#let sit until cool while you prep everything else

[littlebirdy0301]

hello & welcome to Your One Unemployed Friend On A Random Weekday of Summer Break. today’s highlights include: cleaning the livingroom coffee table, applying to 1 (one) job, going to the grocery store for just arugula & parsley, almost washing the car, & making a dopeass salad in which I ate an entire cans worth of chickpeas

[undead-merman]

Can I please request some bunny! Satan nsfw with a gn reader?

Thank you for all your works, I love reading them all!

Thanks. Someone else asked for the rest so here.

🐰Yandere Bunny Mammon, Leviathan, and Satan🐰 Mating Season GN - Reader NSFW

(Contains: Breeding Kink)

Mammon

Before Mating Season

Mammon is normally very unprepared for his Rut only ever noticing when it’s a day away or just as it starts. But now that you’re there he’s overprepared, much to his dismay, as his brothers tease him for it. Dozens of different kinds of healthy snacks, mineral waters, even creams for sores. He just wants to impress you even in ways like this.

He gets more moody than normal, getting angrier and more jealous of you. Yelling at anyone who even looks at you all while pulling you closer and shoving his face into you and guiding you away. He’s also extremely touchy, grabbing you playfully, smacking your ass, or even teasing your sex before backing away red faced, realizing what he did.

He’s much more forward asking you on dates and pulling you around or forcing himself into your room to spend time with you. He simply won’t leave you alone and anytime you wander off he whines and complains and practically throws himself at you. He simply monopolizes all of your time.

He steals a lot of your clothes and belongings and hides them in his room. When you need them he presents them to you with a wagging tail more like a dog than a rabbit telling you he got it for you so you don’t have to go far and push it onto you. He likes to keep one of your pillows in his hoard and hump into it while pretending it's you. He's scared to lose himself to his rut and doing something embarrassing or hurt you in some way. He thrusts into the pillow trying to elevate his building sexual frustration but it only gets him more worked up and craving you even more.

During Mating Season

When his Rut is a day or two away he gets far more aggressive with others looking at you then ever before and will drag you away and keep you locked up with him so your attention is only on him. He’ll just hold you, unwilling to let go. He nuzzles into your neck but slowly moves to more intimate spots, too lost in the feeling of you to realize his actions. He’s just begging you to love him and adore him, muttering in your skin with his eyes closed. His ears are shaking and tail is straight up.

His Rut hits him like a truck and he's all over you, placing open mouth kisses all over your body and his hands grip your hips tightly, but you can feel them shaking from his excitement and arousal. All embarrassment flies out the window and he’s trapping you under his body, panting heavily the idea of filling you until you're so fucked out, then driving you insane by continuing.

He takes an extra long time to prepare you, fingering you slowly and reslishing in the moans you make, almost a revenge of sorts for being so wonderful smelling right before his Rut. As he fingers you he’s grinding on any part of your body his hips come in contact with. He cums once or twice on you shivering while looking frustrated from not being satisfied at all and just getting more worked up.

Once he’s inside you, his ears are shaking wildly and he’s grinning from ear to ear as he suddenly pounds you until your legs shake with exhaustion. He’s covering your body in hickies and bite marks, but concentrating them in areas you both know will be noticeable afterwards. Mammon just happily grunts out how everyone will see just how much you belong together.

Even during breaks he likes to stay inside and just have you warm his cock, he desperately craves to stay inside of you. The way he casually talks about you being bred by him is embarrassing but he doesn’t even seem to notice just paying attention to if you need to eat or rest. After he’s right back into fucking you full and raw.

He loves any position he can put you in so long as he’s closely pressed to you he hates when you're too far from him and tugs you back in close to him.

After Mating Season

After his rut is over and his senses go back to normal he’s hiding himself under the sheets horrified and ashamed of all the embarrassing things he said and did; but if you try to stand he’ll suddenly burst from his cocoon, telling you to sit down and he’ll do whatever you need.

He takes some convincing to let you roam free again and when you’re allowed to leave he’s extremely protective of you and doesn’t even let his brothers look at you for too long and starts yelling at them as he pulls you into his arms using his entire body as a shield. He has a nasty kick befitting a rabbit he’s not afraid to use if anyone touches you.

He’s your one and only mate and he’s extremely boastful of it he uses you to brag and is so proud to call you his and the thought of him successfully breeding you makes him glow with excitement he’s constantly pestering you over and over to let him do it again. He swears that doing it with you gives him good luck and you're an amazing lucky charm.

Leviathan

Before Mating Season

Leviathan is absolutely horrified by his Rut and is one of the ones to overly prepare for it at least a month in advance and has a small anime themed backpack to hold all of his essentials in. He packs a ton of water bottles with a fruity flavored vitamin powder. He gets easily dehydrated so packing them is a must unless he wants to pass out.

He tries to keep it a secret as long as possible. His heart wouldn’t be able to handle the embarrassment after exposure, though he really really wants to spend his Rut with you. He keeps imagining it over and over and eventually he gets too worked up and has to mastrubate to his photo collection of you.

He has a hard time looking in your eyes but can’t look away from you. He’ll stare at the back of your head, trying to keep his breathing even, but looking away when you catch him staring. He pretends not to know what you're talking about. But if anyone gets close to you he’ll hunt them down and tear them to pieces in a jealous rage

During Mating Season

When it hits he tries to stay hidden in his room drooling over some clothes he stole and whimpering your name as he sniffs it and pumps it around his painfully hard dick his head filled with nothing but you and how much he wants to see his cum overflowing inside you and dripping down your legs. Eventually he can’t take it anymore and stops hiding, seeking you out and pulling you up on his hips and carrying you home making you wrap your legs around him and him burying his nose into you rubbing his scent into you.

Expect him to apologize over and over for ignoring you and him begging for you to forgive him. He was just embarrassed he’ll apologize by licking and stroking your sex trying to make you feel so good that you forget or forgive him. Then moving your entrance and swirling his tongue around it.

He presses into you, hard, as he grips your hips with surprising strength and makes you see stars as he hits every good spot you have, and even helps you discover some new ones. Every time he cums he asks you not to spill it and he pushes as deep as he could into you.

If you pull his ears you’ll see a switch flip inside of him and he’ll shiver with every thrust pulling into you over and over. His mind just goes blank and he just wants to cum inside you as much as possible. The instinct of breeding you is the only thing on his mind after that.

Once in a while he stops for a short break, hydrating but eating like a bird the whole time he’s snuggling up with you and weakly checking his phone while nuzzling into your collarbone. Bathing with him he sinks low into the bath so only above his nose stick out of the water relaxing for a few minutes before he tries to fuck you in the bath.

After Mating Season

He buries his face in a pillow and apologizes for being so avoidant before he offers you his jacket to keep you warm as he softly rubs your sore and weak legs and wipes a cool damp cloth to clean you up. He’s shockingly not as embarrassed as he thought he would be after he just feels happy.

He’s attentive, bringing you your favorite homemade meal or snacks trying to cutely feed it to you. He claims he doesn’t want to overexert you after everything. But he just wants to take cute pictures of you getting hand fed.

After everything calms down, you find him more confident in him asking you for things especially ear scratches he’s developed an addiction to having your hands on them.

Satan

Before Mating Season

He’s had this written down and planned for a while. He knew when to pinpoint it’s start and prepared for it more and more as it came closer. He knew his emotions would be all over the place so he made sure that you knew and were properly locked inside his room with him. He’d rather avoid the clean up after. If his previous Ruts have taught him anything it’s he knows how messy he can get with dealing with annoyances. So he has you locked up so you both can get ready and stay productive until the day.

He becomes very touchy way more than before, constantly brushing up on you and scenting you before going back to whatever he was last doing. He scents you by holding your face and rubbing his palms over your cheeks and lips as well as shoving his face into the crook of your neck and nuzzling it; however, as the days go by they get more and more lewd with light pinches and/or groping.

He has everything set up like it’s going to be a week-long get away. Drinks stored in cooling containers, quick and nourishing meals prepped and a cute little “toy” to get you ready for the days ahead, though preparation is key and he reminds you of that every time you cum from it.

When he sleeps he ends up nearly chewing on your neck and shoulder and he humps you as you both sleep. He ends up ripping a lot of your clothes and the sheets as he sleeps but he doesn’t seem sorry.

During Mating Season

Satan becomes almost animalistic as he smiles at you and rips your clothes off with his teeth and one hand and suddenly palms your sex as he grinds his hard cock into your ass. He rips his own clothes off and praises your body from the crown of your head to your toes before he hauls you off to his bed.

He’s glad for the forethought of using the toy since he can’t help himself and pulls it out slowly before stuffing you back up with his dick laughing with heavy breathes as he enjoys how warm you are around him.

If you let him, he’ll bind you up, wrists, ankles, and neck, bound with leather belts as he tugs you along, using his thumbs to roughly rub your chest, making you cum over and over again until your nipples are rubbed almost swollen. He loves seeing the marks after, kissing and licking them.

Appeal to his rougher side and ask for more or even rougher treatment and he’ll completely lose his mind for you and treat you as rough as you want. He’s nearly worshiping you as you take each punishment after the last. He’s sure to kiss every mark he makes just to remind you he’s doing this in love.

He instructs you to keep every little drop he cums inside you and if you don’t he’ll be sure to spank your ass red, afterwards for any that drips out, he pushes back in with his thumb.

During breaks he’s overly sweet, kissing every mark as you rest and petting your face over and over. Pet him back and he’ll lean into it with a large blissful smile, you’ve never seen him so relaxed.

After Mating Season

He’s right back to normal after what happened but he’s now tailing you everywhere, watching over you. He makes sure that no one gives you any trouble, ready to crush, smash and rip limb from limb anyone and anything that might potentially hurt you, his brothers are included on that list of things to crush. You're his mate now and he can’t let anything happen to you.

He brings you fresh snacks, packing you lunches, and offering to take care of anything he can for you. He wants to keep you happy and in good spirits and seeing you content and taken care of makes his heart beat wildly.

He scents you even more, nuzzling you wherever he can get to and covering you with his smell. When you're alone he rests his chin on your head and just embraces you, he wasn’t a huge fan of showing affection before but when you're out of public view he’s all over you.

For at least a week he’s in a wonderful mood after spending his Rut with you, his smile dazzling and he openly admits that he’d now rather just have you in his room. You get to have a choice to stay in his room free to roam around it or you stay by Satan's side at all times. You get to pick your collar at least.

[s-brant]

Angels Roll Their Eyes (2/2)

(gif: @toesure) (PART ONE)

Summary: Hurricane Agatha approaches Kildare Island during the aftermath of the eventful Fourth of July party. JJ and Y/N are determined to continue avoiding each other after what happened at the party, but John B has other plans for them.

Warnings: Smut, strong language, angst, implied physical abuse, depictions of anxiety/panic attacks, and sickeningly sweet fluff.

Word Count: 24k

A/N: Here we goooo! To celebrate the trailer dropping today, here’s part two to Devils Roll The Dice. If you haven’t read the first part, I suggest you read it and come back so this makes sense. This one has all the drama and spice, so buckle up! Thank you for the love and support on the first part. Let me know if you enjoyed this and have fun, cause I had a blast writing it.

Hurricane Agatha.

It was the first thing she heard about as soon as she woke up yesterday to the sound of her phone blaring with an obnoxious tone that reminds her of waking up too early in the morning for work or school.

Her sleepy eyes couldn't make out who was calling, so she pressed the button to answer and lifted the phone to hear her mom's voice squawking through the speaker at her about the hurricane projected to hit the island in the middle of the night tonight.

The problem is, her parents are out of town this week, leaving her all alone to prep the house and endure the storm alone. And for someone who flinches whenever she thinks she hears the sound of thunder in the sky, that is the worst it can get.

It's a fear her friends are conscious of. One time when they were out on the HMS Pogue, a quick summer storm started to drift overhead and it took all of her self control to not fall into a blind panic when thunder began to rumble above. John B was already steering them back in the direction of the Chateau but she knew it would do nothing to calm her nerves until she was back inside of the house.

The anxiety was starting to become too overwhelming when JJ sat down beside her and threw his arm over her shoulder. It was their first month of knowing one another, so the casual friendly gesture made her jump at first and turn her head to look at him, but he acted like everything was normal.

The next person to notice was John B. With JJ currently out of commission, the only person she thought to call to help her prep the house for the incoming storm was him. Since they never got hurricanes up where she used to live her whole life, she needed someone who's been through a couple to help her while her parents weren't home.

That's how she ended up here. Sweating bullets in the front yard of her house as she unloads the contents of the van with John B was not how she envisioned her Saturday night to go, but she's glad she has someone who's willing to help.

In the past five months of being with the Pogues, she's learned that it's lovely to have friends. She never used to have any before she moved, so in situations like this or when she got so drunk at the party, she never would've had anyone to be there for her. It's quiet moments of kindness and companionship like this that make her realize how much better life has been on the other side of uprooting everything to move here—self-inflicted boy drama and all.

The sandbag on her shoulder sends a growing ache through her back muscles with every step she takes to follow him up the length of unpaved dirt path up to her front door. As usual, he makes it look way easier than it is, and it almost makes her want to laugh at how different they are.

Most of her new friends are effortless, naturally picking up anything they decide to try at while she is inept by comparison. It's part of what attracted her to JJ in the first place. He may have his insecurities the same way every other individual does, but in her eyes, he has nothing to be insecure of. Even when he wipes out on a wave and appears out of the water with sand clumped in his salt-kissed strands of blonde hair, he manages to make it look cool.

"What are you smiling about?"

John B's laughter makes her look up from where she concentrated on the dirt path to see him looking back at her. He stands at the entrance to her house with the rest of the sandbags they carried up placed meticulously in front of the door to prevent water from entering the house. They did the same thing with the back door an hour ago.

Is she smiling? She hadn't even realized her expression changed from one of exhaustion and fear at the dark clouds closing in above to a grin, so her face instantly drops in guilt. After running out on JJ for the second time two days ago to go to work, any mention of him from their friends has left her drowning in shame.

She can't recall the bulk of her memories from the night of the Fourth of July party, but she fills in the gaps between those flashes of memory with what their friends told her about it.

Thanks to her overindulgence, there are holes poked in the fabric of her memory.

It jumps from her last fully sober moment of seeing JJ across the room with the kook girl to dancing clumsily with Kie to the floral scent of her makeup wipes that she can't attach a specific visual image to.

Then, she can remember waking up with a start in the middle of the night to throw up in a pot beside the bed while he held back her hair. Before John B explained it, she was quite confused after waking up about how she somehow got from being jealous over JJ flirting with another girl to waking up in the same bed as him.

She grunts as she plops the last sandbag down into place and decides to take a seat on the steps leading up to the door.

"It wasn't anything special," Y/N says and watches him come down to sit next to her, "I was just thinking about taking something so I can pass out and avoid having a panic attack over this stupid storm."

Unlike JJ, she isn't that skilled of a liar. It's obvious to anyone who knows her well when she does it based on the way her eye contact begins to drift away and her voice raises in pitch when she speaks. She's too honest with her friends to handle keeping secrets from them, which is why it's been so difficult for her with everything that has happened recently. Not only does she lie to the Pogues, she also avoids them by association in the process of trying to avoid JJ.

Regardless of how obvious her bluffing is, John B doesn't call her out on it. Instead, he focuses on a different part of what she said.

"Are you sure you're gonna be okay alone? I know your parents are out of town till next week..." he trails off into concerned silence.

The tip of her sneaker hangs off of the edge of the bottom step and absentmindedly digs a line into the dirt as she takes in his question.

Being alone when she's prone to panicking is a recipe for disaster. Anxiety and loneliness have a relationship similar to that of a weapon and ammunition. It takes very little for her to fall down the rabbit hole of obsessive thinking and break down into a hyperventilating, fearful mess, especially when no one else is there to tug her out of those dark thoughts.

Most of the time, the people who help her with that are her parents. If they're home during one of these episodes, she'll come stumbling downstairs to them from her room for help, and they'll do everything they can to bring her down from hysterics. Her friends, on the other hand, have yet to witness her have one of those moments.

"Having people with me helps, you know? But it is what it is, I'll just try to cope the best I can and hope for the best."

He nods, and though he's a portrait of understanding, she wonders if he finds it as juvenile and stupid as she does.

Logically, she knows that this anxiety is something many people experience. She understands that it's something that is mostly out of her control but can't help but tear herself apart over it.

She thinks to herself, What kind of weirdo can't sit inside during a thunderstorm or hurricane without losing their shit? Why am I not the one in control of my own mind when this happens?

Do her friends think similar things? Do they think it's as pathetic as she does, or is she just paranoid that they pick her flaws apart as much as she does? And, of course, she wonders what JJ would think if he saw her panic like that. He may have seen her start to become anxious on the HMS Pogue, but he hasn't seen her panic panic before, not in the way that her parents have, and she wonders if he'd think less of her for it.

Right when she's about to change the topic and steer him away from a chance to think of how ridiculous she's being about the approaching hurricane, he says something that makes her look back over at him.

"Then come spend the night at the Chateau. I can distract you. We can play board games and shit."

"Really?" she asks.

The idea of anyone wanting to waste an entire night playing board games and possibly signing themselves up for having to talk her down from a panic attack makes her heart melt.

"Yeah, why not? You need a friend tonight. You know any of us would do anything for you. You're like my little sister, dude, we'd all probably hack off a limb if we thought it'd help you. Especially JJ."

John B's last second name-drop is designed specifically for where he wants this conversation to go. Underneath the need to get his friends back to normal, he does feel a little guilty for having to do this. She thinks he's only offering to let her stay with him to help her—and he is, even if there weren't a rift between her and JJ, he'd still offer—but he has a different reason.

"Right," she says softly. "Speaking of which...is he gonna be there tonight?"

With how often he escapes his house to spend a night or two in temporary safety at the Chateau, it's not an unfounded assumption. He and John B spend more time together than any of them because of this, and when she goes over to hang out, she knows that he and JJ often come as a package deal.

He tries to play it cool and not give up anything that could make her suspicious of him, looking off at the van parked in the driveway as he takes a second to collect his thoughts. It's never easy for him to deceive people he cares about, even if it's for their own good. It wasn't easy when he invited JJ to spend the night a few hours ago with the knowledge that he'd soon invite Y/N too either, but he managed.

As always, Pope is the brains behind this operation. He was the one to suggest inviting them both over to wait out Agatha together when the three of them put their heads together to come up with a solution to their oblivious friends' drama. After JJ stormed out of the house the morning after the party, they knew they had to do something about it. This was what it came to.

"Nah. I offered but he said he's staying at home until this whole thing blows over."

He isn't sure why she buys into it.

She knows JJ well enough to know that he would literally rather eat glass than be trapped in a confined space with his dad for an entire day. Perhaps it's only because it's what she wants to believe. She wants to believe that she won't have to see him again tonight after everything that happened. How can she handle having to tell him why got so drunk that night and made an ass of herself? She can't bear to tell him all of that unnecessary drama started because she was jealous.

What right does she have to feel that way? He isn't hers. They aren't together, and she thinks it's quite obvious that he doesn't want a relationship out of whatever it is they have together. It was one night. She has no right to be mad at him for flirting with other girls because of it.

"Then I'll definitely be taking you up on that offer. Thank you," she says.

The old wooden stairs make a squealing sound when she stands to make her way inside to gather her things for the night, but the feeling of a warm hand gripping her forearm stops her mid-step. Her eyes follow down the length of her arm back to where he sits, glancing at her with this knowing look in his eyes that makes her want to turn and hide.

"When are you gonna talk things out with him, Y/N?" he asks. "He misses you."

Since the party, no one has had the courage to burst her bubble of pretending not to care until now, but now that someone has, all of her bottled up emotions stir inside of her at a simple concept she hadn't considered yet.

JJ misses her.

For the first time since they began this stupid game of cat and mouse, she is confronted with how desperately she misses him back. So consumed with the task of concealing everything that happened and trying to avoid him, she hadn't acknowledged that all she ever really wants is to be with him lately.

She misses his jokes and the way he looks at her when she giggles at them. She misses his smile when they play fight on the HMS Pogue. She even misses when he dangles her over the edge of the boat as a means to end the wrestling match, making her squirm in his strong hold as he threatens to toss her overboard.

But what she misses most of all is how he never lets her fall in. It's something about the way he looks at her as he pulls her back onboard, how time itself seems to stop in the moment between when he's still holding her and when she feels her feet touch the deck again.

Then, they'll suddenly want nothing to do with each other for the next half hour.

JJ will make himself busy forgetting the way her hands felt holding onto his shoulders for dear life, burning the memory of her palm prints into his skin for the next few hours. And she'll try her hardest to forget that charming smile and the feeling of his arms around her. But it won't work, not really, and when they're both laying down to sleep at night, they'll have one thing keeping them awake.

She takes a second to internalize what he said and avoid exposing the effect it has on her to hear it before asking, "Did he tell you that?"

The sky overhead grows darker and darker by the second, but she has yet to notice it due to the topic of their conversation. With JJ involved, her attention shrinks to a tunnel leading only to him. There's no room for anything else but the audacious idea planted in the back of her mind that he might miss her as much as she misses him.

"No, he didn't," John B admits, and right when she's about to say more in response, he cuts her off, "but hear me out. I've known him since we were kids, so I can tell when things aren't right with him, and ever since your relationship with him got complicated, I picked up on some weird vibes."

Y/N doesn't give anything away with how she reacts. He can't tell if she's about to bolt like JJ did or stay to talk and open up to him. All she does is cross her arms over her chest and lean back against the railing.

"Weird in what way?"

"Weird in a way that makes me think you two have to talk it out before you ruin your friendship. I've never seen him act this way over a girl."

That doesn't surprise her. He has a reputation for chasing after any girl available to him, something the Pogues have gently teased him about, and it factors into why she doesn't want to have this dreaded conversation with him. She doesn't want to sit there and listen to him tell her that she was just another one of those girls to him.

Going for broke and being honest about what he thinks of their situation is a better strategy for trying to get her to talk to JJ than the other way around. John B can look back on what happened the morning after the party and see where they went wrong in their approach of trying to get him to talk, but she's less unpredictable and turbulent than he is. The fact that she's hearing him out is enough proof of their differences.

She sighs.

"I know we need to talk sooner or later, but it's hard, you know? I'm so embarrassed of how everything went down at the party, even though I was too fucked up to remember most of it, and I just—" There's a brief second that lapses between when she stops and when she starts again where he can almost see her working through it in her head. "I don't wanna get hurt."

John B's face falls at the mention of the party and her feelings surrounding it.

"You have nothing to be embarrassed of. You drank too much but who cares? The only person who should be embarrassed about that night is the guy that tried to take advantage of you."

That part is the most fuzzy in her mind.

She can remember what led up to it and the moment she saw JJ pull him away from her, but she can't remember anything about the interaction itself. It wasn't as if he did anything to her—not yet—but the thought of it alone makes her skin crawl because she's seen that before. She's been the JJ in that situation, pulling a wasted Touron away from someone who thought nobody would be looking out for other people at the party, and she knows how quickly those situations can escalate past "harmless" flirting.

The sound of JJ shouting at Tyler echoes in her mind as she reaches for any remaining memories left from the party. He said it right after he punched him, when he was starting to rush forward to follow him onto the ground and pin him there.

"If I see you near my girl again, you're fucking dead! You got that?"

