Being married to Diluc Ragnvindr would mean learning all the different versions of him that the rest of Mondstadt never gets to see.
To everyone else, he’s intimidating. Quiet. Untouchable. The wealthy owner of Dawn Winery with sharp eyes and an even sharper tongue. But with you? He softens in tiny ways.
He’ll loosen his gloves after a long day and silently hold out a hand for you to take. He’ll linger in doorways just to watch you talk. Some nights he comes home exhausted from dealing with the winery or disappearing as the Darknight Hero, and the second you touch his face, all that tension melts right out of him.
Diluc is the kind of husband who remembers everything about you. How you take your tea. Which side of the bed you prefer. What expression means you’re upset even when you insist you’re “fine.”
He pretends not to notice little things, but he notices all of them and he’s protective in the quietest way possible. You’d mention once that a merchant was rude to you, and somehow that merchant would never overcharge anyone at the winery again. Someone makes you uncomfortable during a social gathering? Diluc suddenly appears beside you with one hand resting at your waist, expression unreadable but unmistakably possessive.
He isn’t overly clingy in public, but he is deeply affectionate in private. Forehead kisses while passing by. Pulling you into his lap while he finishes paperwork. Resting his head against your shoulder late at night when he’s too tired to keep up his composed facade.
The servants at Dawn Winery absolutely know when the two of you had a peaceful morning together because Diluc becomes noticeably gentler for the rest of the day. Adelinde especially finds it amusing and despite his serious reputation, Diluc secretly loves domestic moments with you more than anything else.
Late dinners together after midnight. Rain tapping against the winery windows while you sit beside the fireplace. Him wordlessly wrapping his coat around your shoulders because you forgot one again. He’d never say it dramatically, but loving you becomes the safest part of his life.
After losing so much, having a home that includes you is the one thing he refuses to take for granted.
natural selection | lohen x reader | NSFW | oneshot
summary: your mother told you that a good bunny never trusts a hare. you're sorry, but you can't be the good girl she wanted you to be.
themes: hybrid-canonverse!AU, hybrid-hare!lohen, hybrid-bunny!reader, breeding kink, teasing, bunny mannerisms, dry humping, mating press, standing sex, light humor, porn with feelings, smut and angst, they're in love your honor ♡
word count: 2.7k
It had been approximately seven days since you made accidental eye contact with a hare. Coincidentally, it had been approximately seven days since you were last able to catch a break.
“Too slow!” Lohen exclaimed. “Seriously, Bunny, try a little harder, won’t you?”
Your head whipped around desperately, trying to find the inconspicuous hare’s voice within the dense woods surrounding you. The floppy set of bunny ears on your head were no match for those of Lohen’s—a pair of hare ears that stood straight and were able to detect sound like no other. Feeling your heart pound against your ribcage, you were entrapped by the dire sensation of fight or flight. To run meant to invite him to chase, but to fight was certainly going to end in disaster. What was there for you to do other than to stand paralyzed, unsure of when or how Lohen was going to torment you this time?
“Boo!”
You screamed when you heard his voice, and with a maniacal laugh, he barreled into you. The momentum of your collision sent you both tumbling across the earthen ground, snapping branches and crushing fallen leaves in your wake. Your head was spinning by the time you stopped, that frustrating hare pinning you to the ground beneath him with a cocky grin on his face. You could already feel the bulge in his trousers, pressing into you as he leaned closer.
“You’re terrible at this,” he said, laughing. “Can’t you make the hunt a little more fun?”
“No!” you replied in a sputter. “I didn’t agree to it in the first place!”
“You think you’re gonna be agreeing to it if some other hare catches a whiff of you? If anything, you should be thanking me. It’s great training.”
Your chest heaved with erratic breaths. Staring up into his crimson eyes, your legs squirmed around his hips, heels digging into the mossy ground. Lohen watched you with his shiteating grin, letting you rut against him as your instincts overwhelmed your sensibilities. Rather whiny about it, you wailed, “What kind of mate are you?!”
“Oh, so now I’m your mate.”
“You’re the one who went and decided it!” you sputtered. “Be responsible for your actions!”
“I didn’t decide anything. All I said was that you’re a bunny and I’m a hare. It’s literally in our nature to fuck like crazy, so why not fuck each other?” His teeth peeked through his grin, one of his tall hare ears twitching as if it were nodding in agreement. “Less risky that way, yeah?”
You fervently shook your head. “Don’t talk to me about risk! You’ve put my life in danger for your ego ten times already!”
“Hey, hey—I’d never put you in danger,” he replied stubbornly. “I just use you to attract danger. I love messing with those horny rabbits that come running after you. It’s great entertainment. But,” he said, eyes twinkling, “I’d never let them touch a hair on your pretty little head, Bunny.”
“So then why do I have to train for it?!” you whined. “If you’re going to handle them anyway, then cut the theatrics and fuck me when I ask you to!”
“Jeez,” Lohen said, wincing. “Someone’s needy. To think just yesterday you smacked me for grabbing your ass.”
“You grabbed my ass in public!” you growled. “At work! In front of so many knights!”
“So? How else are they gonna know you’re mine?”
“You are so irritating!”
Your nails clambered for purchase along his shoulders, your hips humping against the curve of his lap. Wetness spread through your undergarments, soaking into the crotch of his pants as you repeatedly mashed yourself into him. Lohen watched you struggle, snickering as he saw fit.
How did you even end up like this? You were simply a new addition to the Knights of Favonius’s ranks, and not even as a member of the militia force. Your role was one that was both simple and safe, a career path that your parents had always desired for you. Your mother had warned you time and time again that a good bunny remained out of the line of fire, kept her head down, and did not get entangled with hares.
“Lohen,” you were whining, tears streaming down your cheeks. Your cunt throbbed, your hips flailing up against his. “Please, I need you.”
“Oh? ‘Need’s a strong word, Bunny.”
“You motherfucker,” you gasped, nails digging into his coat. “Do you want me to beg? Is that it?”
He snorted. “I think you’re begging plenty already, Bun. I’m just taking in the view, you know?”
“Ngh,” you grunted, hinging your knee forward, then back. Again, you pressed your crotch to his, and your leg moved with a mind of its own, your foot stomping into the ground beneath you. You pressed your eyes shut, feeling a shamed heat spread through your neck and into the tops of your cheeks. Your leg jerked repeatedly, and as your stomping grew faster, Lohen only laughed. Leaning his mouth down to your jaw, his voice ghosted hot across your chin.
“You’re so cute when you start thumping, Bun,” he purred in a low, rumbling voice. “Almost makes me wanna fuck you.”
You thumped your foot again, your heart pounding ten times as hard. Letting out a series of embarrassing, dissatisfied grunts, you wriggled beneath Lohen, your animal instincts flaring through your core. Slick upon slick upon slick—you were far too ready for him, but just like a troublesome hare, Lohen did not abide you. Your nails clawed at the fabric of his cape, tears budding the corners of your eyes when your angered grunts mixed with needy whimpers.
What would your parents think if they could see you now? What would your mother; the woman who warned you about hares since you were a child; say, were she privy to how attached you had become to one? You were supposed to be your parents’ golden bunny, yet here you were—laying on the forest floor with a hare on top of you, pleading for him to fulfill your carnal desires.
The worst part was that you didn’t care. Let your parents weep over their disappointment of a daughter. Whenever this hare set his hands on you, you felt alive.
“Please,” you were whispering, high-pitched and breathy. “Lohen, please, I—ngh.” Another involuntary thump of your foot. “I want you.”
He chuckled against the soft of your floppy ear. Giving you a playful nibble, he whispered, “Good job, Bun. I think I like the sound of that a little better.”
You exhaled, your breath shaking as it exited your throat. Lohen reached down to his hip, and when you heard the unmistakable sound of his zipper, you whined his name. He glanced at you with those gorgeous red eyes of his, the ones that had gotten you so whipped for him in the first place, and gave you a smirk so coy, you could die for him right then and there.
It wasn’t the fact that he was a hare that had you so entranced by him. It was the fact that that hare was Lohen.
“Lift up for me?” he asked, giving your legs the lightest of touches. You moved in accordance with him, and as he guided you through it, he said, “Uh-huh, like that.”
His teeth poked through his charming smile. Eyes roaming the length of your body, Lohen purred, “Good girl…you’re so flexible.”
Your knees quivered by your head. Truly, you weren’t built to bend or twist like this, but for Lohen, you would try.
“So pretty,” he murmured, his hands stroking the backs of your upturned thighs. His eyes were trained on your cunt, a flush of red decorating his grinning face. “Are you as wet as I think you are, Bun?”
Desperately, you nodded.
He relinquished a close-lipped laugh. “Guess I’ll have to be the judge of that.”
The sensation of his hot glans against your slick folds sent you curving back into the moss. You reached for your knees, keeping them held back for him, even though your body burned from the strain of it. Making sounds that you’d rather die than hear when you weren’t in a mating state, your toes curled into your flailing feet.
“You’re thumping the air, Bun,” Lohen said, like it wasn’t already obvious. He continued to smear himself up and down the length of your cunt, providing barely enough stimulation to suppress your feral urges. You recalled how full he made you feel, every single night over the past seven days of knowing him, and grunted pitifully.
Hares were generally larger than bunnies—faster and far more powerful, too. Maybe that was why you were so attracted to Lohen, who was lithe like a bunny on the surface, yet so unmistakably hare below the belt. The stretch of his tip against your hole, teasing you, had you sobbing.
“Fuck—me,” you choked out, trying to thump, thump, thump. “Lohen, please. Do something useful, please.”
His sly grin fell from his face. Staring down at you with an open mouth, he began to pant into the air, his ears twitching erratically. Watching your face still, he rubbed his beading head against your sensitive clit, and in a murmur, said, “I wanna breed you so bad.”
That was the thing about hares and bunnies—they both had an insatiable desire to fuck, fuck, fuck—but they weren’t compatible for breeding. That was why bunnies like you were taught to be wary of hares like Lohen, with their silver tongues and promises of sweet nothings. Your whole life, you had been taught that a hare only wanted one thing from a bunny, and that was to use her as he saw fit.
“Bun,” Lohen said, red-faced and gasping. “I wanna breed.”
You couldn’t, and yet—.
“Put it in,” you gasped back. “Lohen, if you want to breed, you have to put it in.”
He let out an odd, strangled noise. Maybe he appreciated the fact that you didn’t point out the obvious, or maybe he was getting influenced by your own state of need. Whatever the case, Lohen’s thick head sank right into your dripping hole, and with a gradual push of his hips, you were full of him.
Were you crying? Were you calling his name? Or were you praying to the Archons above for forgiveness?
“How do you—,” Lohen’s breath hitched. “How do you want me, Bun?”
“Hard,” you slurred. “Hard, Lohen, hard.”
His boots shuffled across the grassy forest floor. Half-squatting over you, Lohen placed his hands to the back of yours, helping you keep yourself ever so delicately folded in half for him. After a glance at you, assessing your comfort level no doubt, he quickly smacked his pelvis to yours.
You were flailing again, your throat hoarse from your cries. Slowly, Lohen’s girth retreated within you, and right when you were just a touch from empty, it shoved into you all at once all over again.
“Lohen,” you were sobbing, your nails digging into your own flesh. “Lohen.”
“Bun,” he panted back. “You’re…so fuckin’ tight.”
The slam of his hips punctuated his sentence. This was almost too much for you.
“Fuck, I…” Lohen hissed aloud. “I want to breed so bad, Bun. Fuck a bunny right…into you.”
With each final word, came another forceful pound of his dick inside of you. Your lower lip was quivering from your sobs and whines, and when Lohen noticed, he squeezed his hands around yours, hesitating.
“How do you want me?” he asked tenderly.
“Harder,” you choked. “Even harder.”
Lohen held you midair. It was unfathomable, how quickly he could fuck you while also supporting all of your body weight in those lean arms of his. You had never doubted Lohen’s strength, but it was times like these that reminded you just how lucky you were to have a hare like him.
Your back was pressed to a nearby tree trunk, giving Lohen the leverage to grunt by your ear. The way he chuffed and whined, nuzzling against your floppy ear with lustful fervor all the while, made your mind feel fuzzier than the ears atop his head. The pound of his hips was relentless, reminiscent of a hare in rut, and as the wet slaps of his body against yours filled the air around you, you worried for a moment that you may attract the attention of any keen-nosed rabbits who happened to wander by.
“Bunny,” Lohen was gasping. “Your pussy feels so good.”
What could you do in response to that, other than grab a fistful of his hair and wail? His breath hitched against your sensitive ear, and in a growling voice, he asked, “You gonna take it?”
Yes, yes, yes—of course you would.
“How much?”
All of it. All of it.
Lohen laughed, that giggle slowly turning into a hot moan. Pounding you so fast that you weren’t sure your womb would make it through this, he dug his teeth into your neck and groaned.
“Bunny,” he mumbled through mouthfuls of your skin, sharp pain mixing with sweet pleasure. “I wanna give you a hare that looks just like you.”
Why did your eyes bud with tears, when you thought about the impossibility of it?
“Fuck, Bun,” Lohen gasped, fucking you so hard your back shifted up the tree with each thrust. “You’d be such a good mom.”
“Please stop,” you sobbed, your nails clambering for purchase in the flesh of his shoulders. “Lohen.”
“You’re gonna give me what I want,” he whispered, the bridge of his nose ghosting against yours, “won’t you, Bun?”
You biologically couldn’t. You knew you couldn’t.
“Yes,” you whined anyway, throbbing and clenching around his plunging dick. “I will.”
His eyes widened. A shadow of darkness cast across his face, and in a soft, tiny whisper, he said, “Thank you.”
His mouth was on yours before you could think to respond. He kissed you hard, filling your mouth with the taste of mint bubblegum, a silly habit of his that you had found quite bunny-like for a hare, but was quickly becoming one of your favorite parts of him. Stretching your arms around his neck, you pulled him in close, the taste of your salty tears dancing between your clashing mouths. There was euphoria, there was longing, and there was a gnawing ache within you—the pain spurred from your inability to meet your mate’s needs.
If only you were a hare, like him. Strong like him, fast like him, able to keep up with his every move the way he was able to keep up with yours. Maybe then things wouldn’t be so hard for you. Maybe Lohen would be happier.
“I love you,” he said when your lips parted, his cheeks as crimson as those sweet eyes of his.
Your lower lip trembled.
“Fuck,” he spat, his eyes fluttering shut. “Here you go, Bunny.”
Dear Gods, this was what you needed. To feel him pumping you full, filling your womb with every last drop of his love for you. To cum from the pure stimulation of his affections; gasping, hot, and blinding; knowing that even if his seed would never take, he loved you.
“Good girl,” Lohen whispered fiercely, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Really good girl.”
“I love you,” you whined back, hiccuping through your sobs. “I wish I could be a mom for you.”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Don’t cry over it, Bun.” He smiled, his eyes softening. “You know I was just saying things, right? I don’t want you to stress over it.”
“I just,” you croaked, “want to give you what you want.”
“…You really do love me.”
You nodded. Lohen chuckled.
“Well. I’m glad you picked me, Bun.”
Your hands smoothed out around his shoulders. He leaned in so close, his smiling lips brushed yours.
“You can do it,” he crooned. “I’ll just fuck you until you can. Sound good?”
You smiled, laughing in spite of your tears. Nodding, you said, “That sounds wonderful, Lohen.”
