

“Twenty-four.” You leave the empty bottle on the coffee table. “And you?”

“Older than you.”

“No shit.”

“Too old for you, kid.”

Here it is; the closest either of you have gotten to giving voice to whatever it is that exists between you. There’s a part of you that had hoped he’d never notice it — the stolen glances and excuses to spend time around him and the way your smile lingered the longest for him than for anybody else —, while the other desperately hoped he felt it too, that he would make the first move you couldn’t find the guts to make.

The rejection burns, as subtle and implicit as it was. If you were sober, maybe this would be it; but you’re not, and your booze-soaked brain refuses to give up that easily.

“I’m not a child, Shane.” You hold out a hand, vaguely gesture to the bottle he’s drinking from. He lifts an eyebrow, but hands it over.

You’re expecting wine; it’s whiskey. You try to push through the burn down your throat, but you choke on it just a fraction of a second later, covering your mouth with your hand as you cough.

In the midst of desperately trying to swallow down the last bits of it, you hear Shane laugh.

“Yeah, sure you aren’t.”

“Fuck off.” You huff in embarrassment and genuine annoyance, taking a deep breath to steady your voice again.

“I believe ya, no need t’drink yourself into a coma to prove it to me.”

“There’s a lot of things I could do to prove it to you.”

The sentence just jumps out of your mouth before your brain even catches up to it, surprising you as much as it does him. He recovers quicker, snatching the bottle back from you.

“I’m cuttin’ you off, you’ve had enough tonight,” he says. It’s his turn to take a generous swig of the whiskey, swallowing it down like it’s nothing.

You watch him as he drinks, near-mesmerized for a brief moment. The scratches on his neck are in full view now, exposed to you, but you don’t dare to ask where they came from. His jaw is a firm, set line, clenched and tensed. You’ve seen him stressed enough times to know that this is what it looks like.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Nothin’.”

“Is it this place?” He doesn’t respond, but you discard the possibility. This is by far the safest, most comfortable place the entire group has spent the night since fleeing the city. Your mind flies to the one other issue that could be on his mind. “… Girlfriend problems?”

Shane sighs, and you can’t tell whether it’s resignation or a warning, like he’s telling you to tread carefully.

“Stop calling her that. She ain’t my girlfriend.”

“I’m sure she isn’t now that she’s got her husband back, but—”

“Never been.” He peels off the edges of the label of his drink. “There’s nothing goin’ on between us.”

You wish that were the truth, yet you doubt it. You shift on your spot so that you’re turned fully towards him.

“Then why do you look at her the same way I look at you?”

The silence that follows is heavy, building into something unknown. You force yourself not to look away when Shane finds your gaze, to not take back your words even though your heart is doing cartwheels inside your chest. To your surprise, he doesn’t scoff dismissively, doesn’t blame it on the drinking or point out your age difference again. He only regards you with those dark, glassy eyes, as if this is the first time he’s ever seen you clearly.

“What good is looking if you won’t do something about it, sweetheart?” his voice is low, raspy, daring you to take a step further.

He doesn’t look away. Neither do you.

Breath caught in your throat, you push yourself to a stand. It feels like the floor under you is spinning, but it’s slow and gentle, like you’re dreaming rather than just shitfaced. Somehow, you manage not to stumble in your own steps, not to make a complete fool of yourself as you make your way towards him. For a moment all you do is stand there right in front of him, eyes locked on his like his gaze is pulling you in. Then, slowly, you plant your knees on both sides of his legs on the couch, and lower yourself onto his lap.

Adrenaline runs through your body like you’re fighting for your life. You’re barely able to think, consumed by the glint of hunger in Shane’s eyes.

He rewards you by laying his broad hands over your hips, pulling you forward until your body is flush with his. He tastes like whiskey when you kiss him — you must taste the same, because he parts his lips for you immediately, greedily sliding his tongue into your mouth as if he wants to intoxicate himself through you. You return the kiss with the same enthusiasm, the exact same intentions.

You exhale a soft gasp into his mouth when his hands slide up your waist, taking your shirt with them, brushing against your bare skin in the process. His hands are so warm and you feel like you’re burning up, skin blazing everywhere he touches. You let him pull the shirt up and off your body, even if you breathe a disappointed whimper when he breaks the kiss to stare at you.

You expect those hands to explore the skin that’s just been exposed, but instead they settle into the small of your back, pushing you into a deeper arch. “This what you wanted?” he asks into your ear, drawing a shiver out of you.

“Want you to fuck me.” As usual, the alcohol makes you bold, but honest. There’s so much more you want to do with him — getting on your knees for him, for starters, or feeling his thick fingers stretch you out —, but you can tell neither of you will last that long in your drunken state. There’ll be more time for that later, you hope.

You’re only wearing thin shorts while he still wears denim, the roughness of the fabric drawing a moan from you as you rub yourself over the growing hardness between his legs, your knees digging deep into the couch cushions.

His lips press kisses down your neck, along your collarbones. You buck your hips involuntarily when you feel a wet tongue circle your nipple. “Shane,” it leaves you in a small sound, embarrassing if you weren’t far past the point of caring. Shane replies by pushing his hips up against yours.