She doesn't remember realizing that he called her that at the moment. She was confused and upset and all she wanted to do was stop him from getting himself in trouble, so she pulled him away from hitting Tyler again without realizing what he said. And even now, she tries to avoid acknowledging it. She reasons with herself, telling herself that he was pissed off and didn't mean it, because if he did, why hasn't he told her how he feels yet?

Y/N looks up and sees how dark the converging clouds have gotten in the time since they began working on prepping the house for the hurricane, so her next words are shakier than usual.

"I guess you're right." She pushes off of her spot against the railing. "But can we not talk about JJ tonight? I kind of wanna hang out and forget about the rest of the stuff I've got going on right now."

This makes him feel a pang of guilt inside of him for the ulterior motive he's kept hidden from her for the duration of the conversation, but he knows it's for the best. Even if her and JJ's inevitable conversation goes in the wrong direction and they don't end up mending fences, it's better that they let it out sooner than later. If they wait any longer, it'll make it worse, and he knows that they're stubborn enough to keep this childish game going for another week or so.

So, he keeps her in the dark for now and offers a kind, "Sure, that's cool with me," despite knowing how messy the night will soon become.

A smile pokes at the edges of her mouth, making the sides of her eyes crinkle, and she extends a hand to help him up from where he sits.

"Now," she says as they make their way inside the house for her to pack a bag, "are you ready to get absolutely crushed in Monopoly?"

It started to rain before they left her house, and by the time they pull into the driveway of the Chateau, it's pouring down on them with violent winds whipping droplets at their faces hard enough to hurt.

The rapid pace of her pulse beats with such an intensity, she can feel it in her head. They shouldn't have taken so much time at her place before heading over here. While she was packing, they talked and dilly-dallied the whole time, and now they pay the price for it.

If she knew that it would start this soon into the night, she probably would've hurried things along sooner, but it's too late. She's already starting to feel that tightness in her chest and each breath of air feels less satisfying with every inhale. It's not so bad that she loses complete control of herself, but it's getting there, and she can't express how badly she doesn't want to lose her shit in front of John B.

The passenger side door is slammed shut by the force of the wind behind her, the noise becoming swallowed up in the rest of the budding storm, and she stifles a sound of surprise that escapes her in reaction to it. They're lucky they made it here in the first place. Any later in the night and they probably would've had to take refuge at her place until it blew over.

She decides to focus on how the edges of her white sneakers are swallowed up by the muddy earth on her way through the front yard to distract herself. It stains them a deep brown color and simultaneously washes them clean from the rain coming down from above, which she'd probably be annoyed about if she weren't such a nervous wreck. But, because she's too busy keeping her backpack raised over her head to shield herself from the rain on her way up to the front door, it's not high up on her list of priorities.

Since both the screen door and the door behind it are unlocked, she doesn't hesitate to come bursting into the house as she usually does.

Y/N lets out a deep breath, feeling that telltale tension in her chest and shoulders, and laughs at the sight of John B running in as she kicks off her shoes. His t-shirt is speckled with rainwater, and his hair is saturated enough with it to stick to the sides of his face after he crosses the threshold into the Chateau.

The sound of her laughter makes JJ's heart stop from where he stands in the kitchen.

"There was an umbrella right on the dashboard, why didn't you take—"

Her heart might as well have stopped just as abruptly as the sentence she was in the middle of saying when she turned and saw him standing there.

Maybe they're both a tad too dramatic, but it takes a full few seconds for them to stop staring at each other in surprise. He looks like a deer in the headlights, eyes wide with surprise like he was caught doing something he shouldn't even though all he was doing was grabbing a beer from the fridge.

It's been two days since they last saw each other. For him, the last glimpse he got of her was when he peeked through the blinds to see her pedaling away on her bike to go to work, but hers was somewhat different.

The last time she saw him, he was asleep. Their legs were tangled together underneath the sheets and his face was smushed against her chest, allowing her to feel the soft puffs of his exhales on her skin every few seconds. It's a wonder that she managed to slip away unnoticed once she remembered she had work that morning. He was holding her closely, so closely that she found it hard to discern where she ended and he began in the dazed, hungover headspace she woke up in.

It's when the conversation she had with John B on the front steps of her house comes back to the forefront of her mind that she puts together what's happening right now. Now that they're here, it's far too late to leave. With how aggressively the wind and rain batter the area surrounding the house, it's obvious that they're not going anywhere.

It seems to click with them at the same time, because JJ turns to look at him only a half second after she does.

Y/N says, completely serious, "If you did what I think you did, I'm gonna kill you."

Before either of them can think of doing anything, John B shoots out from the doorway and runs past her in the direction of the hallway where his bedroom is.

"Gotta catch me first!"

They both chase him, JJ hopping over the back of the couch to run after him, but they end up coming to a screeching halt at the shut door right when they hear the lock turn and click.

Neither of them knows what they were planning to do when they caught him, cause it isn't like they'd hurt him, but they bang on the door nonetheless. The sound is drowned out by the sound of the wind and rain pounding the outside walls of the house, picking up speed, and for a second she wants to kick the door open.

She shouts, "John B! Open this door!"

The last thing she wanted tonight was to be trapped in a house with the one person she didn't want to see. Doesn't John B realize how embarrassing it is for her to be around him when she knows that he's gonna reject her? He may have said something about JJ never acting so weird over a girl before, but he's wrong. There's no way JJ actually wants her...right?

"I can't hear you, this storm's kinda loud!" he yells back at them through the locked door. "Maybe try again later!"

Neither of them wants to acknowledge the other. In fact, they don't even want to look at each other right now, so all they can do to stop themselves from acknowledging the elephant in the room is continue trying to get answers out of John B. What does he think that locking them together in the Chateau for the night will accomplish other than make them ignore their own drama and team up to plot their revenge on him?

Though he's significantly less angry than she is, JJ pulls the doorknob enough to make the door whine on its hinges and pleads with their friend, "This isn't funny, John B. Open the door."

"Not until you guys stop being immature and talk to each other."

She furrows her brows at him even though he can't see her, saying, "It's none of your business. You can't just trap us here cause you think you know what's best for us."

The sound of thunder rumbling above the house makes her flinch, hand shooting out to latch onto JJ's arm on an instinct she couldn't consciously resist. Feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her palm and the fingers clutched around his wrist sends shocks of familiar electricity up her body. Touching him always makes her feel hyperaware of herself, leaving her to wonder if he can sense her pulse picking up or notice how her breathing pattern turns uneven.

With that being said, it's safe to say that the night they spent together took that sensation of electricity and hyperawareness to a height it hadn't reached before.

That time, it wasn't a brush of their hands or an arm over her shoulder, it was the epitome of physical closeness. She couldn't handle it. He was so sickeningly sweet with her, yet, at the same time, he knew all of the right times to be commanding and in control too. There were awkward moments at first, sure, but once they became comfortable with each other, it was game over.

And whenever they've touched since, she hasn't been able to get those memories off of her mind. It's less prevalent now, since she's only holding onto him out of fear, but it's still there underneath it all—the unfiltered desperation of the lust in his eyes, the low noises that escaped his parted lips, and the strong pair of hands that pinned her hips down on the mattress to give him the leverage to really give it to her at the intensity she begged for.

It's pathetically easy for her to be sucked right back into the vortex of emotions, memories, and fears that haunt her whenever they touch, but he brings her back out of it just as easily when he speaks.

"You okay?"

John B was as good as forgotten by him as soon as he felt her jolt next to him and grab onto his wrist like she was hanging from a ravine and he was the only thing preventing her from falling. It makes him feel like a fool, but even when they're ignoring each other, the urge to comfort and protect her from anything that displeases her never disappears. He'd literally fistfight Zeus if it meant there'd be less thunder to scare her.

If he weren't hiding behind a locked door to avoid their wrath, JB would probably be calling him a simp right about now.

The concern on his face is so pure and unaffected by any of the chaos that surrounds them, both physical and emotional, that it makes her stomach turn with a sick feeling. God, he really does care about her. Why does that scare her? Why doesn't she want to believe that he cares? Why is she so set on believing that he wanted nothing more than a quick fuck from her?

Her eyes turn down to see their connected hands, realizing all in one moment what she did and pulling her hand away as if she were burned.

"I—Yeah," she stops, looking up at him, then back to the closed bedroom door, "I'm fine. You know how it is, it's just the storm."

They're both left with no choice but to face the music after days of avoidance that had no good reason behind it other than the respective doubts and fears they have. Yet even now that they're standing here, unsure of what comes next, they're hesitant to say or do anything that might disrupt the illusion they've created in the week and a half since they first ruined their friendship for good.

It feels as though the tension that has been boiling between them is coming close to turning explosive and all it will take is one tremor of their self-control for it to spill over.

Every feeling they have feels so contradictory. They want to but they also don't. They almost do it, then hesitate and decide to ignore each other for days. At the party, this tug of war game was at its peak for JJ when she was telling him about her jealousy and cuddling up to him, but he couldn't do it then, not when she was drunk. And by the time he had a whole night to think it over and see her biking away, he didn't want to risk it.

She looks away from him, hoping that "out of sight, out of mind" may ring true for once, and says to John B through the door, "Whatever, have fun. I won't hold JJ back when you finally come out of there though."

He won't actually do anything to him, maybe just a non-serious fight that'll end with her walking in on them rolling around on the floor trying to wrestle each other, but she likes to fuck with him anyway. For the dick move he just pulled, she thinks he can withstand a little teasing.

Without anything else to say, Y/N turns and walks off to make herself useful elsewhere—anything to distract from the buzzing, anxious energy that surrounds her from both the hurricane and being forced to confront JJ. She tries to play it cool though she is anything but at the moment, allowing herself to grimace once her back is turned to the blonde boy still standing against the wall in the hallway.

Maybe if she keeps pushing this false sense of normalcy, it'll work. It worked when they both started pretending things never happened between them initially after they had sex, so who's to say it can't work now?

All they have to do is get through the next 12-24 hours without talking and all will be well. Right?

They tried.

They truly tried to get through the night without inciting chaos within the Chateau, but, for these two idiots, not inciting chaos is a task easier said than done. Not only was John B much more stubborn with staying in his room than either of them bargained for, he didn't even attempt to speak to them for the first five hours and they were left with nothing to do but find new ways to avoid talking to each other.

It was simple in the beginning.

She went off on her own and sat with her headphones in to drown out the sounds of the storm.

With her eyes fluttered shut to block out anything but the sound of The Cure blasting into her ears, there was no reason for her to have to worry about anything once her nerves began to settle. Since the songs drowned out any sound and all she could see was darkness behind her closed eyelids, she was able to drift away with the distraction of the music.

The thing is, after a while, she started to see pieces of him in every song she skipped to. She made it a full minute into Just Like Heaven before a supercut of her most treasured memories of him began appearing in her head. Fade Into You? Skipped as soon as the first dreamy lyric flooded in through the tangled cords of the headphones. Cloud 9? Forty seconds in. By the time Dirty Little Secret came on, she decided that her playlist was mocking her.

The headphones were out of her ears, hastily wrapped up, and stowed away in the small pocket of her overnight bag before the chorus of the song could hit. Thankfully for her, JJ wasn't looking when she ripped the headphones out and put them away in a huff, so by the time he turned to see her again, she was laying down on the couch to "nap"—meaning she laid awake for another hour and cursed John B for making her endure this.

While she was daydreaming of a John B voodoo doll, JJ was worried about her.

Yes, the topic of their relationship/friendship/situationship/whatever-the-fuck-it-is was bombarding him against his will every five seconds, but not without him coming back to his concern for her. A small sound of thunder on an otherwise perfect day was enough to make her zone out and start getting antsy that day on the boat, so he didn't want to know how bad it could get during a time like this.

He tried to play it cool, and, in all honesty, his remaining scraps of sanity lasted a lot longer than hers. Four and a half hours passed, then, as the storm began to do its worst on their town, the power flickered out and left them in complete darkness. At that point, John B was passed out in his bedroom, so he didn't care nor notice when they had to find a few candles and stumble through the dark.

Somewhere along the way, having to search through the dark house for candles to light and place around the living room led them here...he isn't quite sure how.

JJ can hardly open his eyes enough to see through the rain that pounds against him the second he runs after her through the back door. The wind is so aggressive and unrelenting, it almost sends him stumbling a few steps when he follows her blurry figure a few paces behind where she tries to flee the house in a panic.

"Get back inside!" he shouts as he picks up his speed to catch up, "Y/N!"

The part of him that isn't focused on the pure physicality of trying to see and move through the stormy weather is utterly overwhelmed with fear. Not for himself but for her. She's deathly afraid of mild storms, let alone hurricanes, and yet she ran through the back door when he tried comforting her through an anxiety attack. One would think that she wouldn't want to go directly into the thing she fears the most, but what sent her running for the hills wasn't the panic itself, it was him.

It's hard for her to think rationally in this state, but all she knows is that he was there, he was saying all the right things and holding her, and she couldn't do it. The fear began to blend to one centered around both him and the storm. The hours of useless distractions and ruminating in her thoughts built up to this point of contention, then it snapped.

Between the thunder, his voice, and the voice in the back of her head that was urging her to confess her feelings and do as John B advised them to, it became too much. Maybe it was the most idiotic split-second decision she made without any regard for logic or reason or her safety, but she bailed. For the third time, she couldn't handle the pressure and ran from him.

The only difference is that he couldn't let her leave this time.

He gasps for air against the streams of water flowing down his face, soaking his hair and making it hang in his eyes to obstruct his view more than the weather already has. It happened so fast, neither of them are wearing shoes. His feet sink into the muddy yard with every stride he takes in his frantic pursuit of her and it frustrates him no end because of how it slows him down.

There's endless dangerous possibilities with her being out here. She could be knocked over into the marsh by the wind, or stuck and hurt by a piece of debris—merely thinking about it makes him call out her name louder in the hopes that it'll wake her from her panicked trance.

After trudging through the mud all the way to the edge of the yard, he finally manages to get to her.

"What are you doing?" JJ shouts, turning her around and grabbing onto both of her arms as if one gust of wind would sweep her away if he didn't, "You're gonna get hurt!"

Stumbling backwards in the direction of the screened-in porch that surrounds the back door, he uses their difference in strength to tug her away in the direction she came out in. The rain makes it difficult to keep a firm grasp on her, and she almost slips away a couple of times when the wind picks up enough to make him too unsteady to hold on.

His arms slip around her waist for a better grasp on her the closer they come to reaching the house. The last thing he wants is to almost get her back inside and lose her at the last second. She isn't thinking rationally right now with the panic she feels taking full control of her responses. He knows firsthand how it feels to be thrown headfirst into a panic attack, he's been in her shoes before and knows better than anyone the lengths your irrational mind will go to if it means survival. And for whatever reason, her response is flight, not fight.

The door to the screen porch takes all of his effort to open against the power of the wind blowing it back against the house.

He grits his teeth as he forces it open, one arm secured around her midsection, and helps her in before he slips inside too. The second he lets go of the door, it's sent slamming back into place and rattling in the frame behind them, but he doesn't spend anymore time on it other than the few seconds it takes to lock it. As soon as it clicks with him that they're safe—most importantly, that she's safe—he whips around to face her with a cold rage flowing through his veins.

"What the fuck?"

She stands in front of him with water pouring off of her in rapid drops onto the rug, and there are no thoughts in her head outside of the ones telling her to leave. Her tears blend in with the droplets of rain so seamlessly that he wouldn't know she's crying if not for the sound of it.

In between her rapid breaths and sobs, she yells back at him, "I was scared, okay?"

"Why'd you run out into the storm if you—"

"I wasn't afraid of the storm, I was afraid of you!"

The silence that follows is louder than anything they've experienced. Nothing can rival it, not the thunder, the rain, or anything can drown it out while he stares at her in shock. His eyes are wide, lips slightly parted as he reaches for something, anything, he can say in response to that, but there's nothing. For once, he is absolutely speechless.

Things got awkward between them in the initial aftermath of last week, but not like this. There was never an instance where he felt like there was nothing left for him to say to her to fill the uncomfortable silence that always brought forth memories of them together until now. Until she said the last thing he wanted or expected to hear.

His anger subsides as he picks over what he did in his head for anything that could've made her feel unsafe.

Before it evolved into him chasing after her through the hurricane, he noticed how terrible it had gotten for her when he lit the first candle. Her cheeks were streaked with tears and her chest began to rise and fall faster with each second that passed. He could see it on her face that things were getting worse, but, now that he thinks of it, it got worse once he reached out to put his hand on her shoulder.

It felt like a dream sequence in his head, so hazy and faraway now that it's over, and he was so stunned by what she was doing, he didn't run after her until a few seconds later. There was a delay in which he stood there in surprise and tried to process what the hell just happened to no avail. Though it wasn't very long, he remembers it feeling like eternity tucked into the cramped space of four seconds.

JJ's voice is softer than she's ever heard it, asking into the void of the near-darkness that encloses them, "What'd I do?" And it breaks her heart in half to hear him sound so concerned, so terrified of the idea that he did something to hurt her when all he did was try to help. "I never meant to scare you, I swear. I know how bad it can get sometimes, and I know we haven't been talking but I'd never try to hurt you if that's what you thought..."

His thoughts run rampant with the possibilities of what she was thinking at the time, and he realizes that he can't stand the idea of her thinking anything badly of him. He never cares about what people think, but, fuck, he loathes the idea of her having any ill feelings toward him.

Y/N immediately starts shaking her head, her face scrunching with the emotion and incessant tears.

"I know you'd never hurt me. I was scared because..." she stops herself mid sentence, catching it right when she was about to admit the one thing she promised herself she wouldn't.

But the need to say it doesn't go away this time. Usually, once she catches herself she comes to her senses and realizes how foolish it would've been to confess, but this time is different. This time, the urge to speak her mind and tell him everything sticks around. The words left unsaid creep up her throat, thrashing and begging to let out after months of being pushed aside.

The look in her eyes is strangely reminiscent of the way she looked at him the night they hooked up, almost yearning in its nature, and he couldn't be more confused. She's scared of him, but she's looking at him like she did when she was two seconds away from jumping his bones. And if he didn't do anything wrong, why was she afraid enough to face her worst fear in order to avoid him?

"Because what?" he asks.

That frustration from when they first stepped into the porch hasn't vanished, it only took a backseat once she said she was afraid of him, not the storm, and he can feel it stirring up again. He's tired of not having answers. He's tired of mixed signals and loneliness and unrequited love. Most of all, he's tired of her running away all the time. At this point, he questions whether or not it's worth it to expose his feelings to her and suffer the consequences.

John B was right. This isn't healthy for them, nor is it healthy for them to put their friends through this along with them, and it might be better to not be friends than to stay this way forever. At least that way they wouldn't be wishing for answers that would never come for the rest of their time together.

She decides at this moment that this has to be said before it gets worse, before she runs away again like a scared, immature child and ruins everything.

"Because," she has to shout over the lightning that cracks down on the earth down the street, something she would be trembling in fear over if she weren't so focused on him, "I've been in love with you for a couple months and it scares me more than anything, even this stupid fucking storm! And I've tried so hard to ignore it because I know you don't feel the same way, but you touched me and I just"—a soft cry escapes her—"I couldn't do it anymore."

There it is.

After months of ruminating over it and hiding everything, he knows, and her immediate feeling after she says it isn't what she thought it would be. She expected trepidation and regret, but what she finds on the other side isn't either of those, it's relief. Her dad often tells her when she's nervous about something that the anticipation is worse than the thing itself, and that has never been as true her as it is now.

However, some of the nerves return with the time that passes after she spoke in complete silence. Much like the delayed reaction he had to her running out of the house, it isn't as long as it feels to her. It's a short span of time that it takes for her words to process with him, but it feels like an eternity that he stands there with his head facing the floor in quiet contemplation.

Her heart sinks.

This means he doesn't feel the same way, doesn't it? If he were the one telling her he loved her, she likely would've leaped into his arms and said it back, but he stays where he is.

Then, after what feels like forever, she thinks she sees him start to smile and feels like she's losing her mind. It's quite dark out here, so there's only a limited amount of light to allow her to see his features, but there's no doubting it when a flash of lightning floods the porch with a split-second of harsh light.

Oh God, why is he smiling? What does it mean?

Much to her frustration, the first thing he says after her confession isn't much help in making her understand his feelings either.

"Why didn't you just talk to me?"

Why? The voice in the back of her mind asks incredulously. Is he seriously asking why? He ignored me too. He didn't want to talk about it either, so what else was I supposed to do?

Maybe she was undeniably worse when it came to the avoidance and lack of communication, but he could've reached out to her too. They both could've. Instead, they spent day after day waiting for the other to make the move and pushed the tension further and further until it finally broke. Now she's waiting for him to hurry up and reject her so she can move on with her life.

She shivers from the wind blowing at her wet skin through the screens separating them from the outside world, crossing her arms over her body to hug herself. His eyes follow her movements down to the breaths that are slowly evening out without her realizing it. It turns out that confessing your love for the guy you've been crushing on since the day you met him is a hell of a distraction.

"I thought you wouldn't wanna hear me being all emotional and shit over a one time thing. You've literally never had an actual relationship before. And that's fine," she rambles, "I'll be okay eventually, but that's not who you are and there isn't a problem with that. I just caught feelings when I shouldn't have."

In her defense, she isn't making baseless assumptions about him, he hasn't had a relationship before. His love life hasn't ever really revolved around love itself, it was mostly comprised of random chicks he'd meet at parties or at the beach during the summertime when tourists come to visit the island. Out of all of them, he's the last one the Pogues would expect to fall in love with someone and commit to a relationship, but then...

He looks over at her with a swell of emotion within him that he's never felt before. It wasn't like he hadn't known before now. He did. He even said it out loud to himself that morning after the party, but this is when it feels the most real. Now that she's said it to him, he doesn't feel so stupid for toying with the four letter word in the back of his mind for the entirety of the past week.

In all honesty, he was the last person he would've expected to fall in love with someone this quickly too. He thought he knew himself better than this. He thought he could keep himself hidden away and not let anyone close enough to see him—the real him, faults and feelings and vulnerability included—but she proved him wrong. In walked Y/N with her pretty smile, teeny bikini bottoms, and oddly strong opinions on Ratatouille, and he stood no chance.

This sudden crescendo of emotion only continues to grow when he watches her shiver, soaked to the skin, across from him and decides that he never wants to deny himself of her again. Those feelings of inadequacy that forced him to question his relationship with her may not have gone away, not by a long shot, but they can't stop him anymore. Nothing can.

Like a light flickering to life in this swirling, stormy darkness, she hears JJ's voice asking her, "What if it is who I am?"

It was said so softly, she nearly lost it beneath the rain and wind. But it was not said with a lack of certainty, which is why she questions if she heard him correctly. He sounded so sure of himself that it feels too good to be true. After his reaction, or lack thereof, to her telling him she loved him, she accepted what was coming and this was not it.

"What?"

He doesn't miss a beat.

"You heard me." There's a pause. "Maybe I needed to meet the right girl."

There is no way he's saying what she thinks he's saying because if he is...if he is then that means the tears and frustration have all been for nothing because he loves her back. But if he loves her, then what was with the kook girl? Was it to make her jealous, or is she misinterpreting him right now and he was flirting with that girl because he doesn't have real feelings for her?

"JJ..." she trails off, looking down and thinking to herself how thankful she is that it's too dark for him to fully see how nervous he made her, "don't do that."

Partly, he should feel offended that she'd think he'd toy with her feelings like that, but he isn't. He's too busy wondering what on earth made this poor girl so insecure to think that someone has to be joking to confess their love to her. It makes him wonder if anyone wronged her before she moved here, and he feels that switch of impulsive anger inside of him flip at the thought.