“One more time then?”
“One more—time!”
Leaning your head against the pine-scented bark, you offered your prayers to Celestia. Once more, your favorite hare began another passionate attempt to complete you, and you couldn’t have been more enamored with him if you tried.
Sure, you may have been a bad daughter. Disobedient and unwise. But whenever Lohen touched you, you never felt anything but the love between you. If that was so wrong, then you didn’t mind being bad at all.
a/n: as soon as i did more research into bunnies vs hares and realized they couldn't mate... i was like shiet lets turn this a lil angsty. p.s. did yall know bunnies thump and grunt when mad? teehee.
this is a oneshot that is tumblr-exclusive (for now)! if you liked it, please consider leaving a heart! (˶>⩊<˶) ♡ might crosspost it to AO3, but im not sure if i might want to continue this hybrid!AU so i'd rather wait and see first.
if you would like to be tagged for my genshin x reader content, please check my rules post! ♡
🩵⊹ lohen's bunnies Ი𐑼🩵
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masterlist | ask | ao3 | more of this pair
Description: While analyzing space plants in Sue’s lab, you get infected with sex pollen. Johnny, hotshot, flirty as hell, and definitely not yours (yet) starts looking a little too good in those tight pants. You try to fight it, until you find yourself begging him to save you.
Tags/warnings: no movie spoilers. fem!reader, sex pollen, smut, johnny loves to flirt and tease, long buildup, yearning, tension, hands kink, begging, praising, fingering, oral fem rec, piv, multiple rounds.
Note: It’s getting hot in here or is it just me? 🙂↕️ I couldn’t help myself, needed to make another one of these with my man Johnny🔥 also I know this is very long but this is porn with juicy plot lmao, enjoy 🫶🏼
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━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⋅ ♡ ⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━
Working at the Baxter Tower had always been the dream. Years of research in botanical science had finally paid off when Sue Storm called, inviting you to study alien plant specimens from their latest space mission. It was everything you’d ever wanted.
And of course, becoming friends with her after months of working together came with many open doors, and benefits. And one of them was her brother.
Johnny Storm.
Blonde, charming to the core, unfairly handsome, way smarter than he let on. Quite the hotshot. Literally. And infuriatingly interested in you the moment you stepped into the building.
Sue said he hadn’t set foot near her lab in months. Now he dropped by almost daily with flimsy excuses, snacks, oxygen checks, dumb questions about leaf colors, all paired with a flirty comment and that unfairly pretty smile.
You rolled your eyes. Every time.
You also got flustered. Every time.
And he noticed. Every time.
And as much as you tried to convince yourself not to fall for his charm, it was practically impossible when he showed up in the middle of the day with some chips and those pretty blue eyes, saying something about how your lab coat fit you particularly nicely that day. You swore you weren’t falling for it. Not for him. Because he flirted with everyone. That’s who he was.
Still, that didn’t stop your heart from skipping whenever he looked at you like you were the only person in the room.
Thankfully, he wasn’t around this time, so you could totally focus on your work with Sue.
"Okay! batch 5FA's tests are catalogued and processed, programming a check in tomorrow. Let's go with batch 5FB," Sue announced, storing the studied samples inside an isolated chamber.
"Batch 5FB is here. Thank you HERBIE," you smiled as the adorable robot placed a glass box with a metal base on the counter in front of you.
You were running a second round of tests on previously labeled specimens, checking for possible medicinal uses. You pressed the button on the base and the glass dome lifted in a soft hiss, releasing a small cloud of white fog from the chamber's interior.
Sue turned her attention to her tablet, scrolling through the database for any notes on these samples. But before she could find any, all the lights went out. All systems stopped working, including the heating.
"Not again," she groaned, setting the tablet down and standing up to head out, no doubt to scold her husband for running experiments during your lab hours.
She stormed off the room, using a soft glow of energy to guide her, leaving you alone in the dark.
Now where was Johnny Storm when you needed him?
If he weren't outside, probably absorbing flames from a burning building, you were sure he'd already be here. Flaming on with that smug smirk before Sue could even reach Reed's lab.
Maybe it was your imagination, but moments like this always felt colder when the golden sun who made it his mission to orbit you... wasn't there.
You lifted your arm to check the watch device on your wrist, one that Johnny had insisted you got 'in case of an emergency', but he just wanted you to have it to continue flirting with you when he wasn't around in the lab. This time being no exception, there was a message from him.
🔥: Will bring some snacks later, I’m sure you look delightful as always. Don’t miss me too much ;)
You rolled your eyes and shook your head amused, locking the watch before you got too caught up staring at the contact photo, set by him, obviously, when he prepared the device for you.
The lights suddenly flickered back on, and the heat kicked back in. Sue re entered the lab, looking proud of herself.
"The next time that happens, he's never hearing the end of it," she muttered, rolling her eyes with a smirk as she made her way back and you chuckled. "Now, shall we?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at the samples.
"I have a feeling this is a promising batch," you joked, eyeing the boring looking plants.
First mistake of the day.
You both got to work, moving in sync through the usual process. It was routine, nothing outside the ordinary, but for some reason ... you began feeling uneasy.
It started with your fingers, a soft, harmless tingle spreading up. You frowned, brushing the sudden sheen of sweat from your forehead with your sleeve.
Was the heating overcompensating? You could swear the room was warmer.
Before you could say anything to Sue, who was still calmly swabbing samples, a familiar scent hit you, making you freeze in place.
First, something intoxicatingly warm and smoky. Then, a devastatingly familiar cologne you knew too well who it belonged to.
Johnny?
Your head snapped around, expecting him to be standing right behind you. That would certainly explain the sudden heat increase, the scent. His scent.
But there was no one there.
"What the hell," you whispered, scanning the lab for any sign of him. Maybe it was another one of his dumb pranks?
Your heart skipped a beat, then started pounding. You turned around fully this time, eyes searching frantically across the room for a possible fire you could be missing.
The smell of smoke was too strong, so much that the air felt heavier. Johnny's crazy theory about the plants affecting the room's oxygen suddenly didn't feel so dumb anymore.
Oh, Johnny.
Those blue eyes. That stupid grin. Those hands. Those tight pants outlining his– wait.
What the actual hell was that thought?
And worse, why did it help?
You didn't get the chance to question your thoughts any further, because the door hissed open, and he walked in. Casual as ever, carrying two drinks and a bag of chips.
"Snack delivery," Johnny called out with a smile, tossing you a wink before turning his attention to HERBIE at the entrance. "Hey, little guy. Miss me?"
He placed the things on a counter next to the door, and crouched down beside the robot, scratching the top of the metal head affectionately. You heard Sue sighing annoyed beside you, but your complete focus was on him.
Because now you were watching him laugh, his eyes crinkling, his forearms flexing as he leaned casually on his knees, and you weren't just staring, you were obsessing. The way his fingers traced little circles into HERBIE's side. A deep red jacket hugging his frame. The outline of his toned chest under that fitted t-shirt. The way his jeans fit when he crouched like that.
Jesus Christ.
You blinked hard, turning away so fast you nearly knocked over a tray of samples.
What the hell was going on?
You weren't even looking at him anymore and still, you could feel him. Smell it. The smoke, and something warm and sweet and masculine. Something him. Stronger now, like it was clinging to the inside of your lungs. You inhaled slowly, carefully, biting your lips to keep a whine from coming out.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him stand stretching lazily, arms overhead, shirt riding up just a little too far. You stared at the plant in your hand like it was the most fascinating thing you'd ever seen, praying Sue wouldn't turn around and notice your soul leaving your body.
"I was right, you look absolutely delightful today," Johnny said casually, leaning over the counter by the door.
You dropped the sample.
Sue did turn around this time, raising an eyebrow as you fumbled to grab it. You knew he flirted like breathing, you got used to it. But not now. Not when this indescribable heat was pooling between your thighs.
"Thanks," you muttered, not trusting yourself to look at him. Because if you did, if you dared, you were about one compliment away from grabbing him by the collar and climbing him like a tree.
And apparently, your body agreed. You squeezed your thighs together, pulse hammering in your ears, because why did that compliment feel like he'd whispered it right against your skin?
"Here you go," his voice startled you when he appeared next to you, placing a can of soda and a bag of chips on the table.
And then he had the audacity to lean on the counter, tapping his long fingers rhythmically on some equipment as he peeked over your work.
It shouldn't be that hot. It's just fingers. It's just tapping.
But god, those hands...
"Did you–did you wear more cologne today?" you asked before you could stop yourself.
Dammit.
Johnny straightened up in his spot, eyebrows raised in surprise.
"Actually no, I forgot it today," he said, then tilted his head with a smirk. "Why? Do I smell nice?"
"No–I mean, you don't smell bad. Or good. It's just... nothing," you shut yourself up before you could continue rambling.
"Uh-huh. You okay, doc?" he asked, a smirk on his face as he innocently chewed on a chip. "You look kind of sweaty."
You turned around halfway to the opposite side, facing Sue instead. Safety zone. Sue was safe. Science. Plants.
But even she was watching you with narrowed eyes now. Like she knew. Like she sensed the shift in the air, the pheromones steaming from your body.
"You're flushed," Sue said, leaning closer with a concerned frown. "Are you feeling okay?"
"I'm fine," you blurted. "Totally fine. Just warm. The heating came back on really strong, right?"
"You can always take off that pretty lab coat, let us see that cute skirt of yours."
Fuck.
You were going to kill him. Or jump his bones. Or both. You turned your attention back to the plants, and you could feel both siblings' eyes drilling on the sides of your head.
"Don't look at me right now," you whispered, more to Johnny than Sue. "It's distracting, seriously. Don't–"
"Wait–am I making you nervous?" he teased, squinting playfully. "You usually want to kick me out, what's up with you?"
"Nothing. Leave."
"Oh, now you want me out? You're being weird today."
"You're weird every day," you snapped.
He didn't seem to be bothered by your attitude, if anything it made him want to try harder to see how much he could get on your nerves. Satisfied with your flustered reaction, he decided to walk across the lab to grab something from the spot he'd initially been in, but thankfully, got distracted by the robot again.
Sue narrowed her eyes at you the whole time, before turning back to her tablet. "I'm pulling the preliminary scans. Something feels off."
Something was definitely off. You were practically vibrating. If Johnny got any closer again you were not going to be responsible for your actions.
You forced yourself to focus on breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Ignore Johnny's stupid laugh and his stupid biceps as he played with herbie in the background.
"Oh no," Sue gasped, staring at her tablet, and your stomach dropped.
"What?" you whispered, trying to keep Johnny oblivious to it, stepping toward her. "What oh no?"
She turned the tablet just enough for you to read the highlighted results from batch 5B.
Pheromone compound found. Induces increased arousal in subjects, mental fixation on known desires, and irrational impulses toward selected partners. Triggered by sudden light and temperature changes. Potentially dangerous if not treated.
You blinked once. Then again.
"Did I just get hit with sex pollen?!" You whisper shouted. Sue just nodded, feeling sorry for you, at least her modified DNA kept her safe from it.
Suddenly it all made sense.
The heat. The way your skin was buzzing. The uncomfortable pressure building low in your stomach. And God help you, the way your brain couldn't stop fixating on Johnny Storm.
"What's with the whispering? Are you talking about me?" behind you, Johnny shouted from his spot, and you could hear the grin in his voice.
"Don't come over here!" You turned and pointed at him in panic. "We're ... working."
He raised both hands, amused and quite confused. "I was just gonna ask if you wanted the sour cream chips too–"
"Do not say cream right now!" you snapped, turning back to Sue like she was your lifeline. "Sue, get him out of here. Now."
"Why?"
"Because he's annoying, and I can't deal with that right now," you lied, straight in her face, because the reason you needed him gone was if he said one more thing about your skirt ...
"Right, okay." She nodded. After all, this wasn't the first time she needed to kick out Johnny for both of your sake's.
She stormed toward the other end of the lab, clapping her hands. "Johnny. Out. Now."
"What? Why?" he blinked, feigning hurt. "I was just ... HERBIE and I were having a bonding moment–"
"Out. We need to work in peace." She pointed to the door, glaring at him.
He raised his hands in surrender, but that smug grin never left his face.
"Alright, alright, I'm going, damn. Don't miss me too much." He winked as he walked backwards out the door. "But if you do, you know where to find–"
The door hissed shut on his face. You groaned, leaning against the counter.
"Sex pollen lasts around twelve hours. At least, as far as I know. But if it doesn't get solved, what happens?"
"Well..." she hesitated.
"Sue?"
"Your nervous system could crash. You're not just... horny, you're chemically overwhelmed. Your dopamine's probably through the roof. If it gets worse, you could faint. Or ...worse."
"Worse? Oh my god," you gulped. "So I just ... die?”
"It will only feel like that."
"Only? Oh my God. Oh my God."
"Don't panic!"
"Don't tell me not to panic!"
"Okay, okay, sorry," she apologized, scrolling through the information again. "Listen, the data says it gives you fixation on selected partners, so that's probably who you're being drawn to right now. You could get them to, you know ...help you."
You froze. No. It can't be happening. Not like this.
"You do have someone in mind, right?" She glanced up from her tablet, questioning.
You didn't answer. Her eyes narrowed.
"Wait ... who is it?"
No answer, again. But Sue Storm didn't need you to say it. All she had to do was study your state. Dilated pupils, the slight tremble of your hands, not being able to stay still. And the way all of that seemed to have gotten worse when her brother walked in the room.
Her jaw dropped with realization. "No," she said horrified, gaze drifting to the door.
"Yes," you whispered, mortified, hands covering your face from embarrassment. "It's not my fault! Everything he does makes me wanna–"
"Ew! Stop–stop talking!" She made a gagging motion. "Gross, that's my baby brother!"
"I know! Do you think I wanted this?" You groaned into your hands, and she sighed dramatically.
"I'm going to find Reed, he might be able to create a suppressant or something. But listen to me, this stuff can escalate fast, especially if you don't get any release. So maybe just... maybe just call him, okay?"
"What?" You stared at her in horror.
"Only if it gets worse! I'm not saying do anything, don't tell me if you do ... actually I don't want to know anything about it ever," she scowled, walking backwards to the door, making HERBIE follow her.
"Sue–"
"Bye! Good luck! Don't die!" And with a last apologetic smile, she was gone.
You were so fucked.
Not literally, unfortunately.
There was no one here to stop you from spiraling now. No one to distract you. Just the echo of Johnny's stupid laugh in your head and the phantom trace of his hand all over the lab's equipment.
You've been around him all week. He was always touching things, sometimes just to piss Sue off. Flicking paperclips while saying you looked pretty. Tapping those fingers of his on every damn surface before someone kicked him out.
Why were you so fixated on his hands?
"Known desires." Pft. As if. You groaned softly, pressing your thighs together like that was going to help.
It didn't.
"You've gotta be kidding me," you whispered to the empty lab, remembering what Sue told you about calling ... him.
Don't you dare. It's just fake heat. He's not yours. You can't call him because you're desperate.
You sat on the edge of your stool and gripped the edge of the counter, trying to stay grounded. Trying to breathe. Constantly shifting your hips against the leather in hopes of relief. It didn't help. Nothing helped.
Your body was screaming for him. Only for him.
Maybe you could relieve yourself.