“Take it out,” he orders. “See what you’ve done to me.”

Your usual defiance and disregard for authority goes out of the window as you find yourself immediately obeying, bringing your hands down to his belt. He removes his shirt while you work to pull his cock out from his boxers. You can’t resist wrapping your fist around it and giving it a few slow pumps.

The sound he makes goes straight to your groin. You pull away to kick off your shorts and underwear as quickly as you can, and Shane grabs you impatiently, pulls you back into his lap like you never left. Your hands are on his chest immediately, covering as much bare skin as they can.

You feel dazed when he lines up his cock with your entrance, unable to see or think about anything other than the way he grunts and shuts his eyes as you slowly sink down on him. For a moment you’re floating, but gravity is soon to pull you back, quite literally; the stretch more intense with every inch you take inside of you.

“Goddamn it, hold on,” you tell him, even though he hasn’t moved yet, even though he’s not even all the way in and you know it. He’s bigger than you’re used to, and you haven’t done this in a long time. You pause for a few moments, thighs trembling with the strain of keeping yourself still.

Shane’s chest heaves with soft pants, but he lets you take your time. He has the beginnings of that usual infuriating cocky smirk at the corner of his lip, like he loves watching you squirm and struggle to take him in.

Only when you start to slowly, tentatively circle your hips does he move, his hands grabbing rough and possessive where your ass meets your thigh. “Gonna take me all the way in, baby?” You feel yourself spread open even more under those strong hands, feel yourself being lifted up with just that grip, then pushed back down. Your head drops to his shoulder with a long moan. “I’ll help you.”

And he does. He guides you to move up and down his cock, controlling the pace with a tight grip on your hips. It starts slow, with long thrusts that demand you feel every single inch of him, gradually growing into a frantic pace that has the room filled with the sounds of skin slapping on skin as well as your combined sighs and moans. It occurs to you that you’re being too loud, that you should probably keep it down, but every sound of approval that leaves Shane’s lips just makes you ride him even harder, eager to hear more.

Once he feels like you’ve got the hang of it, he lets go of your hips and lets you move on your own. His hands run up your body, circling your breasts and your throat before a thumb presses over your lips. You part them obediently, welcoming it into your mouth without losing your momentum.

It’s when that thumb comes to press against your clit that your hips stutter, pulling almost all the way off Shane before you all but jump back down on it.

“That’s it.” He strokes you in firm circles, grunting when you clench hard around him. “That’s good, kid.”

“Fuck, d-don’t call me that.”

You don’t know how to feel about the fact that this is what tips you over the edge despite your protest, his raspy voice in your ear and that damn pet name echoing in your mind. You can’t even feel the strain on your thighs anymore as you keep on moving, uncoordinated but desperate not to lose that high. Shane thrusts up into you and it drives a broken shout of you, like the sensation takes you by surprise, intensifying the pleasure that runs through every vein of your body.

When you come back to Earth, you’re all but collapsed against him, shuddering in his arms that he wraps around you like you’re cold. He’s still inside. Still hard, poking into your sensitive walls. He’s merciful enough to give you the lightest, gentlest thrusts, helping you ride out the last few waves of your orgasm but giving you time to recover.

Out of strength to lift up and down, you focus on clenching around him as hard as you can, on grinding yourself down against his pelvis.

Lifting your head off his chest, your eyes settle back on the mysterious scratches on his neck. Without thinking about it, you lay your lips over them.

It’s like you can feel the heat of them burning into your own skin, before it goes cool against you and you have to push a little bit harder to feel it again. You trace the cuts with your lips, with your tongue, the coppery taste of dried blood overflowing your senses.

Shane moans your name like a warning. It only makes you take the skin there between your teeth.

He growls, a rumble deep in his chest, and before you can soothe the bite with a kiss he’s grabbing at your sides and pushing you to lay down on the couch. You give a sound that’s half a moan, half a yelp of surprise as he digs back inside you, fucking you like a ragdoll. His pace is harder and faster than before, thrusts too rough and erratic for you to push back into any kind of rhythm, to do anything other than lie there pinned under him and take it.

He comes in just a few seconds, a few hard thrusts before he’s pulling out just in time to shoot his release over your stomach. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, grunting and breathing hard against it, occasionally kissing it like a quiet apology.

Shane moves just enough to give you more room, and you feel him fall asleep just a second before you do, both of you still clutching each other tight.

The hangover hits you before you even open your eyes in the morning; the worst one you’ve had in a very, very long time. You sigh, wrap your arms around the pillow underneath you, scared that any sudden move might make you sick. You’re naked, but wrapped up in a warm blanket. The pillow and the cushions still carry the warmth of someone else, but you’re alone.

The memories hit you in flashes, one after the other — surreal, dizzying, unbelievable. But you never once wonder if it was just a dream.

You close your eyes again, promise yourself to stay here just a few more minutes, just in case he comes back. He won’t, and deep down you know it, but you wait anyway. Just in case.

#oops is it too late to post this #shane walsh x reader #shane walsh x you #shane walsh smut #jon bernthal x reader #the walking dead x reader #jon bernthal smut #the walking dead x you

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