But that anger has nowhere to go, so it shifts into something different—a need to spend every waking moment of the rest of their time together proving to her that she doesn't have to be so afraid. Does it make him a hypocrite? Probably. It wasn't too long ago that he was telling the Pogues how much he didn't deserve to be with her, but he doesn't see himself the same way he sees her. In his head, he has reasons to believe he doesn't deserve her love, but how could she ever think that herself?

He steps closer to her, the movement something so natural and unconscious to him that he doesn't recognize he does it until he hears her breath hitch in the back of her throat. They were already close enough to reach out and touch each other if they wanted to, yet now it's the kind of closeness that wipes the slate of her mind clean with nothing else but the thought of him there to stay.

He starts to say, "I'm not fucking with you, dude, I'm being serious—"

"Then prove it."

Oh.

The sound of his unfinished sentence lingers on the tip of his tongue as he blinks away his surprise at what she said, though it was less of a statement and more of a challenge. What the challenge is, he isn't too sure, but he thinks there could be a couple of meanings there.

The fire in her eyes when she looked up at him is one he recognizes very well, it stars in one too many of his daydreams that center around their secret night together. She rose to the occasion without fail and matched his chaos every time, and that steely-eyed stare is reminiscent of it.

Yet, the sexual undertone isn't the only part of it to be discovered. There's a clear meaning there for him to actually prove it, to put his money where his mouth is, grow a pair, and tell her how he feels with no room for confusion. No more miscommunication, running away, or insecurity getting between them, just a clear cut confession like hers.

His hand runs through his hair to sweep it out of his eyes and keep the wet strands from dripping down his face. It helps him see her a little better too, grounding him to the moment and calming him at the dimmed sight of her expectant, wide eyed gaze.

There were a million versions of this whenever he let himself imagine admitting it. He only let himself picture it on the worst days, days like the one two days ago when he went home to his dad, ending the night by cleaning his own cuts and inspecting his own bruises in his locked bedroom. He did it to distract himself from wanting to storm out of the room and finally kill the son of a bitch after years of suffering in silence.

JJ closed his eyes, shaking with anger, and dreamed of how he'd tell her. There were versions with long speeches that were far too sappy to exist outside of the realm of his imagination. There were versions with him burying the words between friendly jokes to play down the extent of his feelings too, but he thought it worked best in its simplest form.

So he puts it as simply as it gets, lips fighting a soft smile as he crosses the space between them and rushes in to kiss her. It's charged with an accumulation of the pent up love, anger, and sexual desire that has been repressed until now, resulting in something utterly explosive.

He stops for a second to whisper, "I love you too," into her parted lips, and she finally lets herself go at the sound of those words.

Forget that they've only known each other for five months, when you know you know. This is the real deal. This is the kind of feeling that possesses every accessible inch of her heart and she'd never be open enough to admit that to anyone but him at the moment, but neither of them minds that. It's such a new, rapidly developing feeling that they want to protect it and keep it close to them for the time being.

His arms twine around her waist, tugging her the last bit forward and leaving no space between their bodies this time. The sudden movement draws a sharp gasp from the back of her throat and sends her hands out to brace themselves on his shoulders. The sound of the gasp that disappears into their connected mouths only fuels him on more. It makes him more eager with how he touches her with his hands drifting down the plane of her back, one of which playfully slipping beneath the hem of her soaked shirt in a way that makes her smile into the kiss.

He knows exactly what he does to her. He can sense it in the small reactions that would often go overlooked if it were someone less familiar with her.

It's easy to tell by the way she completely surrenders herself to him, letting out these soft little noises she doesn't even realize she's making when he takes control of the interaction and kisses her like he's starved for it. In a way, he is starving for affection and attention from her. He never knew it was something he needed so badly until he got it, and now he never wants to go without having her again.

That's why it doesn't surprise him when she starts getting antsy after a moment or two, especially after keeping away from him for days.

Her hands run down the length of his chest over the soaked t-shirt, taking a quiet victory in how his stomach flinches inward in response to her exploring touch, and she could swear his next exhale trembles as she continues lower. Never once does she break the kiss, which, by the way, has gone past the point of being passionate and straight to downright needy, but her concentration does falter. The perfectly paced rhythm of her mouth moving with his is interrupted when she touches him over the fabric of his shorts.

Those plushy soft lips go on an exploration of their own too. Leaving him with the first opportunity to catch his breath in minutes, she dips her head beneath the sharp edge of jaw in pursuit of the sweet spot she remembers reducing him to a grabby, moaning mess the last time they did this. It doesn't take her long, not if the tightening of his arms around her and the satisfied hum of a moan she feels vibrate beneath her mouth has anything to say for it.

He loses himself in it for a second or two...okay, fine, maybe ten.

The separate sensations combined spark a flame inside of him that burns so hopelessly for whatever she'll give him. His mind sends him images of them together, both real memories from their first time together and imagined fantasies he only let himself visit in his dreams, and he realizes how thinly spread his self control has become lately.

First, it's the thought of her from last week, thoughts of her gasping, writhing, and begging beneath him that makes his cock throb under the teasing contact of her hand through his shorts. But then he's brought elsewhere. Then, though he hasn't thought of it since the day after the party, he thinks of the mix of jealousy and anger he felt when he saw Tyler with her.

He remembers being sane one moment and charging across the room like a madman the next. He remembers how it felt to watch another person's hands slip under her dress, how it felt to see someone else try to kiss her the way he had, and this raw wound of a memory is all it takes to spur him into action.

It happens so quickly, she doesn't even notice what's happening until he has her scooped up in his arms with her legs around his waist. She doesn't even have the chance to voice her surprise or crack a joke at the expense of his neediness before he reconnects their paused kiss with enough force to make her teeth ache in the collision.

JJ's rings are colder than ice, digging into the flesh of her thighs as he holds them with a tight grip and blindly takes the few steps necessary to reach the back entrance of the house. His wet handprint smudges on one of the cracked-open glass doors and sends droplets of water dribbling down the surface. The teardrop of rain zig-zags at the swinging motion of the door on their way in, only changing course again when he nudges it shut behind him a little too loudly.

"Wh"—her question is cut off by him laying her down on the rug-covered floor in between the couch and coffee table—"What if John B wakes up?"

His first thought was to bring her into the spare bedroom, but then he realized that it shares a wall with John B. Then, he considered the pull out couch but realized that would be louder than the room adjacent to their friend's. His only conclusion was this.

It isn't nearly as romantic as either of them would've pictured, but they're not exactly picky either. They're so desperate for it, they'd likely do it on the porch in the middle of a hurricane if there weren't another option. And in their own weird way, they make it romantic.

There's no one else she'd rather risk rug burn for, and that is the peak of romance.

"John B sleeps like a fuckin' rock," JJ says, "and it's own his fault for trapping us here anyway."

He follows her down onto the floor without a second thought, not even looking up to see if they woke their friend with the sound of the door shutting behind them.

Hovered above her, he looks particularly captivating in the flickering candlelight. The fire burning in one of the three-wick candles they scoured the bathroom cabinets for brings out the warm hues in his blonde hair and highlights every edge of the angular face that looks down at her. The porch was far too dark for her to see him in all of his near-perfection, but this is enough for her to notice a multitude of things.

His slicked back, wet hair allows her to see his features better and the way he looks at her...it's enough to make anyone feel red in the face. How hadn't she see it before? She knows it was denial, but, somehow, she used to overlook the small hints along the way like how he looks at her like she's the only thing that makes sense to him. For the first time in a while, she allows herself to embrace the idea of being loved without looking for something to justify her fears surrounding it.

The sound of her voice brings him out of the mesmerized trance he fell under at the sight of her.

"I've missed you," she says softly, "like a lot."

The sweet admission slows him down for a second, making him stop to ignore the distracting desire that she sparked to life a moment ago and take the time to cherish this moment of rare serenity with her.

It's a wonder that she hasn't even acknowledged the storm raging on outside since they've come back in. It's all thanks to him, of course, since she's been too focused on everything happening between them, but it surprises him. It makes a sense of pride flare up in him on her behalf for being capable of forgetting something she fears so much.

But, on the other hand, it reminds him of how distraught she was right before their conversation/argument on the porch shifted from her panic to the topic of their relationship, and he can't help but hesitate a little.

"I missed you too." The hand he isn't using to support himself above her cups her face, his thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone. "Are you okay though? You were just crying and I don't wanna make you—"

"Yes."

It was so said so quickly, there was zero hesitation. It's not that it doesn't surprise him that she's as eager as he is after what started to happen out on the porch, but it does make his eyes widen a little. His mouth curls with a slight grin. It's the kind that never fails to make her stomach fluttering and light with butterflies.

"You don't have to worry about me. I'm okay, and I promise I'll let you know if I'm not," Y/N clarifies.

"Okay."

There's a short moment where all they do is look at each other with a complete loss for words to convey what they feel right now. It isn't as awkward as it would've been prior to tonight. Before they confessed their feelings, they wouldn't have been able to look at one another for any longer than a few seconds without needing to walk away to break the tension. Now, things have changed. They don't feel the need to conceal how much they care anymore.

They're still the same bickering duo they've always been with the added fun of being head over heels. She never used to understand how some people could let their feelings for another person drive them crazy, but it's done more than make her crazy this past week. It made her jealous, obsessive, and somehow happy too, and no one has ever made her feel so many varying emotions in her life.

Her fingertips graze the stretch of skin between where his cargo shorts sit on his hips and his shirt rides up the side of his torso, and he swallows thickly at the feeling.

"Do I make you nervous?" she asks.

Her lilting, smooth voice is enough to soothe any nerves he could possibly have. It's as if hearing her ask that paired with the hand teasing the waistband of his shorts pulled him back to the place he'd been before when she was teasing him over his clothes.

He answers honestly, his head going fuzzy with the crushing desire that courses through him, "Not as nervous as I make you," and closes the space between them again.

The cheeky comment doesn't go unnoticed by her, not one bit. It makes her face heat up in embarrassment that is purely instinct after having to hide her feelings from her for so long. Maybe after they've been together for longer, it won't make her blush every time he acknowledges the effect he has on her out loud, but that day isn't today. Today, she goes hot in the face from a sole second of his attention, let alone this.

JJ lets his hand climb up the length of her torso as they kiss as if they have all the time in the world, as if their best friend isn't sleeping less than twenty feet away from them, until it flattens at the base of her neck. It doesn't curl around her neck and squeeze, nor does it do anything but remind her how much she loves the feeling of him touching her, the large palm of his hand simply stays draped over her throat to flaunt his ability to sway her nerves.

She's pretty sure if it were anyone else, it wouldn't work, but he's JJ for fuck's sake, and the quiet display of dominance sends an exhilarating little thrill rumbling through her. It isn't anything over the top or exaggerated like some people would do in an attempt to stake a claim over the person they love, just a simple gesture that they both know the meaning of.

She's his. After five months of friendship, two months of silent pining, and a week of sexually confused hell, she's his, and he'll never let her forget it.

The wind rattles the windows over the couch with its force and she notices that his hips grind into hers at the sudden sound. Even in the midst of such a heated moment, it's downright cute how he still makes an effort to distract her from what she fears. And, boy, does it work.

Their panting breaths in the brief seconds they allow themselves to break away from each other are the only sounds audible in the small living room. The storm drowns it all out for now, including the noises that start to leave them from the steadily building pleasure of their bodies moving together.

She can feel how hard he is through the layers that separate them with every absentminded thrust that brushes the fabric of her panties up against her clit each time. It leaves her breathless and wondering, despite already knowing, what it'll feel like when he finally slips inside of her again.

They both fantasized about it in the time they spent apart. Neither of them would dare deny it, least of all JJ. It actually became frustrating after a while because she started to become the only scenario he could conjure to get himself off when he had a rare moment of privacy. His fantasies, all stemming from the night that was so perfect, he began to question the reality of it, linger in his head.

The best part of his fantasies were the parts of them based in truth, and if he knows anything about her when she's in this state, it's that she's needy. Her tongue swipes along his bottom lip in a silent urging to let her deepen the kiss, and he complies without a second to spare, willing to entertain her every whim so long as she keeps being so good for him.

He revels in her muffled squeak of a moan when he presses down on the sides of her throat at the precise moment his hips grind down to meet hers. She can't keep herself still for any longer than a half-second, always meeting his movements halfway and unknowingly doing another thing that will be the death of him.

She leads his shirt up his body without having to second guess herself, knowing that he's always on the same wavelength as her no matter what. This was how it was the last time too. Anything she did, he was already one step ahead, and tonight isn't much different. By the time her hands ball up the dripping cotton fabric, JJ is lifting the hand off of her neck to reach for the neckline of the shirt and help tug it off.

There's a sense of urgency in everything they do. Charged up with frustration and jealousy that brewed within the days they spent apart, there's nothing to stop them from reducing themselves to a pair of panting, impatient lovers too consumed in each other to care about the outside world.

The sopping wet fabric is thrown beyond her line of sight and lands on the hardwood floor with a 'thwack' that accompanies their cacophony of moans and gasps, and she whimpers at the sight of him. It may have to do with the fact that he's guiding their bodies together at a cadence and pressure perfect enough to make her legs tremble, but seeing him like this does nothing but aid the sensation.

Golden skin glistening under the candlelight, tendrils of half-dry blonde hair falling into his face with the lazy effort of his movements, and a stray raindrop that squeezed from the wet shirt dripping down his chest...she's not gonna make it out of tonight alive, is she? In her memory, she knew he was a sight to see in the midst of a heated moment, but, fuck, memories do not hold up beside the real experience of it.

Y/N is so caught up in his seemingly endless beauty, she doesn't notice him peeling her damp denim shorts off of her hips until they're halfway down her legs, and the only reason she does notice is because he must shift his position to do it. Suddenly, the budding feeling that stirred from their needy antics is plucked away and left to ache for more in the absence of him between her thighs.

Her middle and index fingers hook around the front of his necklace to pull him back down to her, but he doesn't budge at first. He's too busy trying to rid her of her shirt to care.

It was too much of a distraction while they kissed for him to resist slipping it off of her when he got the chance to. Much to his frustration when he first realized they were trapped with each other, she's braless underneath, and it's only worse now that the t-shirt is soaked to her skin and clinging to every delicate curve.

Once the clothing gives way to the canvas of her bare skin, he submits to her urgency and follows her down by the fingers hooked around his necklace without any qualms.

As soon as they resume, it's as if they never stopped to begin with, and they start to realize how seamlessly they fit together as the seconds elapse. Neither of them are actively thinking about it while he dips his hand into the front of her panties, but it is in their subconscious.

It's a revelation of sorts, an ah-ha moment where it hits them both in a sweeping realization that it was obvious from the day they met. They should've known sooner, they should've dropped their pride and admitted it as soon as the first inklings of desire began to pop up, but they didn't. Instead, it washes over them now and they let the current take them away together.

Her mouth falls open against his cheek at the feeling of his fingers swiping through the arousal that pools in her underwear for him, dragging the wetness over his fingertips and spreading it up to brush fleetingly against her clit. It's a split-second of a touch that it makes her hips lift up off the floor on their own accord to seek out more. It makes her dig her nails into the skin stretching over his taut shoulder muscles in a wordless plea for more that he doesn't indulge her in at first.

He makes her earn it from him without having to say a single word. He touches her, but he doesn't touch where she wants or ease his fingers into her to satisfy the need she feels yet. It's a blessing and a curse that he manages to turn her on to such an extent. He does it for her like nothing else can, so much so that she's noticed a distinct difference in how it feels when she's alone versus when they're together. When she's alone, it can tend to feel like active effort, but when she's with him, it's as natural as the urge to breathe.

His smirk is felt against her skin the entire time she begs for it through the revealing actions of her body—her hips jerking up toward him, her chest pressing tightly to his, and the sound of her murmuring, "Please," in a breathy tone that could stop his heart.

"Tell me what you want," JJ says, every word constrained and tight in a way that tells her he's a lot less composed than he lets on, and "accidentally" swipes his thumb over her clit again. "Talk to me, baby."

She almost forgot in their time apart how much of an effect he has on her, but this is the best reminder of that she could possibly imagine. If she could, she would find a way to bottle the feeling he gives her and keep it with her forever so that, no matter what happens between them, she'll never have the misfortune of forgetting him.

What he said simultaneously melts her heart and frustrates her to no end because he knows! He knows damn well what she wants from him and won't give it to her unless she asks for it, and she hates herself for loving it. She hates herself for enjoying the flushed-face embarrassment it brings to her cheeks to be so open with him about what she needs.

She swallows the lump in her throat and tries to focus through the clouded landscape of her head to speak to him. It's hard to concentrate when he's above her like this, touching her, calling her pet names, and looking at her like that.

With his lips worshiping the sensitive skin along her neck, she finds it hard to choke out the words, "I want you," into the humid air that has infiltrated the house.

It's not a lie. Anything regarding her wanting him or any related feeling is no longer something she can hide anymore, but they both know it isn't exactly what he wanted. No matter how it took his breath away to hear her say it, he was seeking something more specific. He was aiming to make her ask, maybe even beg, for it. They're both too impatient to wait and based on how wet his fingertips are from barely dipping into her, he can tell she's as eager as he is.

It's been thirteen days too long since the last time they allowed themselves to meet this way, and neither of them wants to let it happen again.

She was nearly trembling with the urge to go to him whenever they were together in the company of their friends, unable to think about anything except for how badly she wanted him. All the while, he appeared so unbothered, especially on the night of the party when he flirted with someone else, that she didn't even believe he felt the same way back. Thankfully for her, she couldn't have been more wrong.

He clicks his tongue and says, still teasing her with light touches that never linger in one place for too long, "That wasn't very specific."

Part of her should know that he's about to do something based on how he withdraws his head from its cherished place in the crook of her neck, but she's too caught up in the anticipation and seeing his face for the first time in a minute to think about it. How dare he look so good? She could cry in frustration, although she might actually already be tearing up a little with the rush of neediness hitting her in its full force.

Never has she felt so turned on by so little physical contact before. It usually takes longer for her to get to this point, whether it be alone or in the past with previous partners, yet all it took was being kissed, touched, and being given his undivided attention and now...She realizes she's in trouble. He has her in an emotional and sexual chokehold at this point, and she fears that no one can compare.

"I want—" her voice is snuffed out in an instant when he eases two fingers into her, "Oh!"

So that's why he pulled away from her neck to look at her.

It was worth abandoning the mark forming on her neck just to see the expression on her face shift. She gets this cute look when anything overwhelming starts to happen where her brows scrunch a little to create a soft wrinkle between them as her mouth drops open in a moan. And after ten steady minutes of doing nothing but some over the clothes action and painstaking teasing, this is as overwhelming as it gets without it crossing the line to being too much.

It never occurred to her how much larger his fingers are compared to hers until now. This type of pleasure is like an itch only someone else can scratch to her, she feels virtually nothing when she does it to herself, but when he does it, it's like an explosive being set off inside of her. Especially with the thumb that sneaks up to circle her clit without stopping to tease her again, she is putty in his hands at this point.

Every smooth stroke of his fingers into her reaches a spot she can never quite find on her own, and she can feel the cold bite of rings when they're buried into her to the knuckle.

It's a surprise every time, even when she knows to expect it. Like a delightful chill running up through her body and down her spine exactly how it's intended to. It strikes an idea in her head for when he eventually pulls them out of her, conjuring the image of her sucking them clean for him just for the sake of imagining what it'll do to him.

With that idea tucked away in the back of her mind, he's the center of her world right now. All she breathes, thinks, and feels is him. Whether it be the sight of him, or the feelings he's giving her, or even the taste of his kiss that still lingers on her tongue, it connects to one common thread.

"What were you saying?" JJ asks, and she wants to wipe that smirk right off his face.

It's virtually impossible for her to piece together a coherent thought, let alone a sentence detailing every filthy idea she has for him, but she tries. It takes another moment or two of her succumbing to the rapid incline of pleasure that he gives her, watching her in wonder through any greedy buck of her hips or gasping inhale that makes her head loll back onto the floor.

At first, what she wanted to say was that she wanted him to touch her, to do anything more than the fleeting touches he gave before. Now, she wants more than that. Now that she's drawn in closer to the eventual high that's to come, she doesn't want it to happen like this. She wants to feel closer to him than this, wants to feel him throb inside of her and fuck her with all of the urgency and desperation that has accumulated in their time apart.

That's why her hands start to grab at the belt loops of his shorts to tug him closer by them, meeting his gaze through the hazy bliss of his fingers pumping into her. It's not enough.

"Please"—she keeps pulling him closer to her, so close that there's hardly any space left to cross, and he revels in her desperation—"just fuck me already..."

Internally, JJ is losing his shit.

Though this was what he wanted, what he coaxed out of her with the teasing and the pretend sense of a nonchalant attitude on his part, it hits him harder than he expected it to to hear her say it. It's not necessarily the act of begging itself either, it's the fact that she's the one doing it. She may have been jealous of the girl at the party, but she had nothing to worry about. Not in the slightest.

Before her, he never thought he'd fall for someone this way. It's not like he had a hatred for love or anything, he understood the appeal, it simply wasn't his thing.

He was perfectly content with his only form of companionship being his friends. Then, she came along and changed it. So to hear her say something like that isn't just breathtaking, it's the kind of thing that makes his heart ache for her. It hits him precisely where she wanted it to, and he has never felt as consumed with love the way he does now.

JJ can do nothing to stop himself from pouncing on her at this point, like some animalistic form of himself has worn down the restraint he used to keep himself at bay.

The loss she feels when his fingers slip away from her is an emptiness she mourns at first before she realizes what's happening. He pulls away slightly to reach down between them for the front of his shorts, and their hands clash as they both frantically try to undo them together. The rings adorning his fingers glisten when they catch the light and remind her of the thought that popped into her head when she first felt their coldness against her skin.

That idea paired with the promise of what they're trying to accomplish in their uncoordinated attempt to get the rest of their clothes off makes her want to press her thighs together. Her hands abandon the task of undoing his shorts for the sake of ridding herself of the last layer that separates her from him.

Her most embarrassing old pair of brightly colored panties, courtesy of past Y/N's questionable decision to trust her mom to buy some on her behalf, are hardly a sight to behold. They're the kind that come in a value pack from Walmart, vibrant blue with the word, "Tuesday," printed on the front of them, and she could hide her face into the rug in shame if she weren't so determined to get them off. Of all the days to wear the day of the week undies her mom accidentally got her, of course she chose today.

By the time she reaches for the waistband, he has pushed his shorts and underwear down his thighs and comes back to her with just as much excitement as he left with, but when he helps her tug her panties down her legs, he laughs. Apparently, he had also been too eager to touch her to notice what was written on them before.

"Cute," he breathes out through a laugh, then adds as the cotton fabric slips over her knees, "Pretty sure it's not Tuesday though."

"If you tell anyone, I swear I'll—"

He cuts her off, "Whatever you wanna threaten me with won't work, chances are I'm gonna be into it."

Her eyes are alight with a certain fire he's had yet to fully lure out of her. Even her voice is slightly more airy and seductive as a result of it.

"Promise?"

JJ grins down at her as he finally tosses her panties aside with the rest of their clothes, "Cross my heart, pretty girl."

His hands grip her thighs and tug her down the  rug to him with a quick jolt that snaps them out of the playful nature of their back and forth teasing. No matter how lighthearted of an interruption it was, the mini-conversation might as well have never existed for how easily they fall back into it again.