First, you decided to get rid of your lab coat. Then, taking a deep breath, you slipped your free hand under the waistband of the skirt, gasping when your shaky fingers fumbled against your dripping folds. You gripped the table harder, nails hurting against the hard countertop, as the fingers inside you moved erratically.
Maybe if you just pretended it was him ...
He was all you could think about after all. The way his voice went lower when he said your name, the restraint he showed around you keeping his hands to himself, or the times he watched you from the corner of the lab, sat on a stool, legs spread wide in those unfairly tight pants waiting for you to sit on them.
Oh, Johnny.
What would you do to have him ask 'Where does it hurt?' and then kiss it better. To have him all over you. Touching you. Whispering something hot and stupid while his mouth kissed down your stomach. The way his hands would feel, how his warm grip would hold your thighs open and–
No.
Fantasies weren't enough. Your fingers weren't enough. It was getting worse, actually, the tension building up in your body made it more painful.
"Come on, this is not happening," you yanked your hand back, staring at the ceiling in utter defeat. "I'm not gonna sit here and finger myself over Johnny Storm like a lunatic."
You covered your face with both hands, groaning. You were dripping. Actually dripping. And no matter what you tried, it just made you want him more.
Twelve hours. You had twelve hours of this.
Unless ...
No.
The moment you saw him again you'd explode from shame and arousal at the same time.
You inevitably glanced over the watch on your wrist. The one Johnny himself synced to his, so you could instantly patch through no matter where he was in the world.
But right now, your salvation was probably no further than three floors down.
You knew he would come the second you called. God, he'd come running. He'd probably make a joke out of it. ‘What, you miss me that bad?’ and then he'd see it in your face.
The need. The desperation. The lack of self control.
And maybe, just maybe ... he'd understand.
"Please... I don't know what else to do, " your hesitant finger slowly reached the small screen, and hovered over Johnny Storm's name.
His contact picture made you press it instantly.
The device beeped only once, and then his voice came through.
"Miss me already?" His voice was light, amused. "Or did Sue set the lab on fire? ... see this is why I should always be there."
Your whole body twitched, relief and panic crashed over you in one brutal wave. He was joking. Of course he was. You could picture the smile in his voice, that stupid glint in his eyes.
It calmed you, only for a second. Like his voice was water in the middle of a dessert.
"Johnny... I need you here. Right now," you blurted, trying your best not to sound like you were dying.
He paused for a moment, and then his heavy footsteps echoed through the call.
"I'm coming," he said immediately, no hesitation, no further questions asked. The comm went silent.
Okay now what? There's no turning back, he's gonna be here. He's actually gonna be here.
You began pacing again. You couldn't think straight, and the heat was getting worse. Because now your brain painted images of him.
Johnny storming into the lab, hair tousled from how fast he walked there, with that smug smile and probably a damn stupid comment.
And you'll have to look him in the eye and tell him why you called. Tell him you were burning. That nothing helped. That you needed him or you would die.
How the fuck do you say that out loud?
'Hi Johnny, so I inhaled a plant's weird space pollen and now I'm gonna lose my mind if you don't rail me on this table?'
You shook your head. Forced yourself to straighten up. Smoothed your skirt, your blouse. Fingers shaking through your hair. If you could just act normal, or look normal, maybe you could buy time. Maybe Sue would come back before anything happened.
Maybe you wouldn't fall apart the second he looked at you.
But before you could control your breathing, the door slid open. And in walked Johnny, with that maddening, stupidly beautiful smirk already on his face.
"Well, well, well," he drawled, stepping inside. "Locked up alone in the lab, calling me back here in a hushed voice... you naughty thing. Couldn't even last an hour without me?"
You didn't move, taking in how much stronger his scent was now. He tilted his head at you, mischief lighting up his eyes as he strutted forward.
"So what, you finally decided I was irresistible? Wanted a private show?" He wiggled his fingers, letting small flames come to life. "Because I do take requests, you know. Fireman, sexy lab assistant–"
"Johnny," you snapped, voice cracking.
Something shifted in your posture then, like all the heat finally caught up with you. You backed away, pressing your hands flat against the cold edge of the counter like it could anchor you. Your breathing got more erratic, and your knees actually buckled before you forced yourself upright again.
Johnny's playful expression changed.
"Hey, hey–" he instantly crossed the space between you, reaching out to hold you but stopped when you flinched away from him. "What's wrong? What happened?"
You shook your head, trying to speak, but nothing came out. Just a helpless sound, a frustrated whimper. Johnny took a cautious step closer, still without touching you.
"Are you hurt, sweetheart?" His voice softened, laced with worry.
Sweetheart?
Your ovaries screamed.
"Johnny, something is wrong ... really wrong with me," you whispered, finally turning to look at him with glassy eyes.
He frowned, worried. His gaze scanned you, the way you could barely hold yourself upright but refused to let him hold you. So his eyes drifted to the table to find a possible reason, landing on the lit tablet, the screen still displaying the information.
"Johnny wait–"
Before you could stop him, he picked it up and scrolled through the content, eyes going wide. He paused, stared and read the entry again. And again. His mouth opened, trying to get a joke out of it, but the shock wouldn't let him.
"...it's pollen," he finally said, voice cracking like a boy hitting puberty again. "Sex pollen? You got hit with horny powder."
"Don't call it that," you groaned, covering your face with your hands from embarrassment.
Johnny looked down at your flushed skin, the sweat glistening on your collarbone, the way you couldn't even stand still anymore, and all of it clicked.
Holy shit. It was fucking sex pollen. He'd read about it before, but never thought he would have it in front of him.
That you would have it in front of him.
"Wait," he blurted, staring back at the tablet. "Wait wait wait–"
You peeked through your fingers, just in time to see him re reading the entry. His eyes went wide, in a mixture of surprise and something else.
"Known desires... selected partners," he mumbled the words, and then, he looked up at you with impossibly hopeful eyes and a grin on his face, “Me?"
You didn't answer him right away, you couldn't. You were sure this was the moment you fainted.
"I didn't know what to do," you whispered. "Sue left and I ... God, Johnny, I tried to fight it, I swear. But I couldn't think, and you were the only one I–"
"Hey," Johnny cut you softly, slowly closing the distance, your bodies barely grazing together. "Look at me."
You didn't.
"Come on," he coaxed, just a little softer. "You're okay. I got you."
Your eyes lifted to his, and the heat behind them made your stomach twist. He wasn't smirking anymore. No teasing, just him, present and very aware of what he was causing on you.
You hated that it only made things worse.
"I didn't know what to do," you whispered. "I can't think. I can't breathe."
He stared at you for a moment, hesitant.
"What do you need me to do?" he asked, genuinely. His hands were still on his sides, like his restraint was a question you could still say no to.
"God, I don't even know what I need," You let out a shaky laugh, half delirious, half desperate.
"Sure you do," he said quietly, like it was the easiest answer in the world. "You called me."
Your mouth parted, but no sound came out. So you nodded, because you did.
And then, just like that, his hand finally reached to your waist. Just his warm hand, barely even getting there, but your body snapped like he just sent electricity through your whole body.
You gasped, stumbling back, nearly knocking over the stool. Johnny quickly steadied you with both hands now, eyes wide.
"Okay, okay–that sensitive?" he chuckled breathlessly, like he still couldn't wrap his head around what was happening. "Not that I'm complaining, but usually when I flirt with you, you roll your eyes and then you kick me out."
But you weren't rolling your eyes now. Not yet, at least.
"Yeah I'm just ..." you mumbled, breathless. Skin burning with the feeling of his hands on your waist, warm even through your clothes, staring up at him like he hung the stars. "I feel like I'm burning alive and you're the only one who can put it out."
For the first time in his life, Johnny didn't know what to say back.
It's not like his fantasy of having you spread over the lab counter was starting to become a reality. Only if you said it. If you wanted him to.
God, if you really asked him he would please you in any way possible.
"Johnny..." you whined to get his attention. Your pupils were blown wide, lashes fluttering, eyes glassy with unshed tears you couldn't stop at this point. "It hurts, do–do something ... anything."
"Hey, hey, it's okay. I said I got you–"
His hands cupped your face, impossibly warm against your already overheated skin. You leaned into them like you needed it, like you've been starved of touch for hours.
His touch.
And you stared at him, he was beautiful and hot and close, and your whole body leaned forward like a magnet. Like it knew it needed him. Because all you could see was him.
The concern in his eyes. The way his thumbs traced your cheekbones so gently. The way he was so close and still not close enough.
You reached out with shaking fingers and grabbed the collar of his jacket, yanking him toward you until your chests collided, until all you could feel was his toned body on yours.
You exhaled like you just found oxygen.
He stumbled forward, instinctively wrapping his arms around your back, pressing you tighter to him.
"...You're serious," he whispered, lost in the way you seemed to be devouring him with your eyes. "You're really not okay."
You nodded, fists clenching in his jacket.
And without even thinking about it, you rubbed against him. Your body moved slowly, needy. Instinctively.
It was just a subtle graze, your hips grinding against his body for friction, for anything. And for the first time in the day you felt some kind of relief.
"Shit, baby," he cursed under his breath, almost groaning.
You made a soft, broken sound in your throat at the friction, at the way his thigh brushed yours, at the warmth of his skin through his clothes, at the scent of him everywhere.
Johnny choked on his own breath. He tightened his grip for a moment, just enough to keep you from moving further. You whined, at this point completely lost in the haze, but he kept you firmly in place.
"Sweetheart..." he started softly. "If we do this–if you really want this, I'm not walking away from you afterward. I'm not pretending this didn't happen."
"Me neither," you answered, a little too rushed.
But you meant it. You were tired of pretending him strutting into the lab wasn't your favorite part of the day. Tired of pretending you didn't want him.
"Please Johnny," you begged, hands moving to play with his hair, "I want you. All of you, today and everyday."
He looked stunned for a second, that 'please' shattering every bit of restraint he had left . He'd been wanting you since day one.
"That's my girl," his hands cradled your face with such devastating tenderness, making you forget the chaos in your blood, the desperation clawing under your skin.
And then, in a sudden move, he spun you around, one arm wrapped around your waist as the other held the back of your head. He bent over your frame, tilting your body backwards, like being swept into a cliche movie kiss, and crashed his lips into yours. You gasped into his mouth as one of your feet left the ground, with your weight safe in his arms, and clenched your fists on his hair. He kissed you hungry, desperate, like this was the moment he'd been waiting his whole damn life for.
You clung to his body like oxygen, letting yourself get lost in the smoke, in the devastating warmth of his body, in the way his tongue dominated over yours. He groaned over your lips, like he could taste your urgency. Until none of you could breathe anymore.
"That's how you do a first kiss," he mumbled against your lips, breathless and still maddening cocky.
You pressed your forehead to his, panting, dizzy, holding on to him like he was the only thing keeping you alive.
"Now show me how you do me."
Yeah, you were going to be the death of Johnny Storm.
That was enough for him. He pulled you upright, spinning you to lift you over the counter. He kissed you again, rougher this time, and with one arm knocked over what was on the counter so you would have more space.
Metal tools clashed loudly against the floor, plant samples tilted over, dirt spilling on the ground, and something definitely shattered.
"Shit," he laughed into your lips. "Sue's gonna kill me."
"Don't care," you panted, tugging on his jacket so he could get rid of it.
"Eager, are we?" he smirked, but complied in taking it off, taking a step back to throw it across the room.
Your eyes raked through his body, biting your lip at the way that white shirt clung to this toned chest.
He placed himself between your legs again, palms laying on your skin, and started drumming his fingers absentmindedly. Like he didn't know exactly what he was doing to you. Like the casual tap of each warm fingertip against your thigh wasn't setting your whole body on fire.
Your breath shuddered watching his hands.
And he noticed. Of course he did, and his mouth curled into the softest, filthiest smile.
"Wait..." he said, mischief behind his eyes. "Hold on. Is it my hands? Is that what's doing it for you?
You swallowed hard, heart pumping in your chest. Your eyes darted to his fingers again, the ones teasing your skin a bit harder now. The ones you've thought about way too many times, in way too many ways.
His smirk grew when you didn't answer. He already knew.
Johnny's hand lifted behind your neck, coaxing your head back just enough so you were forced to meet his eyes, almost glowing golden fire with lust. The other trailed upward, knuckles brushing your chin before tracing the curve of your lips.
"Let me see that pretty mouth," he mumbled, and when your lips parted, he pushed two fingers inside, slow and steady.
You whimpered, eyes rolling back from tasting him. He just stared at you like he'd never seen anything hotter in his life.
"That's it... get them wet for you," Johnny breathed, thumb brushing your cheek as he watched you suck on them like a lifeline. "God, you're so hot."
He pulled his fingers free, glistening, and grinned like the absolute menace he was.
"Open your thighs for me."
You did, immediately, like your body belonged to ever command he made.
He slid his hand inside your skirt, the same one you just had in your mouth, reaching for your panties. You gasped when he finally touched you over the fabric, his fingers pressing between your legs, dragging slow and warm and perfect against your soaked underwear.
"Oh, fuck," he breathed. "Didn't even need it, you were already this wet for me, huh?"
You nodded, biting your lip. "I need you ... please,” the plea fell from your lips in a whisper. “Johnny … save me.”
Now he was staring at you like you hung the stars. Like having you wet, pleading, begging him to be your hero was a kink he never knew he had.
"Shit. Honey... I got you" he leaned in, like he couldn't get any closer. "I got you. I haven't even–fuck, I haven't even really started."
He slid your underwear aside and finally dipped his fingers into you, slow and gentle and so good you whimpered into his shoulder.
"There she is," he cooed. "God, you're so wet. So soft."
You clung to him, nails curling against the back of his neck. He groaned, obsessed with how desperate you were for him. You could barely breathe anymore, his slow pace was maddening, like he wanted to savor every reaction, every sound you made.
"So tight," he praised, kissing down your neck. "You feel so fucking good. You like that, baby?"
You moaned, a complete mess on top of that counter, and he grinned against your skin.
"Yeah you do. Look at you. Already a mess for me."
His other hand cradled your head again, keeping you close, anchoring you to him as he slowly pumped his fingers in and out, curling just right, his thumb starting to circle your clit, It was too much. But not enough.
"You were thinking about this, weren't you?" he teased, hot breath against your neck. "You wanted my fingers in you. Couldn't stop thinking about it."
He was right. He knows he was right.
"Don't worry," he groaned, licking a slow stripe along your throat. "They're all yours."
Every filthy sound of his wet fingers inside you, every whimper you made went straight to his bloodstream.
You were praying his name, over and over, until you fell apart on his hand, moaning, gasping, shaking, he kissed you through it, humming against your lips.
"That's it. Just like that, pretty girl. I got you."
You were breathless, clinging to him, and he didn't stop curling his fingers to feel how your walls clenched around him. He held you there, watching you come undone with pure adoration in his eyes, his free hand cupping your cheek, pressing kisses to your temple, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. Because even after wrecking you he was devastatingly tender.
"God, I could watch you fall apart all night," he cursed, watching your chest raise violently at your first release of the night.
He watched stunned, it was like he was bringing you back to life.
And it felt like that.
Your body yearned for more, but before you could speak again, he pulled his fingers out, and brought two to his mouth, slow and deliberate, sucking your wetness off them like he'd been starving for it. He groaned, like you were the best thing he'd ever tasted.
Your mouth parted, speechless, his eyes locked on yours as he licked them clean, and then slid those same fingers back inside you.