She watches with her forehead pressed against his as he strokes himself a few times, then drags his tip, messy with precome, through her wet heat. And though she watches it happen, her body still arches into his when he lines up with her and sinks his hips forward.

She anticipated it, but she still gasps and digs her nails into his biceps at the sensation of him pushing into her. Neither of them bothers to worry about the obvious lack of a condom—it was discussed the first time around when he offered and she told him it was okay. He's often the one to silence the alarm on her phone warning her in its title to, "Take your birth control or else, bitch," while she searches her bag for it anyway, so he trusts her.

Both of them prefer it this way enough to risk the  minuscule failure rate of the pill anyway. It's more intimate, closer, and they can both feel the warmth of each other in a way that would've been somewhat muted with an added layer between them. It makes the feeling of him entering her all the more gratifying as she tenses up around him in reaction, drawing a groan from where his parted lips brush against hers.

She lifts her head off of the floor as much as she can to capture his mouth with her own and stifle the sonorous sound despite the storm doing a better job of it.

It seems that every blast of wind and roll of thunder is in their favor tonight, so much so that he isn't even worried about getting walked in on. It's not a thought in his head at this point, the only thought he's capable of having is this. Forgive him for being shortsighted, but he doesn't give a shit if John B notices or hears what's happening when he's buried inside of her so deeply.

His hips are flush with the backs of her thighs in a matter of seconds, and right when he pauses to give her a breather, he feels her shake her head ever so slightly against where their faces are pressed together.

The touch of her hands on his hips is not timid by any means, it's commanding. Her palm prints singe an indelible claim into the surface of his skin as she guides him to start moving without a second spared to dwindle the discomfort of him filling her up. It's less like a pain and more of a pressure blooming from the insistent presence of him, not so overwhelming that it's painful, but it's an effort to breathe evenly and the only thing that'll ease this transitional moment is to continue.

At first, their bodies start to rock together lazily as though on autopilot. They'd hardly be conscious of the fact that they're doing anything if not for the initial sensations of heady ecstasy that flash like the sparks of a lighter in response to their movements. As soon as he felt her hands coax him into action, he sighed happily and surrendered himself to the instinct of wanting to move.

The merging of their bodies is less of the aggressive rutting motions they'll surely succumb to once their current pace is no longer satisfying, but that doesn't make it any less intense. She's partly sure that this is one of the most vulnerable moments either of them has ever had when it comes to sex, and it wouldn't work if it weren't them together. No other person could consume her the way he does, taking up every unoccupied space of her soul until there's nothing left but the silent begging of her heart for him.

Their kiss is messy when it breaks to allow them the chance to suck down a couple breaths of air, saliva shining on his lips in between the seconds it takes them to come crashing back together.

It's loving enough to rot her teeth with its sweetness, a slow but impossibly deep grinding of their hips together that continually presses the tip of him into that sweet spot inside of her, but it takes a turn.

Not only do her hands shift from his hips up to the sides of his waist to get a firmer hold on him, the kiss starts to become vigorous, almost hungry, in search of something more. The dreamlike sequence of the first moment or so they spent slowly fucking under the warm hues of candlelight starts to unravel to reveal the baser instincts that guide them forward.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he whispers the praise into her mouth.

As soon as the words are said, he can feel the effect it has on her. The hands braced on his waist pull his body closer to her at the same moment that she involuntarily squeezes down around him, making the smooth drag of his cock against the velvet-soft heat of her walls even tighter than he thought possible.

The sudden feeling of it makes his first returning thrust much harder than the last. He jerks forward into her with none of the restraint he's retained for the past few moments, and her reaction is nothing short of perfection, at least from his perspective. He watches her throw her head back in a moan, hips bucking to him in pursuit of more, and feels the tips of her fingernails digging crescent-shaped marks into the unmarred skin along his waist.

"JJ!" she gasps in surprise, and if her initial reaction weren't enough to spur him on in a frenzied state of desire, this is.

He almost forgot how intense it had been the first time. Their confessions of love preceding this made them both somewhat softer and sweeter in their approach when they started, but he knows how she likes it.

Nobody would expect it from her. He's another story entirely, especially considering how much John B and Pope know about him, but her? He didn't have any in depth conversations about it with either of them, so none of their friends know how dirty she is.

But when you start to tease it out of her, she's got a side to her that makes his blood run hot. Considering how polite she is, he sure as hell didn't see it coming. For fuck's sake, she's the kind of person who'll apologize to a chair if she bumps into it. With that in mind he never thought she'd be the type to demand such things of him.

Just like that, with one moan of his name, it's like she flipped a switch in him that they forgot was there in the first place. It'll never stop surprising him how little it takes to get him going when he's with her, and he doesn't see that changing no matter how long they spend together in the future. Just a touch from her is all it takes, so it's needless to say that the sound of her calling out his name was more than enough.

Those slow, deep movements he made to sink into her again and again have turned rapid and rough, but still controlled enough to have a semblance of precision to them, hitting in all the right places.

"I bet," JJ speaks lowly, "that you want John B to walk out and see us right now."

She doesn't want to admit how much of an instantaneous effect those words have on her, but the feeling of her clenching around him as she bites back a moan completely betrays her. Partly, she worries that he'll take that the wrong way and think it has something to do with John B when it has nothing to do with him at all, but he doesn't. For the spare second of thought she's allowed to have before her mind goes hazy again, she notes how much more eager he is on the upstroke of the next thrust.

Noticing how right he was in his assumption about her liking the risk of getting caught jumpstarts his heart and makes everything he does rougher. She can sense that he's starting to lose control over himself and is acting on instinct alone.

It makes her much more sensitive to everything he does, and all she can do is cling to him and enjoy it as she takes in everything he says and does. It's hard to pick one thing to focus on between the switch up in pace and what he said.

"You want John B to know you like getting fucked like a slut, don't you?"

She could get off on the sound of his voice alone. Hearing him say stuff like that kills her, it makes the swirling bliss that builds in the pit of her abdomen with every thrust he gives her triple in its extremity.

Her legs are tightly wound around his hips to keep him as near to her as possible, her hands sliding up around his waist to keep a steady grasp on him while he pounds into her. The rug scratches at her back enough to make it sting alongside the immense pleasure building in her, but she doesn't care. When blended with the good sensations, the pain underscores the addictive feeling of him inside of her, fucking her exactly how she asked him too.

Looking up at him when he's like this is simply unreal. There's no other way of describing it in her eyes except for that. He's so stunning, she's inclined to believe that he isn't even real as a means of explaining it. This shouldn't be real. It should be one of her daydreams while she steals covert stares at him as they hang out with the Pogues, but it isn't. She can't wrap her head around it.

Those strands of hair that were damp from the rain are mostly dry as they fall into his eyes with the force of his movements. The sight of him alone, set aside from the rest of it, is enough to make her writhe beneath him and claw at his back in tandem with another thrust that sends her jolting against the rug.

He takes one of his hands up from where they both held her hips for leverage to weave his fingers into the roots of her hair.

He demands between the panting breaths and moans that flood the limited space between them, tugging on her hair, "Answer me."

She instantly blurts out the words, "I want him to see us." The feeling of him tilting her head back by the fistful of hair he has wrapped up in his hand is her persistent reminder to concentrate enough to continue, and she bites down on her lip to contain a moan before speaking again, "I want him to know..."

Her cheeks burn with the mere thought of it, let alone saying it out loud. He's the only person she'd ever let in on this intimate side of her, the side that makes her crazy when she hears him say stuff like this. The reason she feels so comfortable doing this with him is that she knows he understands her. It's as if he can read her mind without even having to try, knowing exactly what to say and when to say it.

It wouldn't matter if the topic of their exhibitionism were any other Pogue or a stranger, it isn't about who it is, it's about the thrill attached to the concept of almost getting seen during such a heated moment. In all actuality, John B is probably snoring face down into his pillow right now with no care for what's happening out here, but he knows what it does to her when they push the boundaries of decency this way. It's the same rush he gets from stealing random, useless things every so often, it's the thrill of getting away with something.

The hand tangled up in the roots of her hair sneaks down between their colliding bodies to rub her clit, and her mouth drops open to take in a shaky breath.

The sight of her beneath him is undoing in and of itself. Head tilted enough to expose her neck to him, chest rising and falling rapidly with her breaths, and breasts bouncing gently with the momentum of their actions—seeing her this way makes his thrusts ramp up into more of a frenzied, uncontainable pace rather than one with the same control and cadence as before. But it's mostly the eye contact that kills him. She doesn't dare to shut her eyes the entire time, as if she can sense that he'll tell her to look at him again the second she does.

"You want him to know what?" he asks, and she knows he won't let her get away with not saying it.

She whines, utterly helpless to the climax starting to build inside of her, "Please."

What she's pleading for, she isn't quite sure, but he can tell by how she's acting that she's starting to get closer, and he wants nothing more than to tease her with the impending chance of her orgasm.

"If you wanna come, you're gonna have to do a lot better than that."

Just like that, he withdraws his hand from between them and leaves her desperate, blindly grasping for the peak she was so close to reaching, she could almost feel it already.

With JJ rocking into her at a relaxed, slower rhythm, the pleasure hasn't disappeared completely. It's there, but she can sense the feeling of her orgasm receding as quickly as it had creeped up on her as soon as he slips his hand out from between them.

It's instantly clear to him how desperate she is as all of her previous shyness surrounding having to admit this to him out loud withers away in seconds. She isn't beneath begging again at this point. He could tell her to crawl across the floor to him and she'd happily do it for the chance of touching him. It's pathetic but true. As much as she has him wrapped around her finger, he has done the same to her and she isn't afraid to admit it anymore.

Her hips jerk toward him in search of the familiar frenzy they were in before that sent her to the brink of climax, but he is impressively stubborn. Despite the fact that it physically pains him to dial it back again, he tries to keep the signs of his own frustration at bay. She knew what she had to say to get what she wants, so he'll only cave when she does.

This time around, she doesn't give a fuck about how badly she blushes or the voice in the back of her mind telling her she should keep this side of her to herself. This time, the one thing she needs to do to prompt her to open her mouth and speak the dirty words he asked her less than a moment ago is look at him. One second of staring up at him and here she is, driven mad enough to say or do anything to get him to pick up where they left off.

She says between the soft noises and breaths coming from them both, clinging to him through every slow but deep thrust that sends sparks ricocheting through her body, "I want John B to know I like getting fucked like slut." Her voice is breathless, and he hangs off of each word as she pauses, looking up at him with a challenging attitude swirling in those pretty eyes. "So stop being a tease and fuck me like one."

His jaw clenches at the bratty statement, one he's too far gone to resist at this point, and right when he's about to respond to her, she speaks again.

"Either that," she says, and a deceptively sweet smile crosses her kiss-swollen lips, "or I can go ask him to—"

She doesn't even get the chance to voice the rest of that thought before he's set into motion.

The hands on her hips flip her over with such casual strength, all she can do is yelp in surprise at the sudden movement that blurs the living room in her peripheral version until she lands with her hands and knees pressing into the rug. He was so swift in pulling out of her and tossing her onto her front like she was nothing more than a rag doll, she hardly had the time to take a breath before she ended up here.

There's hardly any time between when he pulled out to flip her over and when he returns to her again, but it feels like an eternity for them. The few second transition might as well be a few years as she feels his hands guiding her body where he wants it, pushing down on her back until it arches just so, and falls down onto her arms. But as soon as she gets situated, she feels a pair of hands yanking her arms away from where they were braced against the floor and put them behind her back.

It's only then, when he has an unflinching grasp on where he keeps her wrists behind her back with one of his hands, that she is met with the relief of him sinking into her again.

Y/N's jaw goes slack, and she cries out into the rug that her cheek is pressed into as he gives her no chance to adjust or catch her breath before resuming the brutal pace they kept a moment ago. Mentioning anyone else but him doing this to her was the quickest way to get him to snap, so it's safe to say that she's getting what she wanted. After all, she did what he asked, it's fair that she gets rewarded for it.

Amidst the sounds of the storm waging war on the landscape outside of the house, the one thing she can hear over the buzzing pleasure that drowns out her senses is the sinful blend of sounds they create together. It's the sound of their bodies merging, his name falling from her lips, and the curses he makes under his breath that never fail to drive her a little wild.

The hand that isn't holding her arms behind her slides down the length of her curved back until it wraps around her throat to pin her down, and her reaction is everything he could ask for. Seeing her rock back against him to meet him halfway makes his grip on her wrists tighten enough to turn his knuckles white.

Her hair is spread in endless directions in a fan around her head, and he can only see one side of her face from where he kneels behind her, but that glimpse is more than enough. Brows scrunched in pleasure, mouth dropped open in a gape as soft 'uh's and 'ah's escape her on the upstroke of each thrust—she's a mess right now. A beautiful, perfect mess.

"Oh God, JJ," she moans between her rapid breaths and the strong hand constricting her neck, "I'm so close. Please, just let me come."

It took virtually nothing for her to be pushed right back to the edge of the peak she was at less than a minute ago. It took a mere half-minute of this and she's once again reduced to incoherent pleas for more and shaking with no control over herself. Her legs tremble with the effort to keep herself up in this position, and she isn't even the one doing most of the work. In all fairness, this change in position has made the intensity triple. It's deeper this way, and with how harshly he slams into her, it's as though she can feel it in the base of her abdomen.

It's the enjoyable type of pain, however, not the bad type. It'll surely end up with her being sore tomorrow, but she can't hide how much she loves the painful pleasure of how rough it's getting. Being denied an orgasm when she was so, so close to it was initially disappointing too, but it was worth it. If the build up to what would've been her climax before was a spark, this is a flourishing fire spreading through her with no chance of smothering the flames.

He lets go of her throat and taps the side of her jaw in a silent request that she picks up immediately, letting her lips fall open to suck his fingers into her mouth without a second of hesitation.

The taste of her arousal on them is faint, but still there, and it occurs to her that she thought about this earlier before things evolved into chaos. Her tongue swirls around the tips of his fingers as he starts to pull them away in what feels like the blink of an eye to her, leaving him to remember what it felt like when her lips were once wrapped around a more sensitive part of him a week and a half ago.

The one other time he let himself remember it was when they were on the boat with the Pogues, yet that wasn't really of his own volition. It was hot out, so Kiara bought ice pops for them and his mind wandered far from where it should've stayed.

Shining with her saliva, his fingers are pulled from her lips with a soft 'pop' in pursuit of that sensitive collection of nerves at the apex of her thighs. She just needs is a little push to go over the edge, and when he slips his hand down her body to rub tight circles onto her clit, she loses whatever remnants of control over herself she had left.

The steady rhythm of her hips moving back against him falters as she is overwhelmed with the separate sensations culminating into one and giving her the push she needs to come. Her entire body tenses up in anticipation, and since she's pinned to the floor with her hands behind her back, she can only lay there and savor the feeling as it hits her.

After what felt like ages of having it build and build within her, then having it taken away to start the process over again, finally being given a release is a relief beyond any she's felt before.

It's so consuming, it takes away her ability to think of anything outside of how it feels to dissolve into the shockwaves of euphoria rushing through her. Every pulsing wave is prolonged by him, not even through the peak of it does he let up on his precise touches and unforgiving thrusts into her that turn a typical orgasm into the most intense thing she's ever felt.

She's melting in his arms through it all, and as if the change in position didn't make it worse, her involuntary spasms leave him hanging on by a thread.

JJ collapses onto her, barely having the chance to keep himself propped up on his arms as he lets go of her wrists and falls forward onto her sweat-slick back.

The heat of his panting exhales raises goosebumps in its wake where his face is buried into the curve of her neck, and he whines at the impossibly tight feeling of her squeezing around his cock through the end of her climax. Those sounds he doesn't realize he's making have her writhing through the aftershocks, answering with a sound of her own that almost makes him come instantly.

For that reason, he makes the decision to pull out and flip her onto her back.

At this point, she's so dazed and fucked out that she doesn't register any of it until she notices the hollow absence of him inside of her, but it doesn't matter when his face appears through the partial darkness above her.

Despite how sensitive she is right now, the sight of him makes her hands reach out blindly to pull him closer again. They're frantic in their need to get back to one another, grasping and clawing until he finds his way back to her in less than a second, hiking her legs up around his waist with a touch that is somehow demanding and tender at the same time.

It's only when he's inside of her again that it occurs to her why he rolled her onto her back again, and it makes her want to kiss him until her lips turn numb. It may be undeniably hotter to pin someone down and fuck them hoarse, but, no, that wasn't what he wanted. He wanted to be able to look at her, to see her face, and the thought of that has her biting back a sudden confession of love. She isn't sure why she doesn't say it right away, since it isn't like they haven't already done it, but she keeps it to herself for a second first.

It's different now. It's not less passionate or frenetic. It isn't as if he isn't being as rough with her as he was before, but they can both sense a shift in the energy between them as soon as he reenters her. It's less about the pursuit of pleasure and more about the feelings they've kept hidden away for so long. It's a simultaneous realization that hits them a little late after they initially confessed their feelings for each other: this is reality. It's real, and when she touches him this time, he isn't going to disappear if she opens her eyes.

The realization of what happened tonight had yet to hit them until right this second, but now that it has, they move forward with a sense of sentimentality that remained partly dormant before.

If there's anything JJ dislikes, it's being vulnerable. The idea of letting someone in to see every part of him, including the parts he doesn't want to see of himself, has always terrified him after years of being made to believe he's undeserving, yet he isn't uncomfortable right now. Somehow, he feels safe with her. Sex has never been something so emotional for him until now, until her, and he doesn't want it differently.

Their bodies are drawn in close, her arms thrown around his neck, and he's so close, he can feel the muscles leading down past his lower abdomen contract with the inevitable approach of his orgasm. She can sense it too in how he acts.

When he gets close, he becomes clingier and lets his feelings get the better of him. His hands squeeze at her hips, sliding up her sides and back down to hike one of her legs up high around his waist to press deeper into her. He can't bear to allow his touch to stay in one place for too long before exploring another part of her, wanting to memorize the delicate intricacies of her body in its entirety.

It's as if she can read his mind too, cause even when she's sensitive enough to gasp when he pushes her thigh to her chest and throws his remaining energy into fucking her at a satisfying pace, she understands what he needs. She knows to reach up and run her fingers through his hair, to tug on it gently until the light strands are taut from his scalp. She knows to lift her head off of the floor enough to trail tender kisses along his face, his jaw, his neck—anywhere she can access.

"Come for me," she says into a kiss placed on the edge of his cheekbone, reeling in overstimulation as she jolts with his quickening thrusts, "I want to watch you..."

Hearing those words, paired with the kisses and fingers pulling on his hair, does it for him. It doesn't take more for his hips to falter and jerk forward into her a final few times before he comes.

Their foreheads press together as they cling to one another for stability, though it's mostly JJ clinging to her while she watches in adoration, and she has to bite her lip to contain a moan at how it feels. The aftershocks of her orgasm have yet to fade as the feeling of pulsing warmth inside of her makes them stronger, reigniting the fire she felt a moment ago if only for a second.

There's a closeness to this situation that they hadn't felt the last time, and they know it has everything to do with what was said before this happened. The sex itself feels like a dream sequence in her mind now that she's coming down from it with him, moving together slowly and gently beneath the candlelight until they ride out the ends of their highs. It was like they were put under a trance by each other, and now that it's over, the first thoughts that come to mind are of what comes next.

It's not the sole topic on their minds though. They're more focused on catching their breath from where they lay, tangled up together, on the living room floor. As soon as the very last of his orgasm faded from him, he fell onto her without a single ounce of energy left to spare. He's careful not to crush her, but, for the most part, he relaxes on top of her and lets his head rest on her heaving chest.

Strong arms slip down to loop around her waist, and she sure that she couldn't get him to release her if she wanted to, which she doesn't.

But they can't stay like this, not for any longer than a few moments anyway, since they don't know how if John B might wake up and come out of the safety of his bedroom after hours of leaving them to their own devices. JJ was right. He's out cold, but for as much as it turned them on in the heat of the moment, neither of them finds getting caught by him as hot with the clarity of their rational minds coming back to them.

He's the one to break the silence.

"As much as I wanna stay like this, we should probably move in case John B wakes up."

The sound of his voice settles in her with the effects of a sedative. It calms her more than anything else could, especially with the added comfort of him cuddling her so closely. One of her hands strokes through his hair and pushes the damp tendrils of sunshine away from his face as he cranes his neck to look up at her. And, for fuck's sake, what else is she to do except admire him?

His cheeks are dusted pink in a way they often are when he spends too much time outside without one of his hats shielding his face, and she thinks he's never looked better.

Ever since they became friends, she's had this theory about him. In the unrealistic landscape of her overactive imagination, JJ didn't come to this world the way the rest of them did. To her, it seems impossible that someone so good, even in his worst moments, could've come from someone like his dad.

So, in idle moments where she would watch him on a day out with the Pogues or daydream about him, she decided that he's the sun.

She imagines he was created in those breathtaking but brief moments where the sun meets the horizon atop the ocean and washes the sky with a vast array of colors. She likes to think he's the incarnation of it. Golden, warm, and bright for everyone but himself, he keeps the world light for her and their friends without intending to.

Some days are warmer than others too. Some days, the light is dimmed by another bruise beneath his clothes or a bad run-in with some kooks, but today is not like that. This moment is eighty-five and sunny with a balmy breeze. Looking at him right now feels like basking in the sun, and she'd burn here forever if he let her.

Without realizing she zoned out, she jolts when he pinches her arm to rouse her from her ridiculous thoughts. He has this dopey half-smile on his face that nearly draws her back into them again.

"You know what they say," he says, "if you take a picture..."

Her soft laughter invades the room, filling his heart with this light, fluttery feeling that always finds him when she's near. His smile grows as she playfully shoves him and reaches above their heads for her wet shirt to cover up with just in case. Odds are, their friend isn't waking up at the exact moment before they seclude themselves to the spare room and get dressed, but she doesn't wanna take that chance.

"I wasn't staring."

She was totally staring. But who could blame her? When someone looks at a person the way he looks at her, how could they ever stay away?

"Whatever you say."

JJ keeps smiling to himself while he pulls his underwear and shorts up his legs and waits for her to be decent enough to sneak past John B's bedroom to the bathroom at the end of the hallway.

The clothes are soaked through with rainwater, so they feel quite uncomfortable to slip back on, but they merely redress enough to be covered. She stole his shirt to avoid putting her shorts back on, the hem of the grey tee hanging right at the tops of her thighs when she walks. As soon as she slips her panties back on and picks up the rest of their cold, wet clothes, that's the cue he needs to scoop her up and take her away.

Y/N curses under her breath in surprise at feeling her feet being plucked off the ground, but she relaxes again once she's settled in his arms, realizing that it was just him who snuck up behind her and lifted her into his arms.

She doesn't say anything on the way to the bathroom. Instead, she lays her head on his shoulder in exhaustion and finds herself staring at the mark she left behind on his neck.

It's a deep, purplish red against the backdrop of his tan skin...the Pogues will surely notice the next time they see him. And while it will make her blush, it won't make her scared as it once would've. There may be a lingering sense of doubt and insecurity within her, but she wants this with him. Even if it means being teased by their friends or dealing with the jealousy of watching kook girls and tourons at parties hit on him, she wants this.

By the time the shower is spraying the rainwater from her hair and washing her clean of sweat sticking to her skin, she realizes that he isn't saying anything either, but she doesn't think it's out of any awkwardness or miscommunication. There's truly nothing to say, at least for now.