You gasped, back arching as he pumped a few more times, watching your body clench around him. Like he wanted more. Like you were his favorite experiment now.
"Here, you can have some too," he smirked, pulling them out and slipping them into your open mouth.
You moaned around his fingers, lashes fluttering, and Johnny swore nothing had ever wrecked him more than the sight of you, on top the counter, flushed and trembling, eyes wide and glassy, staring at him while you tasted yourself off his fingers.
"So good, isn't it?" He pulled his fingers from your mouth, but let his thumb drag over your bottom lip, pressing it down to see the way your pretty mouth stayed open for him, spreading some of your own cum in your chin.
Not a single sane thought left in your head at this point. You needed him now more than ever.
"Johnny."
"Yes, babe?"
"Fuck me. Fuck me right now."
Something shifted behind his eyes. The smirk stayed, but there was a new weight to it now, dark, focused, possessive.
"You want me to save you, huh?" he asked softly. His hand trailed down from your lip, past your throat, down your covered chest, your breasts, until it pressed flat against your stomach.
He slid you closer to the edge of the counter with a grunt, and you gasped when you felt his bulge, hot and heavy, pressing against your core through his pants.
"You don't know how long I've wanted you like this," he breathed against your lips, dragging his mouth down to your neck, sucking a mark just beneath your ear. "All spread out for me."
"You can have me, you can have all of me.”
"Yeah?" His lips curled into a smile against your throat. "You want it slow, baby, or do you want it how you begged for it?"
"Please, Johnny ..."
"Oh, sweetheart." He leaned back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and gleaming.. "You don't have to beg anymore."
He slid his shirt off with ease, showing off his chiseled golden body. His pants were next, hitting the floor in a quiet thud, and your shaky hands yanked his boxers down. His throbbing cock sprung up free, swollen, showing you how much your desperation had him painfully rock hard.
You had to fight every part of your being to not push him down and jump on his dick until you passed out from exhaustion. But before you could, he was already bunching up your skirt. You lifted your hips to slide it down, but he chuckled, pushing you down.
"No, no. The skirt stays on," he licked his lips. "Been dreaming about this for a while."
You gasped when he placed his tip on your entrance with one hand, giving it a few slaps like he was savoring every single second. And so were you.
He slid in slowly, inch by inch, mouth open against your shoulder, and he moaned. Johnny fucking Storm moaned. Because it was you. Because it was better than any dream he'd ever had. Better than he even imagined.
"Fuck," he groaned. "You feel so good–you're perfect, baby. You're perfect."
You cried out as he bottomed out, clinging to him, nails digging on his bare back, and he smiled, like he was trying to memorize every sound you made.
"That's it, let me hear you," he panted, slamming in so he could hear you yelp. "You sound so fucking good, baby. Look how you take me."
You buried your face in his neck, trembling as your legs lifted to wrap around his waist. To try and get him to go deeper.
"You've been driving me crazy for months," he grunted, slamming in again. "All those times you rolled your eyes at me? You have no idea what I was thinking."
It didn't take him longer to fuck into you, hard, immediately hitting that spot. You were already a moaning mess, fingers digging into his shoulders. With both hands he grabbed your blouse, and pulled to rip the fabric, snapping the buttons open. Next was your bra, like he finally decided he needed to see your boobs bouncing with every thrust.
"I've wanted you ... needed you" he breathed, diving in to get lost in your chest. "For so long..."
And he showed you how much. With the way he sucked your nipples. With the way his hips snapped forward to make you gasp. With the way his hands roamed all over your body. Or the way he groaned into your neck as he pushed himself balls deep into your soaked pussy.
"Fuck– Johnny," you panted, head dropping back, "you're so big ... feels so good."
"Yeah?" he smirked against your skin, "too much already?"
"Never," you shook your head. "Harder, Johnny. Fuck me harder."
Yeah, this was definitely better than any fantasy he's ever had.
He smiled, god he smiled. Looking devilishly sweet while wrecking your entire body. Completely undoing you.
He picked up the pace, driving into you just right, hands gripping your hips like he owned them. Every thrust knocked another moan from your lips, and every moan made him laugh softly, like he couldn't believe how lucky he was to be inside you like this.
Your breath started getting shorter, nails digging deeper into his skin, and he felt the way your body was crashing under him.
"C'mon, sweetheart, I got you. Let go for me. Let me feel you." He groaned, and that was it.
You fell apart in his arms for the second time with a cry, pulsing around him, and Johnny just lost it. He kissed you hard, hips stuttering as he came inside you with a low, broken groan. His cum filled you deep. So warm, warmer than anybody's ever was.
And it drove you insane.
Your fingers tangled in his hair, your body arching to meet his, and Johnny leaned back just enough to look at you, eyes scanning your flushed face, your swollen lips, the blissed out haze in your eyes.
"You're beautiful like this," he said, running his thumb softly over your skin. "You know that? Fucking stunning. Never letting you go."
Now it's you smiling, dazed, lost in his eyes as you tried to catch your breath.
"You're everything Johnny," you whispered, your hands cradling his face. "You're so good to me."
He smiled, then leaned forward, catching your lips in a soft kiss. Your mouths moved like they knew each other. Like they belonged. And god he was a good kisser, but the pollen in your body made you crave for more.
You didn't mean to lunge, really, but the next thing you knew was you surged forward. Caught off guard, he stumbled backwards, holding your waist, your body landing on top of him as his back touched the floor.
Johnny was still panting from his high, from the kiss, and now he was sprawled out on the floor, chest rising and falling in aftershocks when you climbed closed to his face.
He looked up at you, stunned for a second, then grinned.
"You're not done with me yet, huh?" he placed both hands behind his head, biceps flexing. "Okay, don't let me stop you."
You grinned, kissing down his jaw, over his throat, his collarbone, your hands dragging down his toned chest like you needed to feel every inch of him again. His skin hot, like always, matching the fire rolling under your skin now. Your hips rolled instinctively against his thigh and he groaned, head tipping back.
"Shit–" he hissed, eyes squeezing shut. "Baby, gimme a second to –"
"I can't," you pouted, breath hot against his skin. "It's still burning ... I need more of you, Johnny."
"Oh... well," he said, lips curling into a crooked smile, "when you put it like that–"
You kissed him before he could finish, grinding down against him with reckless need, and he groaned, his hands flying to your hips.
"Okay, okay, fuck–" he breathed, eyes fluttering shut as your body moved against his. "You're not just using me for my stamina, are you?"
"Maybe a little," you chucked against his mouth, and he laughed.
"Fair enough."
"It just ... it still hurts."
"I know," he muttered. "I know, sweetheart. Let me help, yeah?"
He propped himself up with his elbows, one hand on your back as he flipped you over and placed you gently on the floor.
"Let me take care of you, just relax for me," he whispered, pressing his hands to open your thighs again. "I wanna taste you first ... Gotta get my strength back somehow, right?"
He slid down your body slowly, kissing his way across your ribs, your hips, trailing open mouthed heat everywhere until his face was between your thighs. His hands cradled them, thumbs sweeping over your skin. He couldn't believe the way you whimpered when he was marking every inch of your skin.
"I know, sweetheart," he cooed, voice so soft, mouth ghosting over your skin. "I know you're sensitive. Just let me make it better."
He draped your legs over his shoulders like they belonged there, kissing up your inner thighs, tongue teasing so slowly you could cry. And when he finally pressed a hot, open mouthed kiss right where you needed it...
You shattered again.
"Johnny–"
You arched into him and he groaned like he was the one coming apart.
"You taste so good, baby," he praised as he began licking loudly. "So sweet ... fuck– I've wanted this for so long..."
His tongue moved swiftly, unrelenting and deliberate, while his hands pinned your hips down. You were a writhing mess, overstimulated and dripping for him, but still moaned his name over and over.
It wasn't just pleasure, every brush of his tongue was relief. Like he was cooling the fever from the inside out.
"That's what you needed, huh? All worked up and no one to help you ... what kind of man would I be if I left my girl like that?"
‘My girl.’
His girl.
"Johnny ... Please don't stop."
"I won't," he promised, smiling against your wetness. "Not until you feel safe again."
And he meant it. His lips worked you open, his tongue tracing lazy circles and long, aching strokes until you were gasping and crying out, trembling so hard your vision blurred.
He moaned against you like he was addicted. His nose brushed your clit with every pass, and it was torture, sweet, unbearable, perfect torture.
Your hands flew to his hair, tugging him closer, desperate, and he loved it, humming low as he flicked his tongue faster, coaxing another release from you, watching you fall apart all over again.
He blinked up at you, dazed and stunned and so fucking gone for you. "You're gonna kill me," he said, completely in awe. "What did I do to deserve this?"
You, spread in front of him, barely able to breathe anymore.
Body still begging for more.
He was ready for another round in no time.
You weren't sure how many rounds you ended up doing. Or how many places you begged him to fuck you on. All you remembered was begging 'one more time', "please Johnny, another one", "Johnny just one more".
It was never 'just one more'. You completely drained him after many hours, until the itch was finally gone.
Not that Johnny ever complained. If anything, he had fulfilled all of his ‘known desires on his preferred partner’ too.
Thank god for sex pollen.
You weren't sure how long you were out, your body gave in before your brain could catch up. The ache between your legs was evident but warm, the weight of Johnny's love still lingering on your skin. You woke up slowly, your cheek resting against a very toned chest, the faint scent of sweat and smoke clinging to him like a memory.
The lab was dark, save for the soft flickering light pulsing from a single, familiar source.
Johnny.
He was still beneath you, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other lazily raised. At the tip of his finger, a small flame danced, gentle, hot, nothing like the infernos he usually conjured. Just enough to light his face in amber glow.
You blinked up at him.
He wasn't looking at you, not at first. Just drawing slow circles on your back with his thumb, eyes were distant. Thoughtful.
Then he felt you stir.
"Hey," he rasped, smiling down at you.
You swallowed hard, everything flooded back. The lab. The counter. The floor. The workbench. Your hands in his hair, your name on his tongue, the way he held you like you were made for him.
And now... this.
Quiet. Intimate. Real.
"Sorry," you whispered, still sprawled half on top of him. "I didn't mean to fall asleep on you."
He chuckled softly, his chest shaking under you.
"After everything that happened that's the last thing you should be apologizing for, sweetheart," he teased, lowering the flame a little. "Besides, it's not the worst way I've ever spent a night in the lab. I love having a very satisfied hot girl passed out on my chest."
You laughed softly, feeling that familiar heat creeping up your cheeks. But something made you doubt for a second.
'After everything that happened, that's the last thing you should be apologizing for.'
Guilt washed over you. The goddamn pollen.
"Johnny... earlier... I didn't mean–"
"Wait don't," he stopped you softly, sitting up a bit so he could see your face better. "Don't say you didn't mean it."
His expression shifted, firelight dancing in his eyes, but something in him doubted too. Like maybe it was the pollen after all.
That couldn't be farther from the truth.
"No, no that's not what I meant," you immediately corrected, and sighed. "I didn't mean to make you feel used, or... like I didn't care."
His gaze softened a little.
"You didn't," he mumbled, still holding his breath in case you sent him to hell after this.
You inhaled slowly, and everything you'd been holding back just tumbled out.
"What I said earlier... that you're everything? It wasn't just the pollen talking," you confessed. "You are, Johnny. I mean it."
His whole expression cracked open, surprised, glowing, like someone just handed him his heart back.
"Damn," he said softly, lips curling into a grin. "You're really gonna say that to me while I'm naked and emotionally compromised?"
You laughed, burying your face in his neck.
"Shut up," you mumbled, but you were smiling too.
He pulled you closer, his free hand trailing over your spine.
"Nah, too late," he grinned. "You're into me. Can't take it back now."
"Ugh, why did I say anything."
"Because you love me. Or at the very least, my hands."
You groaned. He laughed again, delighted, confident, soft. He lifted the flame again and watched the orange glow reflect on your skin.
"So what now?" you whispered.
"Now?" He shrugged. "You keep laying here. I keep lighting up the room. We do this again when you're not on a heat spiral."
"Johnny–"
"What?" he smirked. "You like my fingers, admit it."
You shook your head, "I wasn't that into them."
"No, no, don't even try to downplay it now," he accused, all smug. "You weren't just into my hands. You were like ... obsessed with them."
You groaned and buried your face in his chest like that would protect you from the embarrassment clawing up your throat.
"Johnny–"
"No, seriously," he continued with mock innocence. "I've never seen someone stare at my fingers like that. You were practically drooling. I thought I was gonna have to get a towel."
"Stooop," you whined, voice muffled, your whole body heating up again, and not from the pollen this time.
He laughed, wicked and loving all at once.
"But hey," he said, turning serious in the most unserious way, "you can have them now, you know. Anytime you need them."
"Yeah?" you asked, a glint of mischief in your eyes. "What about now?"
Little extra scene
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feedback is always appreciated, thank you so much for reading 🫶🏼
summary: On the verge of failing Potions thanks to your idiotic lab partner and Quidditch rival Draco Malfoy, the two of you are forced to sneak into the greenhouse at night for a final ingredient, only to stumble into some strange plants along the way.
tags: 18+ MDNI, [sex pollen] [enemies to lovers] [quidditch rivals] [eighth-year at hogwarts] [mutual masturbation] [dubcon but only because it's sex pollen lol ] [oral sex] [malfoy whimpers] [hate sex] [switchy] [penetrative sex] [multiple orgasms]
author's note: It felt weird not writing Draco & Snitch from Lessons in Losing, but i hope you like Nineteen :) Title is inspired by the song Fatal Attraction by Reed Wonder. 9k words
“This is a terrible idea,” you hiss, rounding the corner toward the side exit of the castle.
Draco scoffs. “Like you have a better one.”
While he draws his wand from his robes, you cast another wary glance over your shoulder. The hallway is empty behind you, lit with dim floating candles. The castle sleeps, blissfully unaware of the plans you and your Quidditch rival have in store tonight.
Sadly, you don't. Have a better plan, that is. That's why you're out after curfew, dodging prefects and paintings like it's your full-time job.
"There's just got to be another way," you say, checking behind you again.
"There's not. Unless you count failing an option. You want to fail tomorrow, Nineteen?”
Draco Malfoy has never called you by your real name—only your Quidditch number. Because that’s all you are to him. Not a person. Just an obstacle on the pitch. But you know the truth: you’re the only Seeker in the entire school who gives him a run for his money.
“No—but I think it’s important for you to remember how it’s your fault we’re in this predicament in the first place!”
“I beg to differ,” Draco says, opening the door with a flick of his wand and stepping out into the night. “I’m quite good at potions.”
You rush to slip after him before the door swings shut behind you with a heavy thud.
Prick.
You’re not sure why Draco really even gives a shit about this assignment. All he cares about is winning Quidditch matches and getting the hell out of this school.
And why should he care?
It’s not like anything bad will happen to him if he gets one bad grade. You, on the other hand, have a bit more to lose. As a trainee healer, you need to score well on the NEWTs this year to secure your spot in the coveted apprentice slots. Needless to say, failing your Potions final just simply isn’t an option.
The air outside is muggy and warm—an unusually humid night for early April. The sky is clear, though, boasting a bright full moon. A perfect night for harvesting a nocturnal plant. An owl hoots somewhere in the Forbidden Forest beyond, and the tall grass tickles your ankles as you make your way to the cluster of greenhouses on the grounds.