Though they didn't have the chance to talk in depth about everything yet, neither of them thinks of that right now. All they know is that they're together, whether it be officially or not, and it feels good. For once, something in his life feels right, and he lets himself enjoy it in silence.

The shower is a cramped space when shared between them and the wet clothes they have draped over the back edge of the tub, but they make it work. It's not like they mind anyway.

They bump into one another whenever they do so much as breathe, and the white walls echo the sounds of her giggling when he tries to tickle her. She leans her head back against his chest and lets out a laugh with shampoo dripping down the front of her face, and he'll be damned if he ever heard a sound as intoxicating as that.

It's a little weird. He's never been as soft and loving with a person before, and he has already felt overwhelmed in the lulls of quiet between them when he's given the chance to think about it.

When she washes his hair for him, insisting that she must return the favor after he so kindly washed hers, he was struck with the same mixture of wanting to simultaneously lean into and pull away from her that he felt the night of the party.

The warmth of the water loosens his sore muscles, washing suds of the green apple scented shampoo over his shoulders and down, down, down until it circles the drain beside his feet. All the while, her fingertips are delicately tracing over a healing bruise on his torso. Those pretty lips of hers are painted in a suppressed frown that she can't hide from him.

"Are you okay?" Y/N asks.

His instant reaction is to fake a smile, to brush it off and distract her as he usually does, yet he doesn't. He forces himself to remain neutral and not push her away.

"Happens all the time," he murmurs, shrugging and averting his eyes to reach for the soap off on the ledge.

The hands holding either side of his waist tighten as he tries to turn, pulling him back to her with more strength than he knew to anticipate from her. Their chests gently collide back together beneath the stream of water, and she can feel his breathing catch for a second or so in response.

The fact that their relationship has changed doesn't change how she handles this aspect of his life. Their new confessions don't have an impact on the part of his life he never wants to let anyone see, so she isn't going to force him to talk about it because they're trying out this whole relationship thing now. He has hard boundaries that she knows not to push sometimes. That's the way it is, and it might change as they grow closer but she knows to accept it for the moment.

As soon as he hears what she has to say next, he could crumble in relief at the realization that their new dynamic doesn't change anything.

"I didn't necessarily mean...that...I meant generally, you know? It's just that—" she sighs, "you shrink away a little when I hold you, and I wondered if I was making you uncomfortable."

Before she could finish the sentence, JJ was already thinking of what to say to prove her wrong, because that's not it. That's not what it is, and if she thinks she's done anything wrong, he'll do anything to convince her otherwise because it isn't her. It's him.

It's his dad lingering in the darker trenches of his mind, commanding his fear and attention so that even when he isn't physically present, he's still here. Part of why he denied wanting her was because he knew these types of things would arise in the beginning, that there would be difficult adjustments to make and conversations to be had, and he didn't want her to leave him as soon as she was faced with one of these things.

He shakes his head.

"You didn't do anything."

The feeing of her chest rising and falling with his begins to steady him after a moment of allowing the initial hesitation to dissolve. His internal reaction to her touch is the mental incarnation of a flinch. It's him waiting for the other shoe to drop and expecting her to do something, to hurt him, before his mind catches up with his heart. But once he realizes everything's okay, he loves it.

"It's kinda embarrassing, but I guess when you touch me, I'm expecting something else," he says softly, scared that if he speaks too loudly, everyone in the world will know how weak he feels.

She should've figured, but hearing him say it is different than wondering what the reasoning behind it is. Hearing him admit it after months of strict avoidance on the topic is a sucker punch to the gut.

Both times they had sex, he was too distracted and thoughtless to get caught up in that part of himself, but it's when the bliss of the afterglow disappears that it creeps back in. That's why he could always handle touch when it came in that context. It was his way of obtaining what he wanted without having to face this side of it—a temporary fix to a greater web of issues.

But there's nothing temporary about her. He doesn't want her to leave him, not without him resisting the urge to beg her on his knees to stay and at least remain his friend, so there's no choice but to face these momentary challenges head on.

She pauses for a second, thinking, then says, "You don't have to be embarrassed about it, I get it. We'll just have to take it day by day then. We can take it slow, and you'll let me know if it gets to be too much, okay?"

It's hard not to be shocked by how well she's taking it. A lot of people probably wouldn't feel too great after someone they love tells them they expect to be hit whenever they touch them, yet she's taking it in stride.

Things are back to normal as soon as she sees the grin on his face.

"So, you're saying you're gonna be trying not to throw yourself at me all the time?" JJ asks, then clicks his tongue as though in thought. "I give you a week. Tops."

Her eyes go wide as she looks at him. She holds her hand over her heart as she pretends to be scandalized by such an accusation, but they know it's true. They both can't keep their hands off of one another, which is why it confuses him. How can he want to reject and enjoy her touch at the same time? Sure, the discomfort disappears after the first split-second, but the fact that it happens in the first place annoys him to no end.

She rolls her eyes and tries to hide the fact that she's giggling as she reaches for the soap.

"You're a little shit, you know that?"

He doesn't miss a beat, saying back, "Yeah but I'm your little shit, so I feel like that says more about you than it does me."

While he's too busy rinsing the rest of the shampoo out of his hair, she smiles to herself at what he said.

Hers.

Nobody has ever been hers before, or proclaimed themselves as belonging to her as proudly and casually as he just did, and her heart melts over the sweet sentiment he didn't think twice about.

Less than a day ago, she was agonizing over her relationship with him and trying to ignore how powerful those feelings for him were, and now they're here. She no longer has to steal glances when he looks away or hide how jealous she feels when other girls flirt with him. To finally let the tension disappear is an immense weight off of her shoulders.

The rest of the shower is as quiet as the start of it was, and that comfortable silence continues through from when they're drying off and redressing to when they hit the mattress in the spare bedroom with tired sighs.

After the day they had, the mere suggestion of sleep is enough to make them start yawning, so being able to slip beneath the sheets and rest their heads almost sings her to sleep instantly.

Their bodies are laying in the exact outlines of where they laid the night of the party, the only difference this time being their mindsets. This time around, they aren't holding themselves back from anything, and it's most evident in the little things. Like how she doesn't turn around to shield her face from him, instead laying with her head propped on the other end of his favorite pillow.

They're so close, their noses brush if they make any slight movements, and this would be enough for him to submit to the urge to drift into sleep if not for the fact that he feels her jolt when thunder rumbles loudly outside of the window.

Much like his own fears being pushed to the side amidst their desire for each other, her anxiety about the storm wasn't on her mind until they laid down to sleep.

She was so wrapped up in him and everything that happened between them that she didn't have the time to think again until now, until she hears the violent patter of rain against the roof and feels her stomach drop at the sound of the thunder. Suddenly, she's not the one reassuring him about his fearful reactions, it's the other way around.

His warm hand takes hers, snatching it up as though he's worried it'll disappear if he doesn't take it quickly enough, and she lets him. Her eyes flutter shut with the release of a slow, deep breath, and she lets the presence of his hand in hers bring her back to earth.

JJ asks into the darkness, "Can I take you out on a real date?" After a beat of silence, the comforting sound of his voice returns to her. "Not that this isn't fun, but I think you deserve a little more effort than John B's living room floor."

A short-lived chuckle escapes her—a win as far as he's concerned. It's difficult to lure her head from the clouds when she gets this way, and it isn't like he has much experience with calming her during these moments either, but that sounded good to him. It sounded like she wasn't thinking about the increased pace of her heart or the howling wind outside.

He was planning on asking anyway. However fitting of a first night together this was, he wants to take her out for real sometime soon. He doesn't have much money for it, like at all, but they can come up with something special together, even if it's similar to the same shit they usually do together. As long as it's time alone together, they don't necessarily care if it's a perfectly traditional first date.

The tip of his thumb rubs comforting circles onto the back of her hand in the brief time it takes her to respond, stroking the soft skin as if to tell her that everything's okay. It seems to say, I'm right here. Nothing can hurt you. And it might make her crazy, but she believes him. JJ could take her back out into the eye of the hurricane at this very moment and she'd still believe his unspoken promise of not letting her into harm's way.

"Of course," she says, then pauses, and the sound of her sleepy voice hardly reaches his ears when she speaks again, "...I'm sorry I avoided you for the past few days. I was scared to tell you how I felt but I shouldn't have left that morning."

The memory of waking up in his arms is fresh in the forefront of her mind, so much so that she can remember the way his breath felt where it exhaled in warm puffs onto her skin.

In the first few moments of consciousness, it was peaceful.

She laid awake for a minute or two to count his breaths and soak in the comfort of being cuddled up next to him, wishing she could stay there for hours. It wasn't until another moment passed that it clicked with her where she was and what was going on between them recently, and that was what prompted her to slip away from the bed to get ready for her day at work.

It was the second time in a row that she left him in that bed with nothing to wake up to but the cold absence of her body between the sheets he slept under, and he can't deny that it's part of why he holds onto her hand so tightly tonight. Even though she's promised him otherwise, he can't help but think she'll be gone by the time he wakes up. At this point, he's struggling to stay conscious. She can see those pretty eyes drooping more and more by the second, yet the hand holding hers doesn't loosen its grip.

He takes a deep breath and scoots closer to her, keeping his one hand in hers while the other arm drapes itself over her waist, and he can feel her relax into the touch.

"It's okay," he says.

It's easier for him to adjust to so much physical contact when he's the one initiating. He knows that's why she only reached out to hold his hand. If she had it her way, she would've already been cuddling with him as soon as they laid down, but he likes that she gives him the space to initiate it. In the ways it counts the most, she cares about him more than anyone else has.

The touch in itself is his way of accepting her apology. However, truth be told, he already forgave her for it before knowing his love was reciprocated could be a possibility.

Right when she's about to fall asleep, the screen door slamming open and shut with the wind on the back porch makes her whip her head around to look over her shoulder in the direction of the sound. It seems like every time he successfully distracts her from it, the storm finds new ways of reminding her of what's happening outside of the safety of the Chateau.

There's the sound of a barely audible, sharp inhale, then her whispering into the dark room as she looks at the closed door, "I can't believe I went out into that. What the fuck was I thinking?"

It's beginning to close in on her again; the sounds of the storm, the sense of being trapped no matter how safe they truly are, and the rising tidal wave of anxiety that picks up speed the more she tries to will it to stop. This is the part where she tries to relieve it in some way, usually by smoking weed to sleep or going to one of her parents so they can help her through it, but she can't help herself right now.

Debris was being picked and tossed around in the wind like it weighed nothing when she was out there, she could've been knocked into the marsh or struck by a piece of debris.

How could she be so stupid?

Not only could she have hurt herself, she could've hurt JJ knowing that he'd likely follow her out into the storm to bring her back inside, and the thought of him being hurt makes the tension in her chest heavier. Her breathing picks up speed, the anxiety starting to snowball out of control when—

"Hey, look at me," JJ says, reaching up to turn her head to face him, and she damn near crumbles in relief at feeling his hand cup her cheek. It doesn't make it all disappear, but it provides a momentary comfort that she doesn't take for granted. "You're safe here. You know damn well I'll do anything to protect you. I mean, shit, dude, if I have to go out there and tell that rain to fuck off, I will."

This draws out a laugh from her, chest stuttering with the happy sound through the tears glistening in her eyes, and he never wants to stop hearing it. His thumb swipes away the first teardrop that falls before it can slip over the apples of her cheeks. I'm Her quiet cries and shaky breaths continue for a while after the laughter disappears. For a second or two, he watches with his thumb still wiping her tears away and hopes that it'll be enough to comfort her, but it can't do it completely.

He pulls away from her to get up from the bed with an idea popping into his mind, but upon hearing her whine at the loss of contact with him, he pauses to say, "I'll be back quick, don't worry."

The remaining humorous side of her left wonders if he's actually gonna go tell the rain to fuck off, but he's just opening the bedroom door to trot out into the living room.

A candle burning on the coffee table illuminates the space for him, guiding him straight to the forgotten backpack she left slumped against the arm of the couch hours before their relationship was changed for the better. It takes him an instant to get there and back with the bag in hand, and he's digging through it for a second before climbing back into bed with her.

If anyone else rifled through her bag, sifted through her personal belongings, and dug her phone out of it, she'd probably be annoyed, but she never is with him. She's inherently protective of her things, but JJ can do whatever he wants and it has always been that way. It should've been the first warning of what was to come.

He pulls the sheet back over his body and scoots up close to her, trying to resist the urge to retreat at first when he maneuvers her to lay with her head on his shoulder. It should trigger the flight or fight response that often alarms in his head, but he's able to push it away.

She's so vulnerable right now, so gentle and in need of the warmth of another person that he isn't as intimidated. It's not that she couldn't hurt him if she wanted to right now, she could, but he knows her. He knows that the last thing she'd ever want to do is hurt him, so he has to remind himself of that and give himself the permission to enjoy the physical intimacy of her touch. The part of him that questions if he even deserves it can't reach him now, not when he's so focused on her.

"Thumb?" he asks with the phone held out expectantly.

The screen is less than two inches from her face, so she has to push it back slightly, but she flattens her thumb to the button without further hesitation.

When he unwraps the pair of headphones from around the palm of his hand and plugs them into the charging port, she realizes why he left in the first place.

When she was facing away from him, eyes shut and headphones in to distract herself with music earlier, he was stealing glances at her every so often. He tried to keep away from her for the most part. It was difficult though, especially knowing what she said about being jealous the night of the party and knowing how scared she was of the hurricane. He couldn't help but keep an eye on her, for both his own selfish needs and his worry for her.

He keeps an arm tucked around her, pressing her body into his while he pops one of the headphones into her ear and the other into his. The thing is, her eyes aren't trained on the screen like his are once he starts looking through her vast collection of not-so-legally acquired music for a song that suits both of their tastes, they're trained on him.

Their taste in music tends to diverge in certain ways and overlap in others, so there's always a fifty/fifty shot of him liking what she plays when she's the one picking the music. That is why he smiles to himself and halts the endless scrolling in its tracks to hover his thumb over one song.

He obviously heard it before she played it that one time, but it's different for him now. They were riding together in the backseat of the Twinkie on the way to the beach with John B, Kie, and Pope when they let her take her turn to play a song.

That's how it is with them, the driver goes first, then it goes to the front seat passenger, and so on and so on until they make their way back to the beginning of the rotation. It was her turn when she picked this song, and it could've been the song, or the sunset shining through the window, but he felt as though his heart exploded when he looked at her in the middle of it.

He remembers feeling confused, confused as to why he couldn't catch his breath and why he suddenly adored the song he only heard casually a couple of times.

It was her. It was everything about her. The soft hum of her voice murmuring the lyrics, too shy to actually sing them in the presence of anyone else, was too delicate for the others to appreciate over the sounds of the van. He heard it though. He clung to it and admired her, so unashamed in his staring that he didn't realize he was doing it. It wasn't until she noticed that he stopped.

"Do I still have ice cream on my face or something?"

Her fingers came up to wipe at the corner over her mouth, and the action sent him turning his attention away quicker than he knew he could move, pulling the lighter out of his pocket to fiddle with as he mumbled, "Yeah, but you got it off now."

The cheery melody of Just Like Heaven bursts out of each headphone into their ears.

How did he know? How is he constantly reading her mind without realizing it?

This was her first song on the couch that she couldn't stand to sit through without thinking, naturally, of him when confronted with the topic of love. Somehow, it's like he knew that, and instead of feeling exposed and scared he'll know her feelings like before, she feels loved.

She is never skipping this song again.

"Go to sleep," he murmurs, clicking the screen off and resting it on his stomach.

It takes him a short thirty seconds to fall into an easy, calm pattern of breathing that tells her he isn't asleep, but soon will be. But she's fighting her sleepiness to continue looking at him. His eyes are fluttered shut, hair messy on the pillow, and she'd want to reach up to kiss him if he weren't trying to fall asleep.

Instead, she settles for matching her quickened breaths to the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath her hand and shuts her eyes along with him.

By the time the song reaches its end, she thinks he's asleep, but she still whispers, "Thank you," and feels his arm squeeze around her body in response.

The next songs fade into white noise at this point for her, drowning out the storm to the point where she begins to forget it's happening out there.

Maybe they can be each other's safe place when things get rough. After all, he handled this wonderfully considering his lack of experience with her anxiety and she never pushes him on his plethora of unsorted issues, even when she wants so badly to be the one to initiate the touch.

She never makes him think she pities him, or wants to "fix" him like so many partners with savior complexes who will never try to understand how it feels often do in these situations. With each other, maybe it doesn't have to be so complicated anymore, even when they have those inevitable arguments here or there.

The last thing he does before allowing himself to be dragged under is brush his lips on her forehead in a tender kiss. And when he eventually wakes to the rising sun shining through the windows in the aftermath of the violent hurricane, she's still there.

Tag List: @jjjmaybank, @its-simply-fanfiction, @naughtydild0swaggins.

[theepisceswriter]

HOW/WHEN THEY LIKE TO FINGER YOU (Eren, Jean, Connie, Porco, Armin)

Synopsis: The usual setting AOT men like to finger you in and their styles of fingering, if that makes sense

TW: Mature things obviously, typos because I didn’t edit, fem!reader, semi-public sex for Connie, 18+, MINORS DNI or I’ll have Zeke turn you into a Titan

EREN (in between sex, during his cool down to keep you stimulated)

In between sessions during sex when Eren needs time to recuperate and realistically get erect again, he’s quick to make use of this time by pleasuring you instead of just sitting there boringly and usually he opts for his fingers to do just the job.

You know it’s time to move from his cock to his fingers when he’s laying there with a thin sheet of sweat glistening his skin and long strands of hair stuck to his forehead while he’s trying to catch his breath from the mind blowing orgasm you just gave him. He lays there for a minute to catch his breath before he’s swooping his arms underneath you and pressing your body against his and moving your legs open with his knee to expose your cunt to him that’s still glistening with his cum.

Uses his cum as an extra lubricant when he slips his fingers into you at a painstakingly slow rate just to tease you until his fingertips are brushing against your cervix because they’re that long and he knows exactly what angle to go in at to get them to go that deep.

He keeps you pressed up tight against his body so he can feel every squirm and moan that vibrates through your body with each thrusts of his fingers; opting for slow long strokes so you can feel every inch of them inside of you.

“What an impatient slut, I can feel your insides trying to suck me in more. Just when I thought you couldn’t get any more needy tonight.” Such a meanie, but you could care less when every word that’s being spoken is against the sensitive skin of your nipples. The vibration of Eren’s words and temperature of his tongue sending shivers up your spine and wetness dripping down the knuckles of his fingers.

Your body is so sensitive and responsive to him that three more pumps of his fingers would’ve sent your insides warming up with the arrival of your orgasm, but the clenching of your walls around his fingers has him removing them out of you and replacing them with his now erect cock without warning. Ramming into you to make up for the orgasm he most likely just ruined for you.

“I want you creaming all over my cock tonight, not my fingers.” And trust me, you end up doing just that.

CONNIE (in the car)

Connie’s sex drive is a wild one simply for the fact that it hits him at the most random times without him even knowing. It’s not his fault that you’re just so sexy that you make any mundane task look appeasing and makes him get in the mood easily. Everything about you as a person just turns him on and gives him love boners.

It’s not uncommon for him to get horny in the middle of nowhere like while the two of you are driving home and pull into a nearly empty parking lot just so he can touch and caress your whole body.

He’ll pull you on to his lap in the driver’s seat and position you so your ass is directly on his lap, but your legs are laid out against the steering wheel and middle compartment so you can be comfortable. And yes, he leaves the aux cord plugged in so you two can have background music because he’s extra like that.

He doesn’t bother warming you up or paying attention to any of your other body parts before he’s diving into the main course head on; moving your panties and pants to the side and wetting his fingers with his mouth before rubbing them against your clit and plunging them into you.

His pace is fast and ruthless right off the bat to hear those sweet moans that are music to his ears leave your lips since he can’t watch your face contort with expressions of pleasure because he’s so focused on your glistening pussy and making you feel good. Only glancing over at you every now and then with a teasing smirk on his lips to mock your moans and tease you with phrases like, “Does that feel good baby girl? You like having my fingers knuckle deep in your pussy out in public where anyone can see like the slut you are don’t you?”

Of course his windows are tinted specifically for moments like this, but still he teases you with the threat of anybody who’s walking by being able to tell what the two of you are doing because he’s a menace to society like that and can tell the thought of being caught or somebody possibly knowing is making you wetter and wetter.

He’s not stopping at one orgasm either, fingers still moving as fast and rough as they were when he began to coax you through all your orgasms. It’s not until your shorts and his pants are soaking wet from your orgasm that he finally, although reluctantly, pulls his fingers from your cunt with satisfaction.

But that’s not it! With a gentle tap to your ass he’s directing you to the backseat of his car because now he’s built up quite the erection while pleasing you and needs his release too.

JEAN (as a form of foreplay)

Jean is very big on foreplay and warming you up because he has to get you ready for that schlong that’s in his pants, he can’t just go in with no prep!

Just the sight of him right before sex knowing what’s about to come is enough to get you dripping with arousal, but he still likes to go that extra mile to make sure you’re stretched out all nice and good for him so it won’t hurt too much when he’s fucking you ruthlessly into the mattress later on.

He likes to have you in between his legs with your back pressed against his chest so he can have access to every single part of your body with just a simple reach of his hands because they tend to roam around your body a lot.

Matter of fact that’s how he prefers to start off, hands roaming your body and groping sensitive area of your body like your breasts, the inside of your thighs, and ever you neck just to edge you on and grow your anticipation for his fingers.

Your first orgasm from his fingers comes from him toying with your clit once he finally decides to give you his fingers because he’s big on clitoral stimulation for you. Even during the act of penetration his fingers will often travel down to your clit and bring you closer to your orgasm that way. In this case, it’s just him being greedy with wanting to please you and using the slick that’s accumulated between your folds to pleasure your clit before he makes you cum by using his fingers.

Not only have you been basically conditioned to cumming on his fingers so many times to the point where it feels natural, but his fingers are so long and slender like everything else on him that they hit all the right spots and would have you cumming in minutes no matter if you were conditioned to do so or not.

He’s so sensual with his fingers to balance out the roughness that’s going to come later on down the road. His fingers move inside of you so soft like silk put at the right pace that has you close to squirting all over his fingers while he’s knuckle deep inside of you doing a sort of beckoning motion. His thumb will still be moving in sloppy circles against your already sensitive clit from orgasming earlier and if that wasn’t enough, with his free hand he gropes your breasts and toys with your nipples by pinching them softly with his fingers.

And of course he can’t resist kissing your exposed neck. Warm hot tongue dragging against the sensitive spots on your neck and grazing over them with his teeth to leave spots of irritation that’ll be visible to him for the rest of the night.

The languid movements of his fingers mixed with the kissing of your neck, pinching of your sensitive nipples, and stimulation of your clit has you squirting all over your thighs and his fingers in mere minutes while Jean kisses assuring and praising “Good girl”s into your neck right below your ear.

Now you’re definitely ready for his cock.

PORCO (while giving him a blowjob)

Blowjobs make Porco go absolutely weak in the knees. They really bring out the subby whiny side of him and has him like putty underneath you, whines and curses leaving his lips every few seconds and his eyes closed tight with pleasure.

But even then he still has your pleasure in the back of his mind and feels selfish when you’re the only one pleasing him.

He prefers for you to give him blowjobs on the bed or couch or anywhere that’s comfortable for you to be on your knees with your back arched because best believe he’s going to force you into a deep arch so he can have easy access to your cunt to toy with it while you’re sucking the life out of him.

Though his senses are in an override the closer he gets to his orgasm, he makes it a mission to make you feel as good as he can in that window between him cumming, so he doesn��t think twice before he’s reaching over and plunging his fingers into you from behind.

Because he’s trying to get you as close to an orgasm as he is he starts off at a fast pace that practically has his fingers jackhammering into you and rubbing against that extra sensitive wall inside of you that he has memorized from sessions before. He’s not rough, just fast with his movements, and the moans that you let out around his cock only adds to his pleasure and encourages him to pick up his pace, if possible.

Nothing but praises broken by moans leaves his lips during this time. Going on and on about how good you are to him and how he won’t stop until he has your pretty pussy gushing around his fingers. And like the gentleman he is he does exactly that, adding his thumb in the mix to rub harshly against your clit so he can have you gushing around his fingers as promised. The two of you orgasming in unity and riding each other through your orgasms.

Sometimes, he likes to be extra and have you be in the 69 position so he can really focus on fingering you while you suck him off. And if he’s feeling really generous that day he’ll even eat you out and leave soft kisses against your clit while he fingers you.

ARMIN (while eating you out)

Armin deep down inside is truly a pleaser. He can get into his dom zone when he wants to but even then he’s a service dom always aiming to please you and making sure you get the most out of each sex session. You and your pleasure always come before his.

It’s mandatory for him that he eats you out as a form of foreplay whenever he can to drag out the amount of time you spend withering underneath him. His tongue is godly, always poking and prodding the right places and wrapping his tongue around your poor sensitive clit in a way that no one who doesn’t know what they’re doing wouldn’t be able to do.

He likes his face to be ruined and flushed with your juices, pure blue eyes staying on yours the whole time in a gaze that alone could have you cumming all over his lips like he wants. But of course, Armin has to go that extra mile and add his fingers into the mix so he can focus his tongue on your clit while his fingers work their magic inside of you.

Because he’s already pleasuring you with his mouth he doesn’t have to do much with his fingers, so he opts for a simple in and out motion at a normal pace because his tongue makes up for everything else.

Also, Armin is heavy on overstimulation (both giving and receiving) and it’s not as fun of a thing to do if he’s going overboard and giving you an orgasm every 10 minutes. He likes to draw them out and even deny you of them sometimes until you’re begging him for something you were just begging him to stop doing and that experience is only possible with the slow pace he’s set up.

So be prepared for a long night of whining, teasing, and orgasms until Armin has finally had enough and decides to fuck you silly into subspace.

[raggaraddy]

hello, so if you still take requests i want to request yandere reaction where the reader is as possesive as them, or like she willingly do anything for them and obey them. its totally okay if you dont feel like writing it or maybe you dont take request.. its just im craving reading something like that and youre a great writer :)

A/N: Hi, I am still new to writing reactions, so I hope that this is what you wanted or you at least like it.  Thank you for your sweet comments. Enjoy!

Mine

Summary: When another girl gets a little too comfortable with Jungkook your reaction's a surprise to the both of you.

Trigger warnings: Fighting, mentions of abuse, violence.

Jungkook

You had begged Jungkook to take you with him tonight. He'd been so busy with work lately and you'd found yourself missing him too much when he was gone. So when he said he wasn't staying home tonight, but he was instead going out to a bar with some of his friends, you were enthusiastic for him to take you with him. It had used to be the complete opposite. Every time he left you alone, gave you some time to breathe on your own, you were thrilled. But more and more you'd started noticing him in a new light.

Sure he's rough and demanding sometimes. And yeah, he can lose his temper every now and then. But you're not perfect either, and you know it must be hard for him, especially when you behaved so insensitively at first. However, despite your flaws or his, he deeply loves you. He accepts you for who you are and he wants nothing more than to keep you safe. How could you ever find anyone else who cared for you as much as your Kookie did?

The night started as every night out with Jungkook did. He listed out the same rules over that he had said dozens of times before.

You have to listen to everything he says and do everything he says. You don't talk to anyone unless he's with you, and most importantly, you never leave his sight. You had tried to run off a few times in the past, so you knew how deathly serious he was about that last one.

After thoroughly prepping you, and dressing you, and warning you one last time to mind the rules, the both of you finally went to meet his friends.

"Sit. Here." Jungkook pointed to the booth table at the back of the bar. You slid in and he right away pushed in alongside you, nudging you in further and further until you were all but barricaded against the wall. As his friends began to come in one by one, they all joined in a large group. While the night went on, you talked among his friends and their girlfriends. A few people got food, but most people were just drinking to excess. You of course got the choice of soda or water. Every now and then throughout the evening, you could feel JK's attention on you, and you would hug his arm a little tighter to let him know you were paying attention to him too.

At some point, it was Jungkooks turn to buy the next round.

"Y/n." He whispered lowly. Even in the middle of a conversation and with the music playing in the background, his voice caught your focus right away. You looked up to him, a small smile and big eyes. "I'll be back in a few minutes." His lips pressed to your ear, his warm breath blowing along your neck spiking tingles down your side. "If you even try to move while I'm gone, I'm going to pin you to the table by putting this butter knife through your hand." He twirls the point of the dull knife into the table, scratching the wood.

Your smile grows a little bit bigger at his threat. Not because you think he wouldn't do it, but because you know there is no way he would ever need to do it. You're not going anywhere.

Your fingers linger with his, holding on for a few seconds extra as he gets up. While the conversations go on, your concentration keeps flicking to Kookie. Watching every now and then to make sure he hasn't left your sight either.

On one momentary glance, you catch sight of some random woman standing too close to him. They're at the bar, and it's quite crowded so it could be nothing, but she doesn't look like she is ordering drinks. She's completely facing him. Talking to him.

Slowly your frustration starts to build as a few minutes pass and they stay in the same position. You don't know who she is, you've never seen her before. Jungkook's body language expresses that he doesn't know her as well. She, however, is acting way too familiar. Laughing, smiling, flicking her hair and pushing her chest out like some kind of desperate slut.

You're trying to let it pass. But after only about 10 minutes of silent stewing, that's all you can tolerate. You know your Kookie has no interest in any other girls. He's just too innocent to realize that this girl is flirting with him. That, or he is only trying to be polite.

She crosses the line though when she decides to put her hand on his arm.

He might have told you to stay in your seat, and you know he is going to at the very least slap you for willingly going against his rules, but you have had enough and you're not going to allow this bitch to paw all over him anymore.

Shuffling out of the booth, you take heavy, furious steps towards them. The second you're in reach you draw against Jungkooks side, wrapping your arm around his. At the same time, you roughly and forcefully shove the heel of your palm into this girls shoulder, knocking her back and off of him. She stumbles looking shocked and fleetingly frightened. You're not done sending a message yet.

"The next part of you that tries to touch him is going to get stabbed!" You growl. Jungkook leans back a little to look at you. A mix of intrigue and surprise coming together to form a smirk on his face. It's not just from the forceful action you made, but also the confident, ruthless way you spoke to intimidate her.

This woman is dumb though. She either doesn't see or doesn't understand how sincerely you made that threat. "Wow," she scoffs. Yelling, trying to be louder than the music, "Is this your girlfriend? She's a psycho." she mocks, stepping forward, speaking directly to Jungkook. You pull yourself in front of him, dragging his hand around your waist to wrap on your hip, your fingers lacing over the top of his. Even with you standing between them, eyes burning with hostility she still doesn't back down. "If you want a cool girlfriend, you can come home with me, baby." She propositions him, with the cherry on top of calling him baby. Calling your Kookie baby! Who the fuck does this bitch think she is?!

You snap forward and slam your curled up fist into her face as hard as you can. She mustn't have been expecting that at all because she falls like a ton of bricks. Knocking into two or three other people behind her before she ultimately falls on to the floor.

Honestly, you've never hit someone before, and you didn't realize it would hurt so much. So you have to quickly shake your hand feeling the bones bruised and jarred. You regain your composure by the time she can gain hers and looks back up to you. You step over the top of her getting into her personal space. "Go find someone else to be a pathetic whore with." You snap. "He's mine!"

She scrambles out from under you and back to her feet, sensibly darting away. Over your shoulder, you can see Jungkook taking control of the consequences of your interaction, assuaging the bartender's concerns. JK knows them all, so if they know that it's him, they're not going to make a fuss over it, they'll just let it go and assume there was a good reason.

You latch onto him again as he focuses back on you. Grabbing your hands into his shirt, you hold him closer. "Don't let other girls touch you."  You whine, taking the aggression out of your voice when you talk with him, but not the seriousness.

"Why? Because I'm yours?" He looks down with a smug smile, and a salacious glimmer in his gaze. His tongue running over the inside of his cheek.

You're still so pent up and frustrated, you just want to be as close to him as you can be for comfort. You press your whole body flat to him, feeling warmed by the firm shape of his arms and chest. "Yes, you're mine."

He insists on a small amount of space between you two, gripping onto your upper arms harshly he pushes you back. His free hand comes up and his fingers cling into your jaw keeping you still.

This is it. You knew he was going to hurt you for disobeying. But honestly, it was worth it to keep her off of him.

Looking down at you so intensely, he isn't reacting the way you had expected. His eyes are instead filled with an infatuated allure that's making your stomach tingle and your cheeks feel warm. He rests his mouth next to your ear like he had earlier. "That was so fucking hot Kitten." His teeth nip at your ear lobe, making you shiver. "We're leaving. Just wait until I get you alone. I'm gonna prove I'm yours."   

[scarofthewind]

Touch at Midnight || Vampire!Brahms x Reader

A/N: This took so long, I am sure half of you forgot about this mini series I did. I’m sorry this took forever, I was just trying to make it perfect as well as work on requests too. I hope you all enjoy!

Warnings: NSFW, R18+, breast worship, blood kink, biting, oral (m receiving), dom!brahms, rough sex, no prep, reader is under mind control so consensual/non-consensual, mentions of masturbation, plenty foul/dirty talk, creampie

word count: 2.01k Tip Jar (every bit helps!)

Mini Series Masterlist

There was a time in your life that you thought you’d live past eighty and get to watch your children, grand-children and even great-grand-children, grow up. There was a time that you believed in the world being a decent place and that you would make your mark on it one day. Now, you realized just how delusional it all sounded. Now, you knelt before a man you thought you knew, thought you would grow old with, thought you would love forever, your life dangling before you with nothing to spare. 

When you had met Brahms, you never thought anything of him; just that he was a strange man who liked to keep to himself. You’d applied for a job to work under him; to cook, clean and care for him, as though he couldn’t do it himself. During the first few months of your duties, things were tense with you being new and Brahms really trying to understand what kind of woman you were. However, as the months went on into years, you slowly became drawn to the man, often times thinking of him from dusk until dawn. 

Your mistake really.

See, you had no clue that he was a monster; something only silly children believed in. He was soft and gentle before you’d found out- another mistake on your part. Now he stared down at you with dark eyes that were once directed towards you with such kindness and joy that you almost fell for it; you did fall for it the more you realize. You fell for a man with no remorse for taking a human life, a man that could kill you with just one movement, a man that you didn’t know. Those thoughts alone nearly killed you. 

You’d been sitting on the floor in front of his chair he had in the corner of the library, the moon peeking through the window curtains and casting a small amount of light towards his feet. His eyes were the only thing you could see on his face here in the dark; red with an anger so hot you had to pray he’d have mercy on you. You don’t know how long you’d been like this, unable to move as he stared down at you without moving an inch. The hair on your skin rose when he finally spoke, slow but sharp, “You had to be nosey, didn’t you?” Your lips trembled as you contemplated speaking. “I truly had no intention of ever hurting you; you did your work around the house wonderfully. Dare I say that you were the best at it?”

Your heart hammered in your chest at the confirmation of other caretakers before you, all of which were most likely dead. They probably got too comfortable too and went looking around in places that were off limits for a reason. Like his bedroom; where you remember finding a trunk full of blood bags from the hospital down the road. “Please,” you whimpered, watching him blink before shaking his head, silencing you. 

“I’ve spent years in that pretty little head of yours, listening to everything. I know all of your secrets, (Y/N).” You sucked in a breath as he leaned forward in his chair, hovering over your face with a look that only made you want to cower even more. “I’m honored to know how fond you were of me, truthfully I am. I’d grown fond of you as well, but,” he clicked his tongue, reaching out and grabbing your jaw roughly, ignoring your whimpers of pain. “You know too much.”

“Please, I won’t tell anyone I swear! Just let me go and I’ll leave tow-” you were cut off by a sharp laugh; Brahms’ eyes wild and manic. 

“Leave? No, no, no, you’re never leaving me.” His eyes were intense, red as the flames of hell and staring into your own without so much as blinking. “Here are your options; be my personal blood bank until you die, which is usually a couple of weeks, or, prove to me that you’re worth keeping alive. Of course, both require you to stay here with me,” Brahms touched your cheek gently with his other hand, moving some hair from your eyes. 

“You know I care about you, don’t you (Y/N)? Don’t you want to stay with me?” His words had an effect on your mind that made it hard to think. The world seemed to slow, as if you’d been drugged, but you knew that it was just the power he had, manipulating your mind to believe that whatever he said was true. You could feel tears fall from your eyes as you stared into his condemning ones, a soft hush falling from his lips as he wiped the tears away. 

It was wrong for you to say yes, you knew it even though you couldn’t stop it. Yet, some dark part inside of you almost wished he would keep you this way; brain being manipulated by whatever he wanted for the rest of your days. At least that way, you could imagine everything being right; you could day dream on the thoughts he forced inside your head. One’s where you end up with him, one’s where your happy.

One’s where he loved you just as much as you loved him.

This isn’t love, you thought as you made yourself sit up enough to press your lips against his. 

This isn’t what I wanted, you told yourself when he spread his legs in the chair and you unzipped his pants. 

This wasn’t how I was supposed to live, you cried as his fingers moved through your hair, guiding your mouth up and down his cock.

All you could do was prove to him that your life meant more than just being used as food. The buck of his hips every time you swirled your tongue around the tip of his cock made your eyes sting, the length making it hard to take all of it in your mouth. “You look so pretty like this,” Brahms gasped as he felt you take more of his member in your mouth, his eyes scanning your face and his mind going a mile a minute. He knew everything you were thinking as he pushed more ideas into your head, his control on you something he wished he’d never have to do. 

A lulling tug of tiredness waved in the back of his head, knowing that he hadn’t gotten to eat tonight because of the unfortunate incident of you finding his real food supply in his room. Of course, fresh blood always tasted so much better than the crap he had in bags. Brahms felt himself grow bored of watching you try to make him come, you jaw surely was hurting by now. Roughly grabbing your hair, he pulled you off his cock before standing up and pulling you up with him. You barely could get a word out as he turned you facing the front of the shiny, black piano, bending you down to where your front half was pressed against the cool surface. 

He wasted no time in ripping your clothes off of you, throwing them around the room and spreading your legs for his wandering eyes to see. A low growl made your cunt clench as he watched your juices build at your entrance where he drug the tip of his cock across. Brahms gave you no warning before sinking inside you to the base, the air practically taken from your lungs as he began moving immediately, your tight walls getting him off perfectly. “Do you know how many nights I wanted to do this?” He asked as he thrusted his hips roughly, the tip of his cock ramming against your cervix with no signs of easing up. “I’ve watched you, my innocent, precious (Y/N). Your fingers stuffing this filthy whole of yours as you squirm in bed, trying to cum.”

You can feel your walls tighten around his length at his words, your hands trying to grip the flat surface of the piano from the force he was jostling you around with. Your breasts bounced wildly, his hands coming up from your hips to find purchase there. His fingers pinched your nipples, twisting them and pulling until you were soaking his cock in your juices. “Did you know I was watching you touch yourself? I bet you did; you liked it didn’t you? Having someone else watch you fuck yourself until your tired...hmm?” 

“N-No,” you groan, trying to reason with yourself, but the impending orgasm you felt building making it all the harder to. Quickly, Brahms moved you to where you were facing him, your back fully pressed against the piano as he fucked into you at an in-human pace. You couldn’t help the sounds that were coming out of your mouth, urging him to continue. 

“I know what’s in your mind, my love. I’ve seen you think of me while you squirt all over the sheets,” you tremble at his words as his thumb barely grazes your clit. His mouth moving to your breasts, taking one nipple into his mouth and nibbling on it before teasing it with his tongue. With one sharp sting, he sinks his teeth into your breast, a short cry coming from your lips as he eases his hip movements while lapping at the blood pooling from the wounds. “If only you could see in my mind too. Then you could see just how man nights I’ve fucked my fist to the thoughts of this.” He chuckled to himself, licking his lips that were stained crimson. Pulling his head back, he stared down at you with something you didn’t recognize. 

The feeling was good though. Something positive out of the emotional negative you’d been put through. Brahms nearly stilled when you reached up and touched his face, his eyes watching yours for any signs of you trying to get away; all he found was sincerity. Running your fingers through his curly hair, you pressed his head down to yours where he kissed you without another word. From there, the sex was as beautiful as the day you first met him. Then, there had been sun, now there was the moon shining down on both of you. When he had first shaken your hand is was cold but now as he held yours, pinned above your head, it was all warm. 

His teeth managed to find your neck, biting there and feeding a couple of times but other than there, his lips never left yours which were swollen from the heatedness of the kiss. You moaned into his mouth when his fingers circled your clit, your thighs shaking from the intensity of the orgasm that proceeded to wash through you. Brahms made sure to hold you close, swallowing your gasps and cries of pleasure as he eased you through your orgasm. His cock twitched inside you a few more times before he finally came, deep inside you with no regrets. Everything was quiet for a minute, your lips molding against his and the soft pants leaving them was the only sound left. 

When he finally pulled away, you could see the glowing red of his eyes fade, returning to their normal hazel color and looking down at you with the kindness you had once known. His hands moved the hair out of your face and wiped away any tears that still fell, his fingers gentle against your skin. This may have been a different man to you now, but he was still the Brahms you’d fallen in love with years ago. 

That was enough to make you stay.

[drakenology]

It’s Gonna Be A Long Night - Bakugo Katsuki

warnings! ⚠️ : smut, fluff, and swearing. also in the perspective of a fem!reader

summary: bakugo gets home from a longggg night of hero work; desperate to just crawl into his shared bed with his favorite person (hey, that’s you!) and ravish her until the night is done. he hasn’t been this hungry for you since the first time you guys did the deed!

Idk the word count for this. Sorry! I’m typing this on my phone anddd i’m kinda new to this stuff. Enjoy!

God. Tonight was one of the most draining nights of Bakugo’s career as top hero. Five villian attacks in the same night as well as an attempted kidnapping. Not to mention the long and drawn out confrence meetings with the local police as well as the other pro heros in his agency.

As the night ended, Bakugo waved goodbye with the least amount of energy he could give as he turned in for the night, heading to his car to return home. He plopped down in the driver’s seat with an exasperated sigh as he reached in his pocket to grab his phone to let you know he was on the way home; shutting this door behind himself.

“Hey, you awake? If not I’m waking you up. I need you.” Bakugo texted with sleepy eyes. He waited for a little while to see if you’d respond before he pulled off. Soon enough he heard his phone ping.

“Yeah. Can’t sleep. Had a bad day? I can reheat your dinner if you want.” You texted back from your shared bed. You were up waiting for him to come home all night. He wasn’t supposed to be out this late anyways. That’s what happens when you’re engaged to a pro hero. The sleepless nights, those nights where one of you would be asleep and the other comes trudging in from a late shift; sometimes it can be overwhelming, but for him it was all worth it. You supported his dream of being a pro hero since the two of you were walking the halls of UA together.

“Nah. Not hungry for that. I’m tryna eat something else though.” Bakugo texted back with a sly smirk. He sat his phone on the dashboard and pulled out of the parking lot; making his way home.

Bakugo couldn’t wait to get home; driving in his all black sports car with haste through the city traffic. At least y/n would be there to greet him. He knew from the start of your relationship that you were his end game. He loved everything about you from your head down to your toes (which he secretly thinks are fucking adorable!). All he could think about is how you look when you’re undone; hair messy, little to no clothes on looking absolutely delicious in one of his big t-shirts. He could already smell your shampoo as he dreamt of you lying in bed waiting for him; his pants growing tight as he imagines your breasts bare and supple underneath one of his shirts. As he waits for the traffic light to turn green, he reaches for his phone to text you again.

“Gonna fuck the shit outta you when I get there, baby. I cant wait to see that ass naked.”

Meanwhile at home, you read the text from your favorite blonde with a goofy smile plastered on your face. Biting your lip in temptation, you jump out of bed to prep yourself for the long night of love-making ahead. It was a Friday night so he had all the time in the world to please your body for as long as he wished as weekends were his only days off. You walked towards your bathroom to take a quick shower before your fiancé made his way home. You stood in the hot shower and let out a small groan as the feeling of your muscles relaxing under the water slowly covered your body. Sighing, you wash up a little more before turning off the water and stepping out, running a towel over your wet face to dry it off. You walk back into your bedroom and pull out one of Bakugo’s favorite sets he loves to see you in. An orange lace bra with a black lacy thong with matching orange trimming on them. The first time you wore this for your fiancé he damn near ripped it off of you.

“Fuck, you look so sexy, princess. Move ‘em to the side. Don’t you dare take them off.” He said gesturing towards your sweet heat. He ate you out for what seemed like hours that night in his office and fucked you until you couldn’t remember your own name.

You softly smiled at the memory as you pulled a big white t-shirt (belonging to bakugo) over the sexy little number. Soon enough you heard the sound of your fiancé’s car alarm being activated .

He’s home. You practically run into the living room like a puppy greeting its owner. Standing right in front of the front door, you listen as the door clicks unlocked, your lower half feeling a familiar pressure. You missed him so much. Too much. The door opens as your spikey headed blond lover walks through, sitting his bag at the door and taking off his shoes. He looks down at you, his towering figure inching closer to your smaller frame. He says nothing, pulling you into his arms as if he hadn’t seen you in years when it had only been a few hours. You wrap your arms around his neck and embrace the man you love.

“Hey, shitty woman.” He says, peppering little kisses all over your face and neck.

He lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his strong waist as he plants a passionate kiss on your lips. Your tongues danced together, massaging and exploring each other with love as he pulled away slowly as if he never wanted to stop. He catches your scent and he knows he’s finally home. With you.

“I’ve been missing you all day, Ka-chan. How was your day?” You ask him, still being carried by Bakugo as if you were a precious thing that was to never touch the ground.

“It’s better now that I’m home. Today did anything less than piss me off.” Katuski growled. He walked toward the kitchen and sat you down on the island. “I guess you’re gonna have to make it better, huh princess?”

You licked your lips in response; your pussy feeling as if a faucet had been turned on. You wanted him bad. And he wanted you too.

“It’s like you don’t own any of your own pajamas. Why’re you always prancing around in my shirts, huh? Is it ‘cause you know it fuckin’ turns me on seeing you like this? I bet you’re naked under here, aren’t you?” Bakugo groans lifting the shirt over your head to reveal the sexy lingerie you slipped on earlier. You smirk as he drinks in your entire body with his cheeks flushing red. God, he think you’re the most gorgeous thing walking. How’d he end up with someone as perfect as you? Didn’t matter. He had you right where he wanted you, from now until forever.

“Damn.” He said, biting his lip as he caressed your thighs, spreading them a bit to get a good look at you. You let out a subtle moan, your pussy growing wetter by the second as he touched you. It was like his hands knew which spots to touch to turn you on. He stood between your legs, hiking them up on his hips as he motions for you to lay back on the island. “I remember this damned set. You surprised me at work wearing nothing but this under that long coat I got you a couple Christmases back. You still look fuckin’ hot in it.” Bakugo said, looking you deep in your eyes. He doesn’t even know where to start with you. All he knows is that he’s gonna fuck you until all you can say is his name by the break of dawn.