You yank on Draco's sleeve as he walks straight past the entrance to Greenhouse Three.
He shrugs off your hand and gestures impatiently to the latticed door. “Hurry up and open it.”
“One of us should stay on the lookout,” you huff. Your fingers brush your wand in your pocket. “I’ll go and grab the sample, and you signal me if there’s any—”
“Wait.” He stops you. “Why do you get to go inside?”
You stare at him, jaw slack. “Because I’m the healer?”
“Not yet, you’re not.”
Sometimes, you take comfort in your fantasies about Draco Malfoy.
You’re up to ten different ways you might be able to knock him off his broom. Make him suffer in a way he never saw coming. And thanks to that comment, you’re now trying to come up with the eleventh.
“Why don’t you be the lookout, and I retrieve the sample?” He asks pointedly.
You sigh, irritated. “Because, Malfoy, I don’t trust you to get an accurate sample, okay? You couldn’t even keep our original sprig alive long enough for us to use it tomorrow!”
“You know, that’s a good point.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Perhaps I don’t trust you, either. You know, we never did specify which of us was supposed to give the plant the appropriate amount of moonlight…”
You squint up at him. “Oh? We didn’t? That’s right. Maybe that’s because when we got assigned this potion, I stole the Snitch from under your nose at finals, and you didn’t speak to me for a week!”
Normally, you wouldn't complain about that. Being Quidditch rivals was one thing. Mouthing off to each other on the Pitch? That was a given. Outside of that, you didn't talk. It was a hard line.
That week just happened to be the one week you actually needed him to speak to you.
Because while he was busy trying to salvage his pride and keep his ego somewhat intact, you were actually doing all the heavy lifting for the assignment in Potions. The one Snape assigned to the both of you.
He huffs, irritated. He’s obviously annoyed you keep bringing that loss of his up, but you won’t stop anytime soon.
“We both go in, or I’m out," he says, his jaw set in determination.
You weigh your options. You could probably get the sample on your own, but you’re not willing to risk getting caught by yourself. If you get caught with him, you can do the obvious.
Blame him.
Turns out, it’s not much of a decision after all.
“Fine,” you mutter through grit teeth. “Let’s just get this over with.”
You unlock the door with a few precise spins of your wand and whisper the password low enough that Malfoy can’t hear it. The door unlatches with a hiss, and a warm, earthy smell hits you in the face. It’s familiar to you, and soothing in a way.
Malfoy shifts on his feet, eager to enter, but right before he pushes the door open, you bar his chest with your arm, wand at the ready.
You level his gaze. “Whatever you do—don’t touch anything.”
He scoffs, slipping past you and through the door with a flick of his robes. “Scared of a few plants, Nineteen?” He looks over his shoulder. “Bit concerning for a future healer and all. You might not make the cut.”
He shrugs with false sympathy before disappearing into the darkness beyond.
Nevermind. Gone are the thoughts of making his death a swift and easy one. Now, you’re envisioning something longer, slower, your hands around his neck—
You wonder if he begs half as prettily as he flies.
You’ve never really understood it.
The strange utopia that is Greenhouse Three. It’s always felt more like a portal to another dimension, rather than a plant nursery. But seeing it under the night sky is an otherworldly experience.
The tall domed ceiling stretches high above you, and dimmer disks fly from their assigned pots to line the narrow walkway upon your arrival.
There’s a silence about the place, but beneath it all, something living without breathing. As you walk among the taller plants lining the path, it feels like walking through a graveyard. But instead of the bones turning to dust under the earth—they’re watching.
The Nightbell Stalk lives all the way at the back of the greenhouse, in a secret locker called the Lumen Garden. You’ve never seen this garden, given the fact that it magically appears only when the moon is at its peak, and disappears again before the sun rises. Even despite the blatant breaking of curfew, you’ve been warned never to enter, given the dangerous nature of the plants one might encounter.
But, as they say, dangerous times call for desperate measures. Or, desperate times call for dangerous measures. Something like that.
All you know is it’s as desperate as it is dangerous, or you would never be so reckless.
Soon enough, the Lumen Garden door looms over you. It’s tall and black, and it sparkles in the light of the skimmer dimmers, like it’s made of crushed black diamond.
You turn to Malfoy. “Do you have it?”
He pulls an aged piece of parchment from his pocket. You reach for it but he snatches it back just in time.
“I didn’t risk my life in the Restricted Section, so you could show off your poor Mermish,” he says.
“‘Risking your life,’” you roll your eyes, unimpressed. “As if you don’t practically live there. Get on with it, then.”
He clears his throat. You try not to watch the way his fingers carefully unfold the paper, holding it like it’s something valuable. He’s always been like that when it comes to ancient scripts.
“Vaelith mora selune,” he whispers.
By moonlight reveal.
Your pulse leaps as the scrape of stone on stone reverberates throughout the silent room, bouncing off the glass panes above you.
As the stone door rolls back, it reveals a room so beautiful it nearly takes your breath away.
Opal stones guide you forward, leading to a circular pool in the center. The water lies perfectly still, glassy and undisturbed, yet the plants rooted beneath its surface sway gently in some unseen current.
Overhead, moonlight spills through the curved glass dome, and the panes are cloudy on purpose, filtering and diffusing the moonlight into something stronger and more even.
You tiptoe onto the landing, barely noting the black mossy walls surrounding you before the stone rolls shut behind you. Malfoy’s polished shoes click decisively down the opal stones, not the least bit fased.
You swallow and follow after him. Mist rises up from the pond, and when you lean closer, curiosity pulling you in, you catch sight of movement. Thin, glowing threads streak by under the glassy surface. Jilly bugs. They help the plants thrive in the lowlight conditions.
“Keep up, will you?” Draco hisses, drawing your attention to him.
He’s standing over a garden bed beyond the pond, half swallowed by the shadowed wall behind him.
These nocturnal plants only bloom at night, and they die without it. Because of this, these plants have different colors than normal ones. Most of them are varying shades of black, purple, or blue, evolved to camouflage with the night or their natural habitats.
As you step closer, the vines come into view. There are tons of them, growing along a nearly imperceptible trellis that spans the full length of the back wall, their long stems twirling and looping, spilling out across the floor and crawling up the dome above.
You’re just reaching his side when something moves out of the corner of your eye. Your head whips towards the wall, eyes narrowing through the gray haze.
But there’s nothing. Just vines, their leaves sitting so still they could almost pass as wax.
“Where’s the bloody vial…?” Draco mutters to himself, patting down the pockets of his robes.
His features catch the light as he looks down. Your eyes drift over the edge of his nose, the slope of his brow, that strong jaw. You look away when his chin tips up.
Reaching into your pocket, you retrieve the small glass bottle, holding it out for him to see.
Draco frowns. “Thief.”
You shrug, glancing down at the Nightbell Stalk in front of you.
It’s a deep violet, with small, downward-facing flowers. Inside each one, the stems glow a faint gold. You can smell the nectar from where you stand--sweet, like honey, but heavier. Thicker.
When Malfoy reaches for the vial, you snap it back in the last second.
“I’m doing it,” you say.
“Like hell you are.” He scoffs. “Just because you’re a healer doesn’t give you the right to fuck this up. It’s my project too, you know.”
Anger sparks in your gut and you turn on him. “You haven’t given a shit about this potion the entire semester, and I’m supposed to believe you actually care now? Besides, you don’t have the experience required—”
“Oh, I have the experience. Stand aside.” He reaches for the sample vial. “I can handle something as simple as—”
You snatch it back again. “Oh, so you know that the bells ring when disturbed, so you only touch the stem. Did you know that Malfoy?”
“I—yes! I know more than—”
“So, obviously, you’d be cautious around the petals, since they’re so sticky they can leave a residue on your hands for a week.” Your lips set in a taunting line and narrow your eyes at him. “But you knew that, huh?”
Draco glares down at you. “I’m well aware of the difficulties with this plant. And by the way, I suggested this plan. So, I’ll do it.”
Your argument continues, words overlapping, while your voices ring eerily loud in the silence of the greenhouse.
Push, pull, counter, strike.
You fight the same way you fly on the pitch, chasing the same goal. Competitive to a fault.
The exact fault being that while the two of you are too busy arguing over who gets to hold the stem—and where the vial goes exactly—you don’t realize one vine unfurling from the wall behind you, growing curious in the moonlight.
“My hands are steadier,” Draco says from his place over your shoulder.
You bite your lip, ignoring the way his breath ghosts across your ear, focusing your energy on getting the ingredient.
You accidentally graze the edge of the downward-turned petal with the rim of the glass and the flowers on the Nightbell Stalk ring softly.
“Shit,” you mutter.
“You know it’s true,” he continues, voice low. “How many times have you lost the Snitch because of your poor grip, hmm? I haven’t. Not once.”
With one sharp movement of your fingers, you scoop up the drop of nectar from the stems inside. It slides down the glass, glowing a deep orange. Satisfaction curls warm under your ribs like your feline familiar back in your dorm room.
You grin. “Got it.”
Reveling in your win, you turn, ready to shove your success in his face, but the movement only presses your back further into his chest.
“Move, would you?” You bite, trying to slide around him, but the tight space doesn’t allow for much wiggle room.
He shifts to let you through, but the narrow corridor between the wall and the garden bed seems to get tighter with his body pressed against yours. Somewhere, your feet get tangled and he stumbles, sprawling back against the garden bed, which pushes you flat against the ivy wall, glaring up at him.
His head blocks the moonlight, his silhouette falling over you like a living shadow. His lips part like he might say something, and you find yourself leaning forward, waiting breathlessly, when something brushes your ankle.
You leap forward. Draco’s arm wraps around you out of instinct. The two of you stare at each other before he seems to remember who you are and drop his arm like you’ve burned him.
“Throwing yourself at me, are you?” He drawls, breaking the silent tension.
“No!” You look down at the ground, but there’s nothing there. Just mossy stone under your feet, the shadow of the vine wall at your heels. “Something just…grabbed me.”
Draco shakes his head and shoves past you. “It’s always drama with you, isn’t it?”
“I’m serious!” you snap. “It almost tripped me!”
“Ah, yes. Do me a favor and twist that pretty little ankle would you? Just secure me a win next match, thanks.”
His words make you pause, forgetting all about the mysterious touch. A smile steals across your face before you can stop it. “So, you admit I need to be taken out for you to have a shot at the Cup, then?”
He spins on the spot, a shadow etched between his brows as he scowls at you under the moonlight. “You’re twisting my words.”
“I am not! Merlin, Malfoy, do you ever just shut up—” Something brushes your shoulder. You freeze. “What was that?”
To your surprise, Draco actually shuts his mouth to listen. There’s nothing. No frogs, no crickets, no owl, no water dripping, no jilly bugs splashing in the pond.
It’s…silent.
Suddenly, something moves above you. Both your gazes jerk up at the same time. A leafy vine—so green it’s almost black—drops down from the wall and brushes Draco’s hair.
He flinches, and as the light catches on the small, glass-like beads growing between the leaves, your stomach drops.
You know exactly what that is.
The Veleroux Vine. Some call it Sirenlace. But it’s best known for another name.
Sex pollen.
You recognize it from your studies. The pollen pods contain a powerful aphrodisiac, said to heighten biological desire to mate in extreme ways. The more you resist, the worse the fever gets, making you wild with lust.
“Draco—don’t touch—” You throw a hand out to stop him.
But it’s too late.
Malfoy rears back and slaps the invading greenery away like he’s swatting a fly.
Shit.
“Dammit, Malfoy, what did I say about not touching anything?” You shriek, surging forward and shoving at his chest. “Get away from th—”
The first bead snaps open in a plume of dust. Fear rushes through your limbs and you try to jerk the both of you away, but you’re not quick enough.
One after another, the pollen pods pop in sequence, traveling down the vine, dusting your hair, your robes, and filling the air.
You jerk back, furiously rubbing at your skin, but it’s no use. It settles on you like a thin glitter, small enough to even to slip into your pores.
“Oh, shit. Fucking—fuck. Fuck!” you holler, but you shouldn’t have opened your mouth. Now the back of your throat feels like when you stuck your head in the sugar jar as a kid.
Draco sends you a withering look, brushing down his robes. “Calm down, will you? Bloody hell—just a little plant dust.”
“Just a plant—” You scoff, throwing your hands up in the air. “Merlin help me, you can’t just fucking listen for one second. I know what I’m talking about! Hurry! We have to get out of here before it—”
The vine slips around your shoulder at the very same moment Draco glances down to find another one winding around his ankle.
“—grabs us,” you finish weakly.
You try to scramble away, but the leaves thread around your arm in a silky vice.
Draco curses loudly at the thing, hopping on one foot, losing his robes in the process of trying to extricate himself.
“You have the wrong…pair,” you tell the inky leaves while you fumble for your wand. “We aren’t—we can’t…do what you want.”
“It wants something?” Draco casts a disbelieving look at the vine now wrapped around his dark slacks, settling around his knee. “Merlin—what?”
“It wants us to have sex,” you say, matter-of-factly.
He looks at you like you’ve grown two heads. Then his gaze darkens, snagging on the way your hard nipples strain against your shirt.
Already? This shit works fast. You finally free your wand and cross your arms over your chest.
“Sex?” he sneers.
“Yes. It’s an aphrodisiac plant, native to rare jungles. Its job is to encourage mating between compatible species.”
“Compatible.” He scoffs. “You and me? Farthest thing from it.”
“It doesn’t know that..." You gasp as your wand is whisked out of your hands by a particularly strong leaf.
“Talk to it again. Tell it!” Draco shouts. He looks down and shakes his leg violently. The vine doesn’t budge. “Shit—just get it off me!”
Whispers of leaves dragging against stone make you turn to face the corner of the room behind you. A cluster of vines has begun to twist together, the husky hush of plants twining and looping filling the air. Vines slide across the floor, retracting into the dark corner, while more gather from the ceiling, shifting the beams of moonlight through the dusty air.
You inhale sharply. “Oh no.”
Draco curses somewhere behind you. “What now?”
“It’s building its nest,” you reply, eyes on the plant.
“It’s…what?”
You turn to see Draco fighting tooth and nail. He’s got his wand out now. Streaks of light bounce across the room, flames erupt in the air but they bounce off the leaves like they’re nothing but a few stray sparks. Across the room, past the pool, some of the other plants wither and shrink away from the light.
Adrenaline surges through you as your mind scrambles for a solution. You’re already beginning to feel it, a tugging deep in your core.
That familiar tight ache that blooms in the dark, alone, in your bed. But unlike then, right now, you can’t give into it. You try not think about how the longer you resist, the worse it will get. From your brief research, sex pollen isn’t fatal, but it certainly isn’t pleasant.
Unless you give in.
Then, of course, it’s rumored to be the best sex of your entire life.
You don’t have the luxury of finding that out.
There is an antidote, of course, but it is completely and totally, one-hundred percent, without a doubt—out of the question.
Sex with Malfoy? Not happening.
There’s only one answer. You have to escape.
Your gaze swings to the stone door, framed in elegant iron bars that allow climbers to reach moonlight.
Maybe if you could get out of the vine’s reach, it wouldn’t be able to chase you.
It only takes a second to form a plan.
Tipping back, you let your weight fall backwards into the vine, hoping to catch it off guard and force it to loosen its hold. Instead, you trip over a stray pot and go tumbling to the ground.
But before you hit the stone, the Veleroux is there.