“Katsuki~, I’m so wet for you. P-Please touch me.” You whined, the pressure in your panties becoming too much to bear. He smirks at you, running his hands up your body to pull out one of your breasts from your bra. You hiss a little at your exposed nipple being assaulted by the cool air of the kitchen.

“ ‘Gonna be a long fuckin’ night, baby. You oughta be more patient. You’re gonna be walkin with a limp for a week when I’m done with you.” Bakugo said, lightly pinching your hardened nipple, pulling it slightly as he watched you try and close your thighs for friction. Your lacy panties could barely contain your juices from freely flowing out of you, your moans softly filling Katsuki’s ears as you squirm underneath him.

“Been thinkin’ about your sexy ass all day, ya know.” He says, kissing a trail down to where you needed him most only to further tease you by rubbing your clit harshly with his thumb over your panties. You gasp as he pulled them slightly to the side, just enough to see your pussy glistening with your own juices.

“Heh.. you weren’t kiddin’. You must be dyin’ for me to fuck you, huh baby?” He was enjoying this way too much. You try grinding against his stilled thumb as he swatted your ass in protest, you yelping in response.

“Stay fuckin’ still. I’ll get to that needy little pussy in a second.” He groans. Trust me, this is killing him just as much as it’s killing you. He just wants to savor the moment. Even though he had a whole weekend to have you bent over or spread out for you to take his dick, the weekends go by so quickly. And the night had just begun. Bakugo lifts you up and carries you to your shared bedroom, practically throwing you on the bed as you giggle. He climbs on top of you, dipping down to kiss you again. You moan into the kiss as he slips his tongue in your mouth, lifting a knee up to lightly brush against his hard dick through his pants. He groans, extra sensitive from being hard from his car up until now.

“Damn brat, I told you keep still.” He says, wrapping a hand around your throat to choke you as he kissed you deeper, yanking off your panties. You squeal as he slips his hand down to rub your clit in agonizingly slow circles. You moan into his lips desperately, wanting so much more than this insufferable teasing. You needed him now. He pulls away to look at your face; flushed and absolutely gorgeous. Your hair was disheveled from the kissing, your breast still hanging out of your bra as your chest heaved from you breathing heavily after the heated kiss. He burned this image of you into the back of his mind. Reaching behind you, he unclasped your bra; drinking in your beautiful and supple breasts. He moans at the sight, taking a nipple into his mouth feverishly suckling on the exposed bud. You moan into the air as he slips in two of fingers into your needy hole.

“Like that shit, huh?” He asked, pulling away from your breast. You nodded desperately, moans filling the room and Bakugo’s ears to his delight. He smirked as he quickened his pace, feeling your pussy contract around his fingers. Any more of this and you’re gonna cum for sure. Your moans becoming more high pitched and audible by the second as he inched you closer to your climax. Just as you’re about to release, he stops his fingers to your dismay. You frown at him, the cutest face he’s ever seen.

“Aw, princess. Did ya really think I was gonna let you cum this soon?” He said, licking his fingers tasting your sweet juices. He kissed down your stomach, stopping just below your belly button. “Tell me what you want, baby.” He growls, kissing a little lower.

“Fuuuck, Ka-chan pleaseee. F-Fuck me. I need you.” you whine, almost crying out for him to fuck you already. He loves it when you beg for him, especially when you use his old nickname in bed while doing so. You’re a strong, bad ass hero out in the streets, but a needy little baby for him in the sheets. He smirks as he removed his pants and boxers, his thick and juicy length slapping against his stomach as he removed them. You practically drool at the sight, hungry for that dick to be inside you. He watches your face has he revealed his dick to you, loving the hunger in your eyes.

“You ready, babe?” He asked, tapping the tip of his dick against your aching pussy. You nod, so ready to take him as you spread your legs nice and wide for him. Bakugo bit his lip at the sight of your gorgeous pussy, not hesitating to slide himself inside with a gutteral grunt. You gasp, taking him all in with ease with your slick cunt.

“Fuck, baby, mmm you’re so fuckin’ wet for me.” He groans, leaning down into your neck as he slowly thrusts into you, allowing you to adjust to his length. You two haven’t fucked all week until now so you’re feeling extra tight around him. Finally, the feeling you’ve been waiting for all night. You moaned sinfully as you feel him stretch you out, grabbing hold of his head and pulling lightly on his hair. He always filled you up so nicely, the feeling of his veiny length sliding in and out of your drenched walls sending you into complete bliss. The world could be burning around you and you wouldn’t even notice or care. Bakugo leaving open mouth kisses all over your neck, sucking harshly at the flesh as he leaves love bites all over as his pace became hard and fast. You moan loudly as he pounds into you, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you claw at his back.

“Mmmm~, K-Kachan I-I love you.” You purr into his ear as he kisses you in response. You start to feel yourself coming undone under him, your legs shaking around him. “I-I’m gonna c-cum. Ughh I love you.” You repeated as he fucks you even harder. Sounds of skin slapping, and your wet pussy taking him in and out filled the room as your moans echo in Katsuki’s ears. He’s close too but you always cum first so he’s holding himself back.

“Shit baby. You’re so fuckin’ tight. Go head and cum for me. C’mon.” He coos, rubbing your clit in time with his strokes. You practically scream as you instantaneously come undone as he requested, Katsuki not letting up in his strokes as he has to cum too. Tears fill your eyes as you take him, not fully recovered from your first orgasm as you moan louder. Overstimulated, you tremble underneath him unable to cope.

“Ah- Fuck!” You scream, feeling yourself about to burst for him again. His name on your lips like a mantra, you claw at his back more, for sure leaving scratches. He growls, lifting your legs onto his shoulders, stroking you deeper and deeper. He watches your face twist and turn as you take him deeper, your face filled with pleasure and lust as he brutally pounded into you. Your breasts jiggle as he pounds you, you grabbing onto one for dear life as he assaults your pussy. You clench around him again, seeing stars in your eyes as you feel yourself nearing your second orgasm.

“That’s right, baby. Cum for me again. ‘M not fuckin done with you.” His brash voice hums as he leans in further, your legs pressed against your chest as he pounds into you, slow but hard. You can’t contain your moans as you scream and cry for him, your neighbors definitely will know his name without even meeting him. You moan from deep within your stomach as you clench hard around his dick, cumming again and leaving a mess all over your sheets. He groans as his hips stutter into yours, nearing his own release.

“Fuckkk princess. I’m gonna cum- shit!” He hissed, his strokes becoming sloppy. You bite your lip as you feel his dick throb inside you, loving the way his last few thrusts feel.

“Yes ‘Suki, cum inside me!” You whine, kissing him briefly as you felt his hot sticky cum coat your insides. Huffing and puffing, his head hangs back as he rides out his orgasm. He comes back to reality as he pulls himself out of you, watching his seed ooze out of your used pussy with pride. You wipe the sweat from your brow as you welcome him to snuggle with you, his head resting on your breasts as he kissed them and gave one a final squeeze. You two lay in silence, coming down from the highs of your orgasms as you both panted for air with exhaustion. Well, at least for you anyways. He looks at you with love in his eyes, caressing your cheek as he gazed into your eyes.

“I know I don’t say this to you often.. but I love you. Dumbass.” He laughs weakly as he kisses your breast. You smile as you move his hair away from his face.

“And I you, Kachan.” You say, kissing his forehead. Knowing Katuski for as long as you have, he doesn’t really articulate his feelings with words but more so with his actions. Tonight was a prime example of him showing his love and appreciation for you without having to say it. So to hear him say these words verbally means a lot to you.

“No seriously. Y/n I can’t wait to marry you in a few weeks. And then I’m gonna put a baby in you as soon as we get home. I can’t wait to see you all swollen, wabbling around with our baby inside you. I know we’re gonna make for kick ass parents. You’re the best thing that’s ever fuckin’ happened to me.” He said taking your hand and entertwining it with his. You giggle at the thought of being pregnant by the love of your life. It was truly something you both wanted for a long time and now that you’re both established heros, you can make it happen. You begin to close your eyes, sleep taking over your body as you feel Katsuki jump up from his position in bed.

“Whelp. Break time’s over. Bring your ass here.” He said smirking at you as he pulled you towards him for another round. You squealed as you laughed uncontrollably, kissing him once more. You glanced out of the window to see the sun peaking out the horizon. Damn. Dawn already. He really meant it when he said it was gonna be a long night.

AHHHHH! My first smut writing! I’m so happy omg. This was really fun to write and it only took a day. Thanks for reading! I gotta make a schedule for this stuff. See yall next time! 

[miinomo]

my little maid.

✿ pairings - Erwin x Maid Fem! (Chubby) Reader

contains - (18+ content MDNI) Infidelity, Body worship, Age gap, Creampie, Dark Content

✿ Synopsis - A bad day could change in moments of Erwin coming home to his perfect maid. One that could never deny him the pleasure that his cold, unloving wife denies him on a daily basis. 

You stood in one of the bigger guest bedrooms while staring at yourself in the mirror. It was a Venetian mirror that had lacquered wood finished in dark red with a high gloss varnish coat. It was one of the many expensive furnishings that caught your eye in the Smith’s household. It was like there was always something to be looking at. All of their furniture seemed straight out of a film, or a novel. The type of couches or beds you would see in a mansion on the big screen. 

When you were first hired by Mrs. Smith, you weren’t as great of a cleaner as you are now. It was tough-- Getting used to cleaning so many rooms, and so thoroughly at that. But you picked up a good technique rather quickly. And for that, the Smith’s were thankful. Their home always seemed to accumulate a lot of dust in such a short period, so without you, they would surely be suffering something fierce in the realm of allergies.

The uniform, however, was something Mr. Smith’s wife did not approve of. The skirt was too short, the stockings- too revealing. Whenever she would come home and see you dressed so whorishly it made her skin crawl. But looking at yourself, it felt nice. Even though you weren’t a model, you were a bit thicker than most women that society deemed beautiful- Mr. Smith never made you feel that way, like you weren’t good enough. He looked at you as if you were the only woman in the world. 

His words affected you more than he would ever know- “You started as a blank canvas. Everything about you, down to your stretch marks is beautiful. And I will tell you every day until you believe it yourself.” That was what he said to you the first time the two of you had been intimate. You were nervous and shy for him to see your unclothed body. But he insisted, he wanted to worship all of you, not just the parts that anyone could see on a day-to-day basis.

Abruptly the front door was slammed and it caused your heart to drop into your stomach. The sudden sound had frightened you- you were so caught up in reminiscing on past experiences with Mr. Smith and didn’t notice it was around the time he usually came home. The loud noise echoed through the house, which was a common occurrence anywhere with long hallways and high ceilings. “Mr. Smith?” You called after walking to the doorway, wanting to be sure the person that entered the premises was truly who you were expecting. 

“Yes, y/n. It’s me.” His stern, yet comforting voice announced. “Come downstairs when you have a moment.” The tone in his voice suggested two possibilities. Either he and his wife were fighting again, or he had a bad day at work. Making your way downstairs you could see him sitting at the dining table with his head resting in his hands. You were guessing it was the latter due to it being directly after business hours that he looked so unhappy. 

“Yes. Work was quite hectic today, but it was also Marleen. She was constantly calling me while I was in the middle of a presentation with a new client. Needless to say, it did not go well.” Erwin looked at you as you stood at the opposite side of the table. “Please sit y/n. I would love your company. Dusting can wait.” Although Erwin was venting to you- your chest felt warm. It was always the same feeling you got when looking at him. He held himself so well. His posture, so upright. Everything about him just screamed ‘gentleman.’ 

The sound of your flats tapping against the white tiles was what made Mr. Smith’s attention come back to you. “How was work, Mr. Smith? Was it as unpleasant as it seemed?” You approached the oaky table which had hand-carved details of the intricate marquetry and like the mirror from upstairs; it was also finished with a high gloss varnish. 

The ocean blue eyes that you loved to look into were staring you down as his warm hand enveloped yours. “I missed you so much. You have no idea how long today felt. And now that I’m here with you it’s like a weight was taken off of my shoulders.” He confided in you. The world felt so quiet- usually, you could hear the birds chirping, the winds howling, or even the neighbors doing yard work. But not right now. Not while Mr. Smith sat so close, telling you all he needed to feel better was to take one look at you. 

“I missed you too Mr. Smith.” You smiled at him while he rubbed his thumb over your hand. “y/n, I’ve told you at least a dozen times you may call me Erwin.” His voice was so calm. Every time he said your name it felt like your heart was going to burst. “I know you have, but it’s easier for me to slip up if I get too comfortable.” Silence filled the room for a moment. Bringing up the fact that you two were hiding your love for each other was never easy. Even if he was in an unhappy marriage, it felt wrong sometimes. 

“I understand.” Erwin looked away from you for only a moment before directing his gaze straight back to you. “Would you accompany me upstairs? I would love your help with something.” Just from the tone in his voice, you knew where this was going. He needed relief, and you weren’t planning to deny him. “Of course, Mr. Smith.” You got up from your seat and followed him through the hall. 

The two of you walked up the stairs together- you following behind him while he held onto the railing. “We’re going to the master bedroom.” He instructed before taking a right when he reached the top of the stairway. The halls were decorated with many expensive pieces of art. Paintings, teaware, and framed botanicals hung on the brown walls. The white marbled tile of the floor accentuated the brown in such a pleasant way. 

Erwin turned around to look at you after entering through the doorway. “You’re so beautiful.” He rested his hands on your hips and pulled you closer to him. Bringing you to his chest and looking down at you, he smiled. “Having you here with me... I couldn’t ask for anything more.” He leaned down, encasing your lips in his. His kisses were always so passionate. You could feel the care and love behind his desperate groans into your mouth. 

“I love you.” Your eyes widened and a loud ringing came to your ears. Mr. Smith just confessed his love to you. You both mutually knew that you cared deeply for one another, but hearing him say those words was just something you couldn’t have imagined. The words were so sweet. “Please, y/n. Let me have you.” He ran his hands down to your ass and gripped it lightly. You looked into his eyes and without hesitance, you gave him your answer. “You don’t even have to ask.” 

And with that, Erwin picked you up continuing to kiss you with as much passion as he could. His tongue explored the inside of your mouth and fought against your own for dominance. Although you would never actually try to overtake him. You loved how much of a lead he took when the two of you were intimate. He walked with you in his arms, slowly making his way to the bed. It was the largest bed in the house, with lilac satin sheets. They were cool and soft against your thighs when he placed you down onto them. 

“Mr. Smith, are you sure we should have sex in here? This is...” The thought of his wife sleeping in this bed later tonight was clouding your head. “We will just have to be sure we don’t make a mess.” He breathed against your plush lips before kissing you yet again. Your hands snaked their way up around his neck, touching the back of his head. His haircut was a bit scratchy due to the undercut and shave he opted for. 

“Erwin.” You moaned into his mouth as his large hand made its way up to your inner thigh slowly. He gripped onto your skin, pushing his thumb down just enough to apply a bit of pain. “I love how much of you there is to love.” He pulled back from the kiss and smiled endearingly while looking into your eyes. “You’re perfect. And I love you.” Your heart skipped a beat from his comments. “I love you too Erwin.” 

With your confession, Erwin found in himself that he was no longer able to be patient. He would usually prep you for him, with his tongue or fingers. But he couldn’t wait any longer. He needed to be inside of you. “Are you wet enough for my cock, y/n?” He breathed against your ear while he focused on undoing his belt. Tossing it to the side of the room, he proceeded to unzip his pants- pulling his cock through his trousers. 

You could feel his member poking the inside of your legs while he kissed your neck, occasionally biting down onto your skin. “Fuck, I want you.” You hissed through your teeth as he nibbled your ear. His breath was warm as was his tongue, which ran down the side of your neck before he placed light and feathery kisses along the trail of saliva he left behind. “Then you’ll have me.” He groaned before pushing his cock deep inside of you. 

No amount of slick was ever enough to make taking him easy. It always felt like he was assaulting your insides when he thrust so deeply into you. Stretching you more than anyone else ever had. Erwin let out a breathy moan. “You’re so tight.” During sex, your holes always squeezed him just right. To the point where your pussy would make forming sentences a challenge. You always made him feel so good. He planted his feet firmly into the ground while you laid on your back, looking up to the ceiling. He grabbed ahold of your thighs and pushed your legs up, resting them onto his shoulder before he began pounding into you.

The ivory frills on your skirt tickled his skin as he kept his rhythm. You gasped every time you felt him ram into your cervix. You felt your eyes start to roll back into your head; his veiny cock was almost too much for you. Continuously mixing up your insides, each vein pulling at your inner walls. He grabbed onto your hips harshly, keeping you in place while he brought your pussy to the base of his cock. The two of you were moaning so loudly it started to echo throughout the house. “shit, y/n. Fuck, you’re squeezing, so fucking tight.” His voice was shaky. 

Your hands searched for anything to hold onto while your body rocked back and forth on the bed. Finally settling on the soft and luxurious satin sheets. You balled them into your fists and cried out his name repeatedly. “I’m going to cum, Erwin.” Your walls clenched his cock so tight, not wanting it to leave with each pump. Your legs began to shake and fall from his shoulders but he grabbed ahold of your thighs. Holding them in place and speeding up the pace of him ramming into your pussy. Deeper than ever. 

“Don’t spill any of my cum, baby. It’d be a pain to get out of these sheets.” He chuckled as his hips spastically jerked forward. He groaned and leaned his head back as his warm seed shot into you. Your pussy was filled up with his cum and your cheeks were bright pink. It was so thick, so much. You were scared you wouldn’t be able to hold all of it in. He pulled out of you slowly, making sure you put his thumb on your hole when his cock finally exited your gaping hole. “Should I cork you? Make sure not a drop escapes your beautiful pussy?” He smirked as he looked over at a bottle of red wine, sitting on the granite countertop of his dresser. 

You thought for a moment and couldn’t help but lick your lower lip. “Please cork me.” Your response surprised him, this time he was the one who was shocked. His eyebrows raised slightly but he kept his smug expression. “Oh? If you keep all of it in till the end of your shift tonight, maybe I’ll reward you. My beautiful, little maid.” 

✿✿✿ Author’s Notes ✿✿✿ - Although I don’t normally write a note at the bottom of my pieces I wanted to address something. I’ve been seeing a few people that I follow having body shaming anons coming into their ask boxes, and that’s not cool. I am all for body positivity and feeling good about yourself. But there’s a difference when your tone is bragging, versus being happy in your own skin. And I am a bit on the chubbier side myself and want anyone that is uncomfortable in their own skin to know that you’re beautiful and loved. Usually my writing is for all body types, but I wanted this one to be a bit more personal for us Chubby girls. I hope you all still enjoyed this piece, and can all one day love who you are and what you look like. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and don’t let anyone ever put you down. Thank you. 

[batwritings]

15 minutes of your time, dearest Bat, if I may. I'm studying to be a photographer, I really like taking pictures. A lot of the little jobs I do are taking graduation pictures for family friends. I got the idea of being the photographer of one of the boys, but in the nude....so I'm going to share it with you.

Model Gogy, because let's be honest he is so pretty and very photogenic. Filters are not needed for this man.

So you are hired to take photos of him on a regular because his agent likes the way your shoots come out. They have been the most flattering and it's all because you've got a crush on the British man. George is nothing but nice to you. The banter is easy and boarder line flirtatious at times. You are professional though.

Well one day you get an email from his agent, but it doesn't sound like them. 'Hey can we set up a shoot soon.' was the subject. The rest of the email was weird too. Not much information was shared and the dates were going to be in 2 days. Usually you got a week to prepare and plan things. But your Schedule was clear and to be honest you can say no.

So in the two days you scramble to get ready and made sure all your other projects were cleared out. You arrive at the address with probably more gear then you needed. It's just George there though he is awkwardly sitting at a table in the middle of the nearly empty studio waiting for you. He lights up when he sees you and even helps you with equipment. You ask him what the shoot was about and he blushes.

"I understand if you don't feel comfortable doing this. Honestly I wish my agent would have told you right from the start but I need nude pictures taken." He chews his lip nervous. The instant though of naked George with his dick out makes brain.exe stop working. The little longer you just stare at him the more nervous he gets, laughing weakly and rambling about something.

"I can...do the job." You blink back when he starts saying something about 'not worrying about it he can get someone else to do it but he trusts you'. He pauses and smiles relaxing some and smiling relieved at you.

"cool, thank you," he sounded like he wanted to say more but instead just fidgeted.

Clearing your throat you ask how he wanted to do this. He left it up to you. Again you couldn't think properly. Your own blush was surely visible. You look around at the sparse furniture. The large couch would have to work because it was the only thing besides the blankets and the floor. So you tell him the plan and proceed to set up. Usually you wouldn't, a scene would already be ready but this was different. George waited not wanting to get in your way. When it was ready you smiled at him.

"We can start when you are ready, okay?" He nods at you and plops down on the couch shifting a little awkwardly. Your camera was raised as you figured out the best angles for lighting. He was stiff and looked for once so uncomfortable.

"Do you want to do some normal shots to help you relax?" You ask giving him a warm smile trying to help him. He nods pulling off his jacket though.

"Maybe I can take of layers as we go." He says seeming to melt into his usual confidence. It was a good idea. He lounges across the sofa in his short, jeans, and shoes. Looking aloof and kinda reminding you of a cat.

He removed his shoes next, falling into another pose. Legs tucked against him and sprawled over a pillow. He looked so soft even in the slightly tight jeans. Which were the next things removed. George sat crisscross with the giant pillow him his lap and a daring look in his eyes. The light looked amazing spilling over his eyes and pale skin. There was hesitation on the next article of clothing. He settling on the socks instead. Crossing his ankles and popping his knees over the arm of the couch laying back with his shirt riding up his torso. A light whisper of a happy trail peaking out. It took longer for the next piece to so. A blush painted his cheeks. By now you were so focused on actually taking pictures you didn't even think about the situation anymore. His shirt was gone. His hands hiding parts of his chest and his eyes searched out yours. You pause for a moment taking in his figure. There before you was the nearly naked figure of the most attractive person you have ever seen. His lips were bitten red and his dark eyes looking up at you through thick lashes. The pretty pink looked like pastel chalk dusting his body. The pale skin seemed to glow in the bright lights and the many windows letting the natural sun in. Your breath catches when he give you a look that screams come here.

You don't move for a moment frozen just staring. He leans back spreading his legs and leaning back into the couch. His arms flexing as he holds them over his head and back. He is wide open and looked so damn good. You snapped a picture on accident your finger having been playing with the button. You lick your lips and clear your throat. Pushing your attention to the job. You take some pictures working hard not to drool over how god damn sexy he looked and inviting. Oh so inviting.

His hands slide down his body and stop around his waist band of his boxers smirking at you. Teasing the edges down. You gulp watching was the fabric slowly slides down his legs and pools in front of the couch. He is completely naked and standing in front of you. And the first thing you couldn't help but look at was his half hard cock. It twitched before your eyes. The muscles of his thighs flexing as he shifted into a better position on the sofa. Slouched back and looking like a lazy king. His hands gliding over his hips and dancing down his thighs. His eyes staring at you hard. One hand raised and he gave a come here gesture with one finger. Those dark eyes blown wide with the teasing lust. Your throat his dry and your camera is heavy in your hands.