Your breath catches, heart pounding, suspended in the air. Then the vine pushes gently into your lower back, guiding you forward util your feet find solid ground again. You stare, openmouthed, as the leaves brush along your leg, almost as if checking for injury, before nudging you toward the corner of the room.
“Oh, Merlin. Yes, I see your nest,” you say weakly, watching as the vine curls in on itself to form a sort of ball—more of a fist, really—and uses it to push softly against the heels of your shoes, urging you forward. It uncurls when you take a step, leaves fluttering as if pleased. Then it spins in the air, gesturing as if to say, look, I made this for you. A cozy, safe place to mate. “Very nice. Lovely, really. But you see, we can’t—”
“Blimey! Get back!” Draco’s voice interrupts your one-sided conversation.
You look over your shoulder, wobbling a bit as the plant continues to nudge you towards the silky hammock in the corner. He’s covered in vines, now. His wand has fallen somewhere off to the side, out of both your reach. He’s still flailing, hair mussed, trying and—failing— to break free.
You look down. The vine’s not even holding onto you anymore. Is it because you’re not fighting as hard?
You take a step towards the door. Nothing happens. You take another, and the vine edges closer. On the third, it finds your ankle again. But it doesn’t squeeze you or cinch tight enough to sting. It just curls softly around your leg, firm enough to stop you from running, but gentle enough that you start to suspect it doesn’t want you damaged.
Malfoy, on the other hand, looks almost black and blue.
“Stop!” You call. “The harder you fight, the tighter it tries to hold you. Just—watch. Walk towards me.”
“You’re insane. You know that?” he spits. But his eyes catch on your vineless body anyway.
“Trust me, Malfoy.”
That’s a phrase you never imagined yourself saying to him.
“It doesn’t want to hurt us,” you whisper. “I don’t think.”
He shakes his head. “That’s not good enough for me.”
Despite his words, Draco takes one step towards you. The vine’s hold loosens. Another step and it slips from his chest entirely.
“See?” you say, encouraged. “It’s biological nature is to keep its prey alive and well. It can’t force us to mate. It just…heavily suggests it.”
“Of course it doesn’t force it,” Draco sneers. “A plant can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do.” But even as the words leave his lips, his eyes drop to the edge of your skirt. The hem suddenly feels six inches shorter, though you know it hasn’t shrunk.
Draco moves closer and the vines start to retreat, but he keeps a wary eye on them until they disappear into the Nest.
He glares at it, then at you. “What is that?”
“It’s a hammock,” you answer, eyes darting around for another escape route. “The vine thinks it will make us more comfortable. Since it’s not all over us anymore, I say we try to appease it. Just a little.”
“Appease it?” He gasps. “You want to—I can’t believe this. That—” he gestures towards the jumble of vines. “Could be a swan down comforter with silk sheets. I don’t care, I’m not going near it.”
You roll your eyes. “Merlin, you don’t listen. I’m not saying we go in the Nest. I’m saying we just…pretend. Then we can make a run for it.”
He doesn’t look convinced, so you turn to face him. “This plant spreads pollen to encourage mating, right? But how does it know when it’s worked? It’s not aware like we are.”
His eyes narrow. “Your point?”
“My point is…it’s pheromones, right? With our heightened hormones right now, we might be able to trick it into thinking we're on board, and it will let it's guard down.” Your stomach swoops with the words about to leave your tongue. “So maybe if you—if we—”
Draco’s eyes snap to yours. “If we what?”
His tongue swipes over his lower lip, leaving it glistening in the moonlight.
Stupid fucking pollen.
You swallow hard. “I think we should kiss.”
A beat of silence passes, the only sound your heartbeat kicking up, drumming in your ears.
“Fine,” he agrees.
That surprises you. You thought he’d gag at the very idea.
It must be the pollen, overriding his blatant hate for you and digging into his more urgent needs.
A shiver rolls down your spine at what those needs of his might be. You’re feeling it too, of course. The effect of being so close to him.
It’s only biological. To be drawn to a specimen of the opposite sex.
And why not Draco? He’s tall, healthy, miles of lean muscle. He smells good, and he’s not bad to look at. Especially when his eyes do that—flashing over at you thing, while his mouth quirks into a crooked smirk…
No other reason. Right?
You don’t have time to debate this, however, because Draco’s moving.
You’re vaguely aware of the vine brushing your ankle, keeping you steady as he crowds your space, and then—
Your lips meet his.
Your breath catches at the warmth you weren’t expecting. And that warmth…blooms. Your lashes fall shut as your whole body seems to sigh at the touch, like he’s the cure to the dull ache in your limbs, the antidote to the burning in your core. Just a gentle caress turns the sharp heat into a molten lava that invades your bloodstream.
He groans softly into your mouth, and the sound alone makes you gasp. Next thing you know, you’re pressed against his chest. Whether by his arms around you, or your own feet carrying you, or the stupid fucking vine playing matchmaker, all you know is he smells like green apples and teakwood. Cold luxury, but with a hint of…home.
At the first taste of his tongue, your stomach swoops dangerously. As he slants his mouth further, exploring, kissing you deeper, your heart feels like it’s beating as fast as a Snitch’s wings.
Your hands find his hair. It’s soft as silk between your fingers. A whimper escapes him and he breaks the kiss, head dropping back instinctively.
You watch through half-lidded eyes, taking in the way his wet lips gleam in the moonlight, blond lashes fluttering.
Merlin, he’s gorgeous.
His throat bobs on a swallow, and before you know it, your mouth is on his neck. He lets out a choked sound, something between a gasp and a groan, before jerking suddenly in your hold.
You stumble away, already missing the heat of his hands, lips buzzing like you’ve just downed a shot of fire-whiskey.
It’s him, you realize. He’s your drug. And when he lurches backward, breathing hard, you feel as if he’s just taken your last fix.
His eyes stay pinned on you as he retreats. The vine stops him with a gentle pressure at his back, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. He lets it guide him toward the nest, stopping just beside it, his back hitting the wall.
You scramble back until your heels knock into the stone wall opposite him. The Nest sits between you, off to the right, tucked in the dark corner of the room.
“Brilliant plan,” he grits out. “Bloody brilliant.”
And you’re back to square one.
“Ah!” Draco shouts, pointing at his wand lying on the ground between you. “You crossed the boundary.”
“I did not!” you snap at him, eyes flashing. “I was just adjusting. My foot kicked it accidentally—shit—would you just shut up? Your voice makes it worse.”
Over the last several minutes, you and Draco have tried everything under the sun to escape. The farthest you ever made it was all of ten feet. You did manage to retrieve Draco’s wand, though. Which then started the slew of fire spells, sharp object summoning charms, and so on. An earthquake hex was threatened, but that could’ve brought the whole school down, so you couldn’t risk that.
Although it was considered for one brief—and selfish—moment.
But none of it did a thing.
Turns out, this plant has some sort of magical resistance. It’s so bad that he couldn’t even make a force field or proper line divider between you, so he placed his wand there instead.
You’ve slowly slid down into a heap on the floor, attempting to make yourself smaller, as if that might ease the ache building deep in your core. It’s relentless, hot and gnawing, and you know it’s only going to get worse if you don’t come up with another plan soon.
Draco’s sitting now too, half draped in shadow. His arms crossed over his crisp white button-down, and he’s still glaring at you as if this is all your fault. The one knee strategically placed in front of his groan is the only sign you’ve gotten that the pollen is effecting him at all.
Bastard.
His tie is loose though, and his hair is tousled. Like it always is after a match. There’s no wind in here though, just the whisper of leaves and the steady drip of water.
No. Your hands are the only thing to blame for that.
Shit.
Now all you can think about is how soft his hair felt, how easily your fingers sank into it, and all the ways you could drag him closer by it, yanking his hot, wet mouth to your—
“What did I tell you about thinking those things?” Draco says. You peek up to see his head hit the wall, eyes sliding shut.
“I’m not thinking anything—”
“Stop lying, Nineteen.” His nostrils flare, and his eyes snap open. Somehow, his pupils have grown even larger. “You're so wet I can practically taste it from here.”
Merlin. Your thighs press together instinctively.
“I’m not thinking anything that has to do with you,” you snap. “Except how much I hate you. How much I despise your face, how much I want to steal that Snitch from you every damn day, and how if I had to be here, I would rather it be anyone else other than you!”
Your chest heaves as you catch your breath. But the way he looks at you makes your pulse spike all over again.
“Is that right?”
His cheeks are flushed, the same way they are when he’s hot on the Snitch’s trail. Your slick walls flutter at the sight. You’ve always thought he looked good like that. All sweaty and warm, hair stuck to his forehead, eyes bright with a fire that matches yours.
Not that you would ever tell him, of course.
“Who would you want instead?” he rasps. “Montague? Flint? I see the way you look at them on the pitch.” He looks away for a second and drags his knuckles across his lips before his gaze snaps back to yours. “Lucky for you, you’re trapped here with someone who can show a little restraint.”
You bark out a laugh. “You think you’re the only one here with restraint? Take one step toward me, Malfoy, and I swear I’ll hex you.”
He grunts. “You don’t have a wand.”
Your head tips back with a quiet groan, your clit aching to be touched. You make another weak attempt to get away, but the vine catches you.
It doesn’t snap, claw, or hold you against your will. Rather it settles around your shoulders, brushing a waxy leaf along your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear before retreating again, as if to say, Stop fighting. Just look at him. Don’t you want to?
And somehow, that’s worse.
Because you do.
Badly.
You find yourself looking at his hands. Your gaze drifts over the curve of his palms, the long lines of his fingers, the tension there, the veins, the control he’s barely holding onto and—you’re salivating.
Snap out of it.
“It’s so hot in here, f-fuck,” you whine, pawing at the collar of your shirt.
Draco eyes lock on you fingers. “Take that off and I swear—don’t.”
But your tie feels like it’s choking you, and your pulse booms in your ears. Your fingers keep loosening it. Draco curses.
You whimper. “That’s not fair, you took yours off!”
“Stop talking. Merlin, just—” he cuts himself off with a rough breath, his large palm grinding down into his erection beneath his slacks. “Shut up.”
You try to stay quiet. You really do.
But every shift of your body sends heat spiraling lower, making it harder to think. Every brush of your thighs squeezes your swollen clit, and has you gasping into the wall behind you.
Draco’s breathing is uneven now, too, echoing faintly off the stone. He hasn’t been able to keep his hand off his dick, still hidden under his clothes.
Not that you’ve been watching.
“I think—‘ you swallow. “I think I have a plan.”
Draco moans. “Fine. Enlighten me.”
“Remember what I said about the pheromones?” You manage. “It’s clear kissing wa—shit—wasn’t enough. Maybe…” Your eyes drop to his erection.
“No.”
“Draco, we’re going to have to touch ourselves. It’s the only way.”
You expect him to be glaring at you, but when you look up, his eyes are on your legs—that bare skin between your shoe and your skirt.
“Fine.” His throat bobs on a swallow. “You first.”
You barely have time to debate the ramifications of your actions. Your body burns, thick pressure building low and sharp.
You slip your hand under your skirt, straight under your panties. You inhale shakily, trying to steady yourself, but when your fingers meet a slickness like nothing you’ve ever felt before, the breath leaves your lungs.
The sound of of your wetness fills the silence between you and Draco makes a low, strained sound.
You glance over at him and immediately wish you hadn’t.
He’s taken his cock out, and he’s stroking it from base to tip. It’s long. Thick enough to fill up his palm, and veiny. The tip is darker than the rest, and you just know, if you were to take him in your mouth and suck—you’d feel his heartbeat against your tongue.
His jaw is tight, eyes half-lidded, like he tried to close them but his body won’t let him. When he sighs and bucks his hips into his own fist your mouth runs dry.
Whatever cavern of distance used to exist between you is crumbling now. It’s being burned away. There’s no space for it in this heat, this constant pull towards each other. Your skirt rides higher up on your thighs, and the cool air brushes your wet inner thighs.
After a minute, the relief starts to fade. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus. But your body won’t cooperate. Your hips jerk back from your own touch, your clit bordering on overstimulation. You frown, plunging two fingers inside yourself to rub the ache away. But they feel like cold pencils in your pulsing channel.
The heat drags through your veins like hot cotton, begging for a deep release. But every brush of your arms against the cold stone behind you makes your elbows start to itch, and your very skin start to feel like a husk.
You need water. No—not water.
You need him.
It’s almost as if your body is punishing you for doing it to yourself.
“It’s not w-working,” you whimper, helpless.
Draco groans, his frustration evident in the bulging vein in his neck. His cock looks so angry in the dim light. He bites his lip in determination, and you watch his fist grip tighter. He only gets to three more strokes before he’s hissing with discomfort.
“There’s got to be another way,” he rasps, his hand dropping away.
You huff, so needy you’re almost on the verge of tears. “I’m thinking!”
“Well, think harder.”
You glare at him, dimly aware of how on display you are right now. Legs open and spread towards him, skirt barely concealing the way your fingers move against yourself. “Maybe I could if you could just shut your mouth for one damn second!”
His voice is not helping. All low and deep, with a hint of a rasp curling around his accent, making your belly tighten.
In fact, none of this is helping. Silence fills the space between you, only broken by uneven breathing and the quiet rustle of the Nest.
When his eyes drop to your dripping cunt and you don’t even have the decency to close your legs, it’s like the pollen has overridden your higher thinking. Your knees widen instinctively, begging for him to look. To touch…
Your composure slips further. And when he licks his lips, your lips actually part in preparation to ask for him.
Merlin, if this keeps up much longer, you’re not above begging if that what it takes. And begging Draco Malfoy for anything is beyond the lowest you’d ever thought you’d go.
You work yourself harder, but your fingertips feel like sandpaper against your soft folds, even as your arousal continues to leak steadily from you, your pussy desperate to be filled.
But that feels impossible.
A tear slips from the corner of your eye, and you’re helpless to stop it. You squeeze your eyes shut and turn your face away from him, still chasing any kind of relief, begging for it to feel like something worth grabbing onto.
Somewhere, distantly, you think Draco might be saying something, but you’re not sure what. Your body’s honed in on the vibrations of his voice, the way he smells—
“Nineteen.”
Hearing your nickname snaps you back to reality.
You open your mouth to answer him, but no words come out. Little gasps punch out of your parted lips, hips twisting and writhing, searching for friction. For heat. For him.
“Tell me,” he says firmly.
You turn your head. You can barely see him, your eyes refusing to open more than a sliver. He’s leaning forward now, one knee planted on the ground.
“W-what?” you rasp.
“Your plan—the pheromones—shit.” Then, quieter, he adds. “Tell me how to make it stop hurting you.”
Your eyes snap to his. He’s watching you with that sharp focus you’ve always admired about him. The look that says nothing is getting in the way of what he wants.
You’re not sure exactly what makes him give in.
Maybe it’s the way your breaths come in soft pants that make the rise and fall of your breasts visible beneath your loosened tie. Maybe it’s the way your eyes drop to his lips, his neck, your tongue running over your teeth like you’re imagining how he tastes. It might be the ways your hips slant forward, knees falling open, your body begging even if you don’t have the words to.
But he must see it.
Because, he just says, “Fuck.”
His shoulders catch the moonlight as he shrugs out of his shirt in one smooth motion. Lines of lean muscle come into view, and you feel as if you’ve been presented with a feast after almost starving to death.