Bitting your lip you move forward. He leans forward and takes the camera pulling you closer by the strap until you were nearly filling into his lap. He smirks and whispers, "wanna have some fun?" You shiver, slipping the strap off and nodding. He set the device down gently on the ground and takes your hips in his hands. He guilds you onto his lap. Your knees on each his of his hips. Those hands of his rubbing your thighs, looking up at your slightly and pressing your foreheads together. His breath smells so good, fresh and sweet like bubblegum.

He captures your lips in a hot kiss. His soft tongue dancing with yours.

While you kiss and relax more pieces of your wardrobe is removed allowing for George to touch you all over. The last thing to go was your underwear. He teases you firm hands pressing your ass and slapping it. You whine on his lap writhing excitedly. Your sex grinds against his and he moans too. The controlled ride of your hips into his was intoxicating. Your lips met and he leans you back to lay on the couch. Dipping between your spread thighs and licking your heat. The brunette sucks and licks at you for a long while your hands tangling in his hair. His slim fingers toying with your entrance. Using his own spit he presses in. A cry left your lips, stars dancing in your eyes and he continued. Your brains as become more empty the more time passed. An eternity later and you felt so fucked out you wanted to cum so badly. He kissed up your body settling between your legs. His hand that had prepped you smeared on the couch. His other hand tapping against your lips. You take them sucking hard and whining when he rubs the pads of his fingers over your tongue. When he removed them the next saliva was used to prep his cock.

The head was pressed into you slowly. Your legs wrapped around his hips and you leaned back moaning the further he pushed in. He wasn't very big but he did fill you perfectly. Tucking his hands under your thighs he lifts you off the couch some and draw his hips back before thrusting them forwards again. Grunting with he force he continues to build up his speed. You grab his thighs rolling your hips into him bouncing off his body as you meet in a slap of skin. The pleasure was maddening, the swell of release was just out of touch but this felt so perfectly good you didn't want to ever stop.

He stopped panted hard and moving you to lay with him, throwing your leg over his hip and the other straight tangled with his. This position hit something new for you cause you to cry out and grab hold of his hands on your hips. He speed up fucking hard and fast. You quivered and called out his name as you felt the swell spill over into creamy release. He followed soon after stilling deep inside and filling you up with a new pressure.

Needless to say you didn't get the pictures you needed.

📷

.......bat.exe has stopped working. HOLY FUCK CAMERA!!! THAT WAS FRIGGIN' AMAZING!!! AND THE WAY YOU DESCRIBE EVERYTHING IN SUCH DETAIL IS IMMACULATE! LIKE I CAN SEE IT IN MY HEAD AND FFFFFFU--

rebooting in progress, please wait. . .

[beatleszeppelin]

You're A... Inexperienced Chapter 2

Summary: On watch one night you find out some thing that Daryl has never done. And you offer him some experience.

Category: Friends to Lovers, Eventual Mild Smut, just a good ol’ time

Paring: Daryl x reader (second person)

Warnings/Includes: General Walking Dead grossness, Smut (but not in this chapter), swearing, use of weapons, non-graphic hunting, mention of past child abuse, (let me know if you see anything else)

Word count: 3k

Chapter 1 Masterlist

Chapter 2 Naked in a Lake

The next few days were fairly uneventful. Seeing Daryl only in passing. He stayed outside when you were in; you stayed outside when he stayed in.

Not even shifts brought you together. Since the fall of Woodbury, there have been plenty of new people taking shifts to give you all a break.

Most of your time was spent helping with the kids in the library when Carol was too busy doing important things to “babysit”. Or you occasionally helped out at the farm on the south side of the prison. Rick and Hershel had started it over the past few months, and already it had yielded some fine meals.

Those meals were also made courtesy of Daryl, who went out into the woods on the daily, not going far, but far enough to be out all day and come back with a belt full of squirrels and rabbits by night. You had no idea how he did it or how far he went, but he seemed to be used to the days of solitude, in nature alone.

That was all until he planned to go out a bit farther, only for a couple days, but that was more that he had been gone in a while, more than anyone had been alone for a while. When he shared these plans, you decided that you would go out hunting with him, you know, because there is safety in numbers, (and you were dying to see what he spent so much time doing everyday).

So when morning came, and it was time to leave you brought your bag and followed him to the gate. He squinted at you being blinded by the morning light that rose over the prison. “I’m coming with you, is that alright?” You asked him knowing that he couldn’t argue. You awaited his response, but it never came, instead he had the gate opened and held his arm out like a gentleman letting you lead.

You guys walked past the spikes that guarded the outside of the gates, just as the queens guards once did outside of Buckingham palace. Kicking rocks and dust clouds along the path, walking went fairly slow. Not much to say, not much to do this early in the morning. You hadn’t even waited for Carl and Carol’s shift, which normally signified morning, to start before you had left. (You were sure he had said good-bye to them, Rick, and Judith the night before though. He was good like that.)

When the sun, which was barely peering over the land when you left, had risen enough to give you a long shadow, stretched out in front of you; you decided it was time to eat. Taking the backpack off your shoulders, and unzipping it when it was in front of you, you pulled out a small loaf of bread. You broke it in half and handed some to Daryl. He gnashed into it like a rabid dog, grunting a thank you in between bites.

You nibbled off bites as you walked, trying to savor it as something to do. The scenery of trees and a dirt path was getting old. You couldn’t understand how someone could go out along this path all day every day.

It was hot, too. Hot and sweaty. By mid-day you felt as though you were dragging, lifting your legs in a pedantic manner. Daryl’s hair was stuck to his forehead, and he had stripped his poncho, just left in a cut off flannel. He seemed to be perfectly fine in the heat though, barely even touching his water.

You wonder if he stayed outside a lot before as well. There’s something about him that makes it so hard to imagine him in his house, in a domestic setting. Did he do the dishes, and make himself food? Was his room clean, did he make his bed every morning before work? Did he have a job? What did he do? But you know that wondering these things will only pass the time, because there is no way he’d ever casually mention his previous life.

People had tried guessing, to no avail. Beth’s new boyfriend, Zach, was the leader of the guessers, being followed by the children, and you’ve even discussed it with both Michonne and Carol before. It would really take something special to make him confess his stories to someone, who knows who could get that close to him though.

You spent the majority of your walk picturing him in an office setting, wearing a tie and answering phones. Or at a gas station glaring at little kids who try to stuff candy bars up their sleeves, scaring them into obeying the law.

Mechanic seemed to fit best. Not a sleazy mechanic that finds more things to break to get

some extra cash, but one that spends day and night tracking down an original piece to some old beat up motorcycle. He wouldn’t charge extra for labor, cause he’d be doing the thing he loved most. He would treat each bike as his own, tirelessly making it perfect until the finishing pieces were in their exact place, like the sprinkles on a sundae.

“Gonna cut into the woods, right here.” He nodded, directing you.

“Oh yeah, sorry,” you said, snapping out of your little daydream. “Ya’ okay?” He ducked down, meeting your eyes though his hair.

“Yeah, I’s just thinking.”

“‘Kay, just watch out in here. Can’t make too much sound.”

You walked through the dense forest, making as little noise as you possibly could. Heel, toe; heel, toe. Only cracking branches and crunching leaves every few steps, listening to Daryl’s deep steadying breaths in between.

He taught you how to lay traps, and snares; different knots and when to use them. By the end of the day you could set your own, with the reassurance that he would help kill whatever you caught. No matter how many walkers you would kill, and how much bad shit you’ve seen. It still felt weird killing animals to eat.

The trapping, and mapping out your paths came to an end as night fell. The darkness made it too difficult to achieve the superb knots you were tying, and the sub par snares that Daryl would set, so you two decided to call it a night, sleeping in shifts back to back.

The next day went the same, but it was now time for the actual hunting. You left the killing to Daryl, using your lack of a silent long range weapon, like the crossbow as an excuse. You guys sat up wind, and out of the line of sight of any animals that may pass. It was quiet, and you understood why he liked it.

Hunting wasn’t all killing like you had imagined; hunting was 99% sitting quietly in nature, 1% killing.

You can’t lie about the fact that when a deer came into sight, you closed your eyes and didn’t open them until you heard the click of the trigger on the crossbow. You didn’t want to see the animal die, but you can’t feel bad about how many people that deer could feed.

Daryl took care of the dirty work, cleaning, and “prepping” the deer to be taken home. You sat by and watched.

Once the task was complete, you started back for the prison, hoping it would cut some of the time of the walk back tomorrow. This time was cut short by the approaching darkness of night.

You two set up a small camp to spend the ever closer night. And with cans on strings, as tripwire, and your backs to each other, you two felt it was safe enough to get some rest, that was until the cans rattled.

The sounds of metal clanking, shook you from your not so deep sleep. You whipped around to see a walker reaching over your barricade of tangled fishing wire and old soda cans. It stumbled over and grabbed Daryl's boot, luckily he tied up his pant legs with cords to keep from being scratched. You scrambled over to a half awake Daryl and pulled his knife from his pocket, stabbing it into the undead's brain. He nodded graciously as you handed his knife back. You both sat still in the early hours of the morning, breathing heavily until your adrenaline died down.

Your eyes stung from lack of sleep, but it was nothing compared to how Daryl looked. His eyes were puffy, and had dark purple craters around them, and what little you could see of his eyes were bloodshot. His hair stuck up in every which direction, the bangs that normally cover his face, were defying gravity, and exposed his forehead.

“You can sleep, but let's face each other this time,” you planned.

“You sure?” he said groggily.

“Yeah, if you saw yourself, you’d be sure too.”

He scoffed, and pulled his vest out as an acting pillow, tucking one arm under it, and laying his head down. He fell asleep shortly, and you watched.

The expression he made was soft, and innocent, less like a child and more like a puppy that tired out running in a field all day. He subconsciously held his thumb to his mouth. He breathed heavily through his mouth, with quiet snores escaping occasionally.

You didn’t sleep at all that night, you couldn’t let anything disturb the peace. You weren’t tired, though, you actually felt like you had gotten a full night’s rest.

The two of you started home at the crack of dawn, with dull yellow light illuminating the grass you stood on. You took to the woods for your trek home, rather than the long road you took to get there.

Halfway through the day you happened upon a lake that looked beautiful, a direct juxtaposition to everything you had been used to seeing. The water sparkled, and light refracted off the ripples in every which direction. Birds made chirping sounds that echoed through the dense forest, and made a song through the trees.

Daryl grabbed a plastic bottle, and some of the sandy silt that covered the edge of the water, making a makeshift water filter. As he did so, you took off your shorts and threw them aside, wading into the water. The water was greenish, but you could see your feet, and the dust clouding around your steps. The water was warm enough to not give you the chills, but cool enough to be refreshing.

Once the water hit your hips, you took your shirt off and threw it a few feet away from Daryl, joining your shorts, and shortly after your bra. You watched him finish his contraption and fill it.

“Should have some water in an hour or so…” he looked up and saw you, then quickly looked back at his bottle.

“Maybe we could catch a fish or something, too,” you said, smiling at his back. “You should join me in here.”

“Nah” he shook his head.

“Yeah, when was the last time you got cleaned up?”

“I ain’t gonna, someone needs to be a lookout.” He looked up at you, standing his ground. “Anyway, I gotta piss.”

He started walking away and you yelled to him, “Yeah, sure you do, Dixon.” You splashed his way, but he had already walked behind the trees.

A noise came from your left, behind a couple of thick trees. Two walkers stumbled out, slipping on the sandy hill. You didn’t have any weapons on you, and getting back over to your clothes seemed like a death wish. They were closer to the clothes and things than you were. Daryl didn’t even have his crossbow with him, it was in the pile next to the water filter.

You yelled for Daryl, hoping he’d get back before the walkers could reach you. You yelled again, and it drew their attention. They were about at the edge of the water now, and you were fucked… but a whistle came out of the woods.

Daryl showed up and whistled loudly to catch the attention of the dead walking toward you. It worked. They started toward him at a slow pace, and you ran over to the pile of stuff. You picked one off with the crossbow. Daryl tripped backwards on a rock, and the walker stumbled towards him, wishing to bite into the leg that was trying to kick it backwards. He grabbed the rock, lifted it over his head, and smashed it down onto the walker, and hitting it again smashed his head open, covering Daryl in it’s blood. He leaned back and dropped the rock. He took a second to catch his breath.

“Hey, thanks” You said to him as you were naked and dripping like a wet dog.

He sighed and raised his eyebrows. Which you will take as a “no problem.”

Daryl’s hair dripped with blood, guts, and rotting chunks of flesh. His shirt was wet, red, and sweaty. The muddy sand covered his pants and hands, leaving him dirtier than before.

“I guess you have to join me now” you said, still mostly naked.

He begrudgingly kicked off his boots, and slid his vest off down his shoulders, letting it drop on the floor. He started walking to the edge of the water, when you had to stop him.

“What, NO!” You said haulting him, “You are not still wearing your socks.”

He took off his socks, and his pants. He walked into the lake, a couple feet in and the water hit the bottom of his shirt.

You never took Daryl as the type of person to not be okay with taking his shirt off, but here he was: standing in a lake with his shirt on, contemplating whether he should take it off or not. He stood there for a couple seconds before looking at you, and when you gave him a reassuring smile, he took it off. He looked good with it off, you didn’t see a problem, until he turned around.

He whipped around fast to throw his shirt on land, and as he did, you saw his back. He was covered in scars. Yeah, some could be new, from fighting, from surviving, but you take it he’d been surviving for a lot longer than the rest of you had.

The slashes that riddled his skin were old. He could have gotten most of them when he was still a kid. You swallowed hard, he turned and faced you but neither of you met each other's eyes. He got quiet. And as his hand pensively rubbed the back of his neck, as he thought about what you must think of him.

“Hey, come on in the water’s fine,” you said to ease the tension.

It seemingly worked, because the next thing he did was dive under, swimming to you in a second. The water rippled along the path he had swam, and broke around his emerging body. You met his eye. He nodded to you as a thanks, and you shook your head back at him in a no problem kind of way. This practice had become routine, it was easier than constantly owing thanks to the other person for some trivial task such as saving their lives.

He broke eye contact and looked down, “Still gotta piss.”

You snickered. Then stepping back a couple of feet you gestured for him to go right ahead.

He looked at you, head cocked a little, and then the realization hit and his ears turned bright red. He turned around, and you got a better look at his scars. Some were short slashes, some longer, and others crossed over each other. You couldn’t fathom the person that would hit a child, let alone Daryl; Daryl was sweet, and could never have done something that deserved this treatment.

He finished up and faced you, but didn’t meet your eyes. You got a look at him, the man that just pissed in the pool in front of you, his ears were red as well as his cheeks making a bridge across his nose. The blush trailed down to his upper chest in splotches, like watercolors splaying out.

He chewed the corner of his thumb and said, “Ya’ know, I used to piss the bed as a kid.”

“I mean we all did,” You said. “Come here.”

He complied, “Nah, I mean ‘til I’s like 8 or so.”

“Bend over,” you told him.

He leaned back and you started washing his hair for him, detangling it with your fingers, and picking things out of it like you were monkeys.

“I remember a couple times it happened, had to sneak out late at night and do my laundry in the bathroom, so no one’d hear me. But this once, my dad wasn’t home so, I didn’t get… but my mom had this whole ‘nother way of doing it. She took my clothes. Pinned me down, Merle helped. She put a diaper on me, made me sleep outside.”

“When you were 8?” You cupped some water and dumped it over his head.

“Uh huh, made me wear ‘em to school, too. Under my clothes. Said if I took ‘em off she’s gonna tell my dad, so I didn’t.” He went back to biting his thumb.

“That shouldn’t have happened to you,” you said, moving to wash his shoulders.

He shrugged, and flinched away when you ran your finger over a scar on his back.

“You know, stress and trauma cause children to start wetting the bed later on in childhood, it's called enuresis, it wasn’t your fault,” You splashed water on his shoulders, noticing the freckles made by the sun.

“Done?” He asked, standing up straight.

“What?”

“Am I done?” he asked and shook his hair out like a dog.

“Yeah, you’re good.”

Daryl quickly made his return to land, you however stayed in the water until the filter was done giving you each a bottle. Every once in a while you catch him glance over at you floating naked in the lake, but his eyes would quickly divert.

[kookicat]

The Macaron Job 

I'm a damned idiot, Eliot thinks and scowls at the sheeting rain outside the kitchen window. It's a horrible damp day, the sort that turns his hair into a curly mess that defies even the hottest flat iron, and he's making macarons. They're never going to dry, he thinks and pokes the closest one with a clean fingertip, scowl deepening as the mix sticks to his skin. 

It wasn't like there were a million other, more rainy day compatible things he could have made. Like brown butter and oatmeal cookies. Or madeleines. Or lemon and poppy seed muffins, with a lemon glaze, sweet and sharp. Or an apple pie, rich and golden and spiked with cinnamon. Or even sugar cookies. 

But Parker had asked for French macarons, and he's never been able to say no to the women, especially when Sophie gets in on the act. So he's stuck in the kitchen, babysitting a sheet pan of macarons that are stubbornly refusing to form any sort of skin. They're never going to work, he thinks and sighs, pulling out the ingredients to make a batch of sugar cookies, just in case, letting his hands fall into the familiar actions while his mind wanders, pondering what else he wants to add to his newly established kitchen garden. 

It's another part of himself that he's reclaimed, once he'd committed to the team, and it had taken him a while to get comfortable with his hands in the dirt again, but damn, it was nice to replace the old blood on his hands with warm, fragrant soil, capable of giving life rather than taking it. Parker had caught on first, bugging him with questions about what the plants did until he got his first harvest of peas and squash and carrots and tomatoes, turning them into something they could eat, remembering exactly how at peace he'd felt, sitting down at the table to eat a meal he'd produced in more ways than one. 

He glances at the tray of macarons again, feeling irritation niggle at him when they still aren't set. The sugar cookie dough forms a neat ball under his hands and he shapes it into a log, wrapping it in plastic and slipping it in the fridge to chill, trying to ignore the urge to glare at the macarons. Like that'll make them set faster, he thinks and has to laugh at himself, just a little. Truth be told, there's not many other places he'd rather be on a rainy day than his kitchen, even if he is stuck with the least rainy day friendly bake ever. 

Quiet footsteps head towards the kitchen and he keeps his back to the door, deliberately, ignoring the prickle between his shoulders that he still can't quite shake. He trusts them with his life and his soul and his sanity, but bone deep instincts aren't so easy to turn off. "They're not done yet," he says when the steps transfer from wood to the tile floor in the kitchen, knowing as good as he was, he wouldn't have heard her if she didn't want him to, because the woman was like a damn cat, all liquid grace and soft steps. 

"They didn't take this long last time," she complains, boosting herself onto the counter and reaching around him to steal a crumb of sugar cookie dough from the big copper mixing bowl. 

Eliot tucks a curly strand of hair behind his ear and glances at the window, where the rain has become even worse, pouring down in a way that makes him wonder idly if they need to start building an arc. Hardison would hate that, he thinks, all those animals to manage and manages not to grin too widely. "Last time it wasn't pouring with rain," he says, and lifts an eyebrow at her when she frowns. 

She sneaks another scrap of cookie dough, chewing thoughtfully. "That makes a difference?" 

"Sure." He crosses his arms, resisting the urge to poke the damned macarons again, and leans back against the cabinet. "It's baking, Parker. Everything makes a difference." There's a thread of wry, amused annoyance in his voice. Sometimes the strict measurements, the recipes that have to be followed to the letter, the exacting nature of baking are exactly what he needs, letting him lose himself in the details, pushing back the memories for just a little while longer. It's almost like meditation, steps he knows like the notes of an old, familiar song. And sometimes, he wants the opposite, wants to grab ingredients by instinct to create something entirely new, something fresh and exciting and his in a way that baking never quite captures. 

"How do you know when they're ready?" she leans over, bumping shoulders with him, close enough that her hair brushes his cheek, nibbling on the last scrap of dough. 

"You're going to get a stomach ache," he mutters absently, tapping the closest macaron round with his pointer finger. "They're ready for baking when they don't stick to your fingers." 

It doesn't, to his surprise, and he lifts the tray, sliding it into the pre-heated oven. There's dark chocolate ganache chilling in the fridge and he pulls the bowl out, setting it on the counter to warm, pretending not to see Parker steal a spoonful as he turns away to stack the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. He turns back and has to smother a grin, because she has chocolate on her cheek and an overly innocent expression on her face. 

"Is that nice?" he asks, biting the inside of his lip to keep a straight face. 

She blinks at him, idly swinging her legs, taking care not to thump her boots into the cupboard door. "I don't know what you mean!" she says and he laughs, tossing a dish towel at her. 

"You have ganache on your face," he says and she swipes it away. 

The timer beeps and he silences it, turning the sheet pan around in the oven so everything bakes evenly. He grabs a piping bag and gives the ganache a stir, handing the spoon to Parker while he fills the bag. The kitchen smells safe, like good vanilla and sugar and chocolate and combined with the pouring rain it's making him feel relaxed, tranquil, almost sleepy in a way that's rare for him. He leans against the counter again, letting the comfortable silence stretch its legs, half an eye on the window, watching the water run down the glass. 

"You could have said no, you know," Parker says suddenly, softly and he grunts as he ponders his answer. 

"I know," he starts, and shrugs. "I didn't want to say no." 

"Oh," she says, frowning like she's missed something and normally, he wouldn't have the words to explain it to her, but it's different somehow, in the warm kitchen and he shifts his weight a little, glancing at the timer before he starts talking. 

"I wanted to," he shrugs, "For a long time, all I did was destroy stuff. People, mostly." The words sting more than he expects coming out and he pauses, clearing his throat, taking the time to figure out what he wants to say next. "I was finding my way back from that when we did that first job, but I still had a ways to go. Creating rather than destroying helps." The words are sticking in his brain and he scratches his jaw, meeting her eyes, seeing understanding there, feeling the echo of another conversation like this. "You never expect me to give more than I can." He lifts a hand, gestures vaguely at the kitchen. "This, I can give. So, yes, I could have said no, but I didn't want to." The corner of his mouth quirks up in a wry smile. "Even if you did ask for macarons on the worst possible day to make them." 

"You like them too," she protests, knowing that she's not the only one in the room with a sweet tooth. Eliot just hides his better, but she's never seen him turn down a donut yet. 

"I do," he agrees easily and shoves his hair back again. The humidity means it wants to fall in his face and his last two hair ties had mysteriously vanished. I'd order more, if I didn't think a quick sweep of the brew pub would turn up a dozen, he thinks. With three of them using them, the damn things seem to grow legs. 

"Here," Parker says and offers him a hair tie. 

He takes it, pretty sure it had started out life as one of his to begin with and puts his hair up, washing his hands just as the timer starts to beep. He turns off the tap and dries his hands as Parker silences the alarm, grabbing a dry dish towel before he pulls the sheet pan out of the oven. 

They're not his best batch ever - some are more oval than round, and he's enough of a perfectionist to find that annoying, but they smell great and he sets the sheet pan down on the cooling rack. 

"How soon can we eat them?" Parker asks and he swats her hand away as she reaches for one. 

"They're hot," he says absently, before he remembers that he's talking to Parker and she seems to spend a quarter of her life in places where anyone else would find the heat unbearable. "Let them cool, or they'll break when you move them," he adds. "It shouldn't take long." 

The kitchen is cool and he knows from experience that the macarons will be cold enough to handle pretty quickly. He just needs to distract Parker until that point. 

"There's sugar cookie dough in the fridge