Malfoy’s always had a very determined walk. A powerful stride, one that commands attention. You’ve seen in in the halls, backed by his loyal little following. You’ve watched him stride towards the Quidditch cup, shoulders back, chest high.
But right now—he’s not walking.
He’s crawling.
Towards you.
“Close your eyes. If it helps,” he says before his hand meets your ankle and he’s bowing in front of you.
Something deep in your mind catches on those words, but he’s yanking your panties the rest of the way down your legs, and the heat of his mouth against your core whisks your thoughts away.
The second his tongue finds your clit you can’t help but cry out. Your head tips back against the stone, the relief so immediate it’s almost staggering. Draco attacks you with warm, lascivious licks that aren’t meant to soothe, despite his words. They’re meant to claim.
Your hands dig into the mossy floor beneath you, arching your hips up for him. His strong, hot tongue parts your folds like it’s his life’s work. The view of his back muscles shifting and stretching in the moonlight as he makes out with your pussy is so seductive to you it’s nearly frightening.
In fact, it is.
Frightening.
“I hate you,” you grit out, not even entirely sure where it came from. Just a need to set things back in order, even as he’s unraveling you.
He groans against your clit, the vibration licking up your spine.
“Say it again.”
You gasp, caught between resisting and wanting more, even as your pelvis shoves forward and you grind into him like you’re in heat. His tongue dives lower and when his nose nudges your clit, you nearly scream. Your orgasm rises like something sharp. It’s so powerful of a burn, of an ache, you find yourself scrambling backwards in an attempt to get away from the promise of such delirious pleasure.
Merlin, you need it. More than you’ve ever needed anything in your entire fucking life—
It scares you how much.
But Draco just hums against the pulls on his hair and follows you anyway, scuffling forward on the stone ground, gripping your hips and spearing his tongue deep inside you.
“Malfoy, I’m gonna—oh, fuckkk—”
“That’s it,” he says, and the sound of him quietly speaking against your slick folds nearly does you in. “Scream my name, Nineteen. N-need—fuck—wanna hear you say it like that.”
The soft rasp of his voice, and the two long fingers being pushed inside you send you straight over the edge.
The release pulls you under in waves. Dark, pulsing tidal waves that drive deep through your pelvis, erasing through your body until the pleasure nearly blinds you. You feel yourself going rigid in his hands, thighs trembling against his soft hair, but he just hauls you through it, like a lighthouse in a storm. Strong, steady, and never stopping until you’re jolting and gasping, crying out in relief.
But the second your orgasm fades, the heat rushes in again. The fever. It’s back, and with vengeance this time.
Sweat beads your forehead and your vision swims, but you look up just in time to see Malfoy scramble backwards like you burned him.
You frown. “Dra—what?”
He throws a hand out, pressing himself against the opposite wall. “Don’t come closer.”
A whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it. The heat is different now. Instead of feeling like a thread about to snap, your body has narrowed down to one singular need.
Breed.
Your fingers fly to your shirt without you telling them to, unbuttoning your shirt with ease. You feel the way your breasts move with your harsh breaths, but your gaze is locked on him. And when you drop down to all fours and slink forward, Draco looks like he’s going to have a heart attack.
“Merlin—I can’t.” he chokes out. “I can’t even think about it.”
Your gut feels like it’s been punched. Is he so disgusted by the thought that he can’t even look at you?
Does he truly not want you? Was that some sort of…pity—
You can’t even finish that thought.
You slink backwards until you’re half in shadow. He must see the look on your face because his head falls back against the wall on a groan. You can smell his sweat in the air and it’s making you downright feral even though you can barely look at him from embarrasement.
“I can’t think about it, because if I do, then I’ll do it,” he says. “And if I do it…I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”
Control. That’s always been Malfoy’s vice, hasn’t it?
This situation is probably his worst nightmare.
Not for the first time, something plucks on your heart strings deep under your ribs. He’s scared of losing it? You can give it back to him.
Slowly, and with deliberate care, you cross the boundary. The wand clatters somewhere to the side. Draco watches as you crawl to him, his eyes raking over you, a mixture of pain and hunger in his eyes.
You can only imagine what you look like.
Hair mussed, left in just a lace bra and soaked panties, your skirt hanging loose on your hips.
“Then don’t,” you murmur.
Your voice is so quiet in the stillness, but it spears through him all the same. Your gazes click together like magnets.
He shakes his head, chest heaving. “You don’t mean that. It’s just the fucking plant dust—”
He stops short when your hands settle on his knees, gently forcing them apart to make room for yourself. Your breath catches when you drop your gaze to see his cock sitting heavy and hard against his lower stomach. It twitches under your watchful gaze and your mouth waters.
Carefully, you settle into his lap.
He exhales sharply, and his hands find your soft skin, undoing your bra before you can even blink. Testament to a lot of practice, you’re sure.
You don’t have the strength to be self-conscious. You just need him. Now. Even so, somewhere through the lust-filled haze, you remember his words.
“The plant just lowers—” your breath hitches as his teeth find the soft skin of your neck. “—your inhibitions. It can’t make you fuck someone you don’t…w-want.”
“How do you know so much about this?” he groans into your hair. “Why are you so—”
“What? So smart?”
“You wish.”
The words barely brush your ear before you lean back to get a better look at him. You’ve barely straightened by the time his mouth is on your tits.
You cry out as he swirls his hot, greedy tongue around your nipples, sucking on the hard buds until you’re panting. Your clit swells and you bite your lip, threading your fingers through his hair. The first rock of your hips has you both groaning.
You grind down on him again and you nearly black out at the feeling of his bare length sliding through your slick folds. You reach between you to tug his slacks down further. His balls are heavy in your hand, and he grunts, shoving himself up into you.
“Merlin—I can’t—” he chokes out, mouth leaving your tits as his palms fly up and dig into his eye sockets.
Without thinking, you lean forward and kiss his fingers one by one. His bare chest stutters against yours at the softness of it, and when you slip his thumb into your mouth and swirl your tongue around it eagerly, he drops his hands.
You look down to find him staring up at you with a familiar expression. You make that face. When you're seconds away from catching the Snitch.
You swear you can feel every vein in his dick, so hot and hard against you as you grind your slick cunt against him. It’s instinct to drop your head and search for his mouth with yours, but you pull back at the last second. That last thread of lucidity coming back to haunt you.
This is your rival.
For a second you just breathe each other in, mouths parted, groaning and writhing into the other, but when the blunt head of his cock catches on your entrance, your hips react on their own—circling, pelvis arching, body begging in a primal, secret language you don’t fully understand.
And he moves with you—meeting you there with the deep urges of his own.
His hips don’t snap into you, brutal and deep. Instead, they slide. Back and forth. His hands clamp onto your hips, holding you still in his lap as he eases the tip in and out, letting your slick coat him until you’re ready to take the whole thing.
The way his body moves speaks to something primal and powerful in you. How his sweaty muscles bunch and tense, and his hands dig into your skin at your hips, your thighs, your waist— it’s better than anything you could’ve imagined.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” he growls into your ear.
You nod frantically, clenching around him.
In one long thrust, Draco fills you up. The stretch is breathtaking. Literally. He’s so long that his tip kisses your cervix with every thrust, sending you mewing and clawing at his hair, his shoulders, just to stay afloat through the pleasure.
He’s not fairing much better.
He’s growling and moaning, his cock jerking desperately in your slick walls as he pulls back just far enough to yank your hips back down to meet his.
Sounds spill out of you. They might be words, you’re not sure. But the next thing you know, cold stone meets your back, and Draco’s warm body is spread out over you. His thrusts grow heavier and deeper. You can feel the way your body tries to hold onto him, clenching and fluttering desperately, even as your arousal makes it easy for him to slide so deep.
You’ve never been this wet in your life. And now, you’re wondering, if it’s from the pollen, or if it’s just from him. Because you’ve never had sex this good, and that’s saying something.
Your bodies just…move together. Like they’re one of a kind puzzle pieces meant to fit. The give and take is so instinctual it’s almost unbearable how good it is.
“Fuck, you take me so well,” Draco pants, a lock of hair falling over his sweaty brow. “Knew you would.”
You throw your head back, your ankle finding solace in his lower back, sealing him to you and begging for more. Your body gives into the heat, the pleasure cresting and pulling you into something dangerously strong. So strong you’re worried your body might not survive it.
“So pretty on the pitch,” he groans, seemingly unable to stop from talking. “Merlin, I just—I lose the bloody Snitch every time you look at me.”
That does it.
Your orgasm rushes through your body like lightning. Your spine snaps straight, muscles clenching down with a pulse you feel everywhere. A moan leaves your chest, so loud you’ve probably woken the whole damn castle, but you’re too gone to care.
Draco makes a rough sound against the skin of your neck. “Holy—fuck, I’m gonna—where should I—”
“Inside,” you gasp. “Please. Please, Draco. I need it. P-please—”
“Ah, fuck—” His mouth seals against your throat, nose brushing the pulse point below your ear. “Need you.”
He jerks hard, once, twice, and then he’s spilling inside you. Your body seems to understand, back arching, pulling him deeper with your ankle as he stills and lets out a groan that curls low in your belly, and will certainly live on in every wet dream you have from here on out.
The fever fades like a receding tide. You blink, slowly coming back to yourself. Your clit is throbbing, and your pulse is still hammering, but strangely you feel...lighter somehow.
Like maybe the last few years of tension between you and your rival finally needed to snap.
You turn to him. He’s on his knees, breathing hard, buttoning up his pants. He looks up at you, and something in his eyes softens.
“What did you mean?” You find yourself asking. “When you told me to close my eyes earlier?”
He shrugs, reaching for his shirt.
“Well, you said you’d rather be here with anyone else. I just—” he looks away, suddenly seeming very interested in the way the Nest is unraveling like it did its job, and the stray vine that’s currently retrieving his wand for him.
You don’t let him finish.
You lurch forward and grab his face, pulling his lips to yours.
This time, he doesn’t hesitate a second before meeting your mouth. He kisses you back, long and hard, digging his fingers through your hair to pull you closer. You exhale into it, something long unsaid passing between you. But it’s not enough. You still need to say the words.
So, you break the kiss first. He blinks down at you, eyes dark, hair mussed.
“I only think about you, Malfoy,” you whisper in the shared air between you. “On or off the pitch, it’s only you.”
He leans down and brushes his lips across yours. “I still hate you, Nineteen.”
You reward him by deepening the kiss. He answers it, slower this time, but no less intense. When he finally pulls back, you’re already smiling.
SYNOPSIS | love with qifrey is like having him right beside you, your hands touching. love with qifrey is something unspoken. the affection is there, like he wakes up every morning just to show you so. his eyes cannot hide the way he looks at you as if you're his everything. and yet, love with qifrey is also a curse.
NOTE | i love qifrey i swear pls get the seed + soil + root + silver tree joke pls laugh
1,921 | WARNINGS | angsty but sweet as fuck
love was the budding plague that worsens the seed growing in qifrey's heart.
everyone can see qifrey's fondness for you from the moment the two of you met at a secluded alcove in the great hall. it wasn't hard to tell or see how his mind orbits around you. there was something about the atmosphere the two of you shared. some kind of unspoken connection that can't be put into words. nor do the two for you dare to speak a word about it.
his only eye follows every movement you make.
he follows your trail, hand itching to hold yours in his, to fit all the crevices of your fingers into his. to feel the warmth of your hands.
he did it once. god, did it feel so good to have your hands in his.
it was a spur of the moment decision.
you had fallen asleep hunched over the library table, book left open and your head rested above your arm. he was too scared to wake you up from your slumber, anxious and worried for your already lack of sleep from staying up to study.
your other hand, outstretched across the table, was too inviting to resist.
his finger twitches at the sight of your open palm. the voices inside his head scream at him to turn around, ignore the desire building up from within him, slowly digging the silver roots deeper.
love will be his demise, the longer he desires for it. for a touch of your love.
before he could even get a sense of control over his thoughts, he had already intertwined your fingers with each other. his heart pounds against his chest loudly.
the headaches were particularly painful the following days.
no, he had never told you about it.
and so will the love he has for you die along with his hope, silver roots wrapped around his broken heart that's never ever uttered a single word of love for you. it feels like heartbreak, but how can his heart break if there was no beginning in the first place? when there was no confession, no exchange of ‘i love you's.
the word love builds up like vile in his throat.
but he will be damned if he doesn't show you in some kind of way.
“aren't they adorable!?” tettia quietly coos at the two adults, watching qifrey scoop up another serving of dinner for you without your say so.
“i want something like that when i grow up!”
“they're not together like that, though.” richeh trails off, a thought spiraling on her mind. “master qifrey himself said so.”
“and yet his actions don't match his words.” agott watched on as well, noting the particular way qifrey looks at you.
like you are his world, the very magic in his eye.
“wait, are they not… together?” coco tilts her head. “i assumed they were together. they seem to be so close.”
“unfortunately, master qifrey himself said so.” tettia slumps against the table with a pout. “if that's not what love looks like, then what does it look like?”
“aren't you a little too young to think of love?”
startled, the four girls turn to face you. tettia waves her hand in front of her frantically, “n-no! that's not what i meant!”
“oh ho?” qifrey comes from behind you, cheshire smile plastered on his face. “who is the lucky boy, may i ask?”
“there's no boy!” tettia whines, turning to richeh. “help me out here!”
“coco has a boy.” the girl gasped.
“no i do not!”
“who's tartah then?”
dinner was noisy that night with the girls continuing their playful banter. qifrey watched on with a fond smile, his hand unknowingly reaching out for yours. when his fingers touched yours in the slightest did he snap back to his senses, playing it off by scratching the back of his head.
he doesn't know if you felt it too, but if you did, he's relieved you did not say a word about it.
after dinner, the girls went about their rooms, bidding the two adults goodnight.
“oh, you don't have to do that.”
qifrey steps beside you at the sink, watching you cast a water spell to clean up the dishes.
“it's no problem, dear. you had a long afternoon of teaching already and you cooked dinner. at least let me help clean around.”
dear.
it felt so natural to have you call him by that nickname. like he is that word to you, dear. too domestic, no question asked. there was something about the air around you when he's within your proximity. you radiate so much peace that even he can feel it. it's an infectious thing.
and that's the problem itself.
it feels too good, too peaceful with you, that he fears the roots will take its place once again. he says nothing about everything he feels, because he knows you like the back of his hand.
he knows you love him too.
and it was the reciprocal feelings that he cannot speak about. it's risky, it's painful. oh so painful, that even if he wants to have you for himself, then the silverwood will have him in exchange.
if love is peace, why does it hurt him so?
“qifrey?”
his name sounds so sweet coming from your mouth.
“yes?”
it was then that he noticed the sudden proximity between the two of you. he could feel your warmth from this distance. he can sense the way you shudder when his breath fans along your face. he can feel the way your fingers twitch at his touch, though he wonders when had he taken your hand in his to hold? he can see your eyes so clearly, the swirling pool of color within those crystals mesmerizing, almost hypnotic in a way only magic can tell.
love is, in some way, a magical thing.
“you're beautiful.”
he hears the way your breath falters, your eyes dilating in response to his words. he traces the skin on your cheek with a delicate touch, searching your eyes for some form of misgiving towards his affection.
all of the sudden, fear gathers at the back of his throat, like a fish bone stuck to his throat stubbornly refusing to come off.
this shouldn't have happened.
he wasn't supposed to be this close to you. wasn't supposed to touch you so freely and desire to have more of you. to have you whole to himself. it shouldn't be this easy to have you succumb to his warmth, a faux comfort that hides the true horror within his heart and missing eye.
“i'm sorry, my star, i did not–” he frowns, truly questioning his feeble attempt to resist his desire.
you're too close, oh, so close.
perhaps he should erase your memory of this night?
the thought of taking something away from you, your memories, suffocates him so. but before he could lament his predicament, your hand held his palm against your cheek, a smile so sweet and gentle contrasting the swirling storm in him.
“you don't have to say anything.”
your words were final, like a stubborn stone wedge into the soil or a sword struck deep into the ground. only someone with immense strength can challenge you and qifrey was but a man powerless against all that you are.
“you don't have to tell me how you feel about me.”
your nose nuzzles into his palm, and god did his heart almost leap out of his chest and into your hands. you look at him from his palm, your lips pressed against his skin with a smile.
oh, he's about to faint.
“you don't have to say it out loud. i know what you feel about this. about us.”
“you deserve better than this.” he shook his head in denial. “you deserve someone who can proudly call you the object of their affection. not… this silence.”
he tears his gaze away from your probing ones. he can tell that just by looking at you, he's buying himself his own pot of soil.
“you mustn't chain yourself with a man who cannot even proclaim their affection towards you. what i am is a coward.”
“what you are is my qifrey.”
his heart skipped a beat, or perhaps was it the roots of silverwood piercing his heart?
“you can't just say things like that.” it almost sounded like a whine, and you giggle at how precious he looks right now. with his cheeks flushed and restless eye, looking anywhere but you.
why can't you show some mercy on this man's heart?
“you may have your reasons to keep me at arms length.” he grimaces at the intention of your words, “but i'm already at peace that you still share a part of your life with me. that i still get to stand beside you.”
you gently tug him down, pressing your forehead against his in a nuzzle.
“this… what we share between us may take forever to be spoken out loud,” you place a finger right at his lips, watching his breath grow heavier from the touch. “but i am willing to stand by you for a lifetime and more.”
you lean to kiss the finger atop of his lips, fully pulling back to see his bewildered and already reddening face.
“my dear, you look like you're about to explode.”
“you can't just do that and expect me to remain calm!”
your giggle echoes through the quiet kitchen. qifrey might be a little delirious, he could have sworn he heard the chimes of fairies favoring every sound you make with those extremely tempting lips of yours.
what do they taste like?
“fret not.” your hand caresses his cheeks, “no unspoken words can push me away from you.”
“i don't want to hurt you.” he tries to look the other way, but with your hand tilting his gaze back to you has him melting on the spot. his futile attempt to avoid your intense look has him weak on the knees.
what kind of magic did you cast on him?
“no pain exists when i am within your presence.”
“my dear…”
“shh.”
you pull him a little closer, resting your head just above his collarbone. he's trembling, whether from the promising position the two of you are in or from his fears, you don't mind. not when he's this close to you. the closest he's ever been to you. you'd do anything to preserve this moment.
“you don't have to tell me everything.”
you place a hand on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
“all that matters is we're here.”
his warm and gentle hands press against the back of your waist, finally letting himself hold you in his arms.
your body fits every crevice, resting against his chest.
“i'd wait for a lifetime for you.” you whisper into his robes. “i'll remember you even in my next life.”
“you think that's possible?”
“everything's possible with magic.”
he hopes so. perhaps then, he wouldn't have to wait for another lifetime to feel this once more. to be at peace in your arms, free from all his fear.
perhaps then, he could hold your hand whenever he wants, feel the warmth of your palm against his.
perhaps then, he can tell you the words he's been dying to say. he won't have to fear the consequences of telling you he loves you, oh, so much. that he wants you to be his and him, yours.
We got Rafayel kissing our stomach and and and ahahahahahaha that's all
i wanna smooch the hell out of him guys this isn't funny anymore
The morning had folded itself in half, soft and slow, and somewhere in that softness Rafayel had decided your stomach was his newest canvas.
One of his favorite things to do was adorn your body with marks of love and affection, paint his ultimate devotion in soft presses of his lips on your warm skin, each one betraying how much he wants to keep you like this forever.
A breath, warm and so sweet, ghosted across the dip of your belly, and your skin prickled awake under the attention of his tentative lips. Your fingers curled slightly in the sheets, twitching against the cotton.
Oh. So this was how he wanted to start the day.
"Don't move," he murmured, mouth grazing the skin just below your navel. "I'm painting right now, you should be proud of your fishie for taking his work so seriously."
You laughed, but the laugh caught somewhere high in your throat and lodged behind a sudden tightness you couldn't name when he pressed another kiss, lower this time, slower... like he had all the hours in the world and intended to spend each one on the soft body of yours.
His hair tickled your hip, making you twitch under him. You could feel the brush of his lashes when he closed his eyes, like a ghost-kiss that had you shiver.
"Rafayel..."
He only hummed in response, low and pleased, reverberating against your skin following another kiss. His hand splayed wide across your ribs as if to anchor you while he busied himself with peppering more and more kisses over your hip bone and stomach.
He was so quiet, focused like he was whenever he painted and got lost in his own thoughts, the world inside his head.
You wished he would say something irreverent and break the spell, because he was looking at you like you were something he'd painted in another life and was only now allowed to touch.
It made you feel all sorts of complicated things. But above all, you felt cherished. Body and soul.
His next kiss landed soft over your sternum, and whatever sharp, deflecting thing you'd formed in your head dissolved on your tongue.
"You're trembling," his lips brushed over the wet spot where he had kissed, thumb tracing the curve beneath your breast. "Pretty thing... let me."
So you let him. Slow as tide. Every kiss a colour you didn't have a name for.
sorry boss can't come in today i was on my way to work and then a gentle spring breeze kissed my cheek and reminded me it is a serious thing just to be alive on this fresh morning in this broken world
has anyone noticed that after the porn ban of 2018 tumblr was essentially killed from the mainstream and everyone flocked to other social media sites like twitter and meta. then those sites got enshittified to where twitter became Nazi Central and meta sites had an entire meme around getting “zucced” aka mark zuckerberg himself would ban you for saying a no-no word like fuck. and then the mainstream shifted to tiktok where infamous toddlerspeak sentences like “he got unalived by a pew pew” were born because if you once again say a no-no word like kill or gun or any other word that isn’t corporate i mean kid friendly then the algorithm will bury your post into the ground. and somehow we’ve come full circle and tumblr is now the most bearable social media site because although we can’t have female presenting nipples we can at least talk to each other like adults. has anyone noticed that at all or is it just me and the flaming skull
leon’s an avid shower sex enjoyer. he admittedly gets carried away washing your hair and likes the warm water on his back when he’s kissing down yours. for what it’s worth he says it’s not unsafe if he’s the one holding you up (seems antithetical)
the most he’ll do for a long time is pet your hair when you find yourself on your knees in front of him. he’s somewhat fundamentally averse to being taken care of on an intimate level that a part of him feels like it’s degrading to you. it’d take remarkable persuasion
leon is an unintentional manhandler. don’t make him hold your thighs apart or your hips down unless you want to feel a little insatiable at the feeling of firm muscle. forget it if you’re ovulating
leon holds your heels in reverse cowgirl. it’s a weird habit. he likes to feel close to you but it tickles just a little
he pulls the “so you like me?” shit with a taunting smile when you’re on top of him and telling him he’s so good. what he really wants is your fingers in his mouth to shut him up, who said that??
he has the serbian snuff film face and a penchant for making eye contact when he has, in his own words, quote ‘missed you s’bad’, that makes it so hard to keep your hips flat when his face is between your thighs and his hands are pushing up your shirt
leon’s trademark is whispering beside you and asking you to ‘please breathe’ even when he himself is rationing what little remains of his control to not move cause you got a tendency to hold your breath when he’s stretching you out
he always hated getting his scars called cool but he doesn’t mind it when you trace them with your fingertips in missionary. you’d never scratch over the angry abrasions but he feels a little more admired rather than mauled. that being said he secretly wishes you would but that reflects his own odd masochistic proclivities
i have a little bit of disdain for leon's inventory space in re9
leon’s love language is painfully obvious. it’s arduous for him to vocalize his love for you but you’ll wake up to your favorite flowers on the dresser, no sign of the culprit though
god forbid he sit or lie down in your house in which case you can’t pry your cat off of him. that’s her bf before he’s yours
leon isn't really one for pet names but there is an occasional 'baby' that he lets escape him when he's feeling especially enamored
it’s a laborious task to get leon to deviate from rigid gender ideals. it’s not a particularly orthodox or traditionalist ideology for him per se as much as it is him believing he needs to bear the brunt of providing
you’d like to have cute screenshots of your text chains but there’s a million results for the phrase “call me” from him in your texts because he’s what’s colloquially known as dogshit at conveying emotion over the sms and would rather hear your voice
no social media warrior. he might make an instagram to like your posts or something but he’s got no particular inclination
got his hands on the record his aunt taught him how to dance to once and holds you real close in his dim lit living room. he’s got a habit of tucking your head in the crook of his neck, you’re not sure if that was also taught. leon thinks dancing with you makes him feel a little normal
his phone wallpaper is you with smudged lipstick next to him with scarlet red lipstick marks littering his face and neck. he’s got a documented smile for once
swears he doesn’t want kids but won’t look at you when you’re holding one. one “how long you guys been together again?” and you know he’s awkwardly akimbo and biting his bottom lip in pure fluster behind you
i have overdue calc homework but this is more important
💭.. thinking about re9!leon... as a hubby... a lot...
"damn dude, look at that hair."
leon didn't even opened his eyes as you started your morning with your usual master sense of humor—he takes pride in being the one who helped you master—just enjoying the feeling of your holy fingers in his long hair. the blondes are faded into a soft light brown now, few grays showing.
"what do you use on that, mr. kennedy?" you hummed, body curled under his comfortably as you played with your husband's hair, so happy and content that he's with you in this fine and sunny morning.
"my wife's hair products." he mumbled, curling further into your neck to hide from the sun. he placed so, so lazy kisses on your skin—as if he was too lazy to move but his body craved you nonetheless. you chuckled at his reply and bared your neck more, one hand moving to the back of his neck, caressing softly.
"i bet your wife has insaane hair," you said, grinning at their soft banter. you remembered all those years ago, meeting him in a friendgroup, clicking because of the shitty and sarcastic humor. well, you were married now. not so suprising.
leon hummed, nodding lazily. "yeah, i like to pull it a lot."
you huffed a chuckle, slapping his bare shoulder softly. he smiled into your neck and caressed your ass, giving a soft pinch. "what? 's true." he defended himself. "aand, it feels so smooth in my palms." he added.
"oh gee, thanks. im lucky i still have hair with how you're pullin' it." you grumbled playfully, grinning a bit. he nipped your neck softly. "i never heard you complainin'."
"shut up already, l'oreal paris." you murmured into his forehead, pecking his skin three times. your hands wandered down from his scalp to his shoulder blades, caressing him softly. he laughed lazily, kissing your jaw.
"you're such a weirdo." he mumbled softly., his eyes filled with adoration.
"learned from the best." you smiled wide, pecking his lips long and lovingly.
one of leon’s many habits regarding you is kissing your shoulder when he’s close to you. like if you’re folding laundry in the living room and he has to pass by you to head to the kitchen — boom, shoulder kiss. if you’re cooking dinner and stands there behind the stove and he wants to see what smells so good: a shoulder kiss. if you’re getting ready in the morning, brushing your hair in the bathroom and he needs to go there too, to shave: a shoulder kiss. it’s something he’s so used to it feels like his body is leaning towards yours on its own, lips longing for the contact of your soft skin.
because your hands get cold easily, he’s always holding one of them when you’re outside — sometimes, he would bring your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles. and because you soon notice that letting leon hold your hand outside was much better than just wearing gloves… you’d always pretend you “forgot to bring them with you” when he asks you about them… but deep inside, he just hopes you’ll never stop forgetting them.
leon could listen to you talking for hours on end. there’s just something so comforting, so soothing in the tone of your voice that makes him feel grounded — safe. makes him feel at home anywhere as long as you’re here. so anytime you would read a bit before sleeping, he would just get in bed with you. his arms wrapped around your waist, using your chest as a pillow, he waits for you to start reading aloud. and with one hand holding your book, the other gently stroking his hair, it feels like the world stopped just to listen to you.
every time you take a shower together, leon will ask if he can wash your hair. every single time. that man just can’t keep his hands off you, and he loves to watch your entire body relaxing when he gently starts massaging your scalp. he’s very gentle — very cautious not to let any drop of shampoo reach your eyes. he even goes as far as placing his left hand on your closed eyelids when he brings the showerhead to your scalp, getting rid of the shampoo with warm water.
leon loves watching you sleep. not in a creepy way… far from it. because his nights are usually very short and filled with nightmares, he’s one to wake up super early — and it soon became a little guilty pleasure of his: to watch you, peacefully asleep. far from your worries, from the tiny things that sometimes affect you in a negative way. the pad of his fingers gently trace the lines of your face — around your eyes, the tip of your nose, your cupid’s bow then your lips. it’s a gentle touch you can’t even really feel, because he wouldn’t want to wake you up.
When Leon Kennedy comes home after a difficult mission, all he wants to do is hold you. No matter where you are or what you are doing, he'll pick you up, take you to the nearest soft surface, and either curl himself around you, or just lie on top of you, taking comfort in your warmth as he quietly salvages all the broken pieces of himself.
This latest mission in particular, had been a bad one.
When Leon comes home you immediately know something is wrong. His stare is distant, almost dissociative. That handsome half-smile that he forces himself to wear when he greets you reveals far more pain than joy.
"I'm home," He says quietly, but his words are broken and empty.
You instantly realize that he's lost someone. He's hurting and riddled with a guilt so intense that you can practically see it loom over him like a shadow.
As Leon kicks off his boots, you sit up on the couch and place the book you were reading to the side.
"Leon," You softly call, beckoning him with open arms. "Come here."
He doesn't say a word. Instead Leon makes his way right towards you, the relieved gratitude in his eyes steals your breath away, wrapping it's fingers around your heart and squeezing.
He leans over you, his hands cupping your face just before he kisses you. When he lets you go, Leon lets out a heavy, trembling sigh and the two of you slowly sink down into the soft couch.
Leon is warm and so very heavy as he lays on top of you, but you hardly care. At this moment, all you want is to comfort him. To be the place where he can go to heal. To find himself again.
Leon's arms circle tighter around your waist when he feels your fingers gently comb through his hair. He whispers your name, so softly and so brokenly as he buries his face against your shoulder.
It's always hard to tell how long the two of you stay like this during these moments. Minutes, hours, days. Time becomes irrelevant in this space. Leon doesn't say anything else, and you don't ask him questions. All you do is rub his back and nuzzle against him, holding him with all the love in your heart as he mourns and weeps against your skin.
Doomed siblings have me on a chokehold in a way no trope can ever achieve. Something so gut wrenchingly beautiful about two kids going through unimaginable trauma and coming out damaged forever. I always eat it up. Maybe they stay together and find solace only in each other, used and kicked out by society! Maybe they end up on opposite sides of the war! Maybe they end up betraying one another! Maybe one of them dies haunting the narrative forever! Maybe one of them destroys the world for the other! So many endless tragic possibilities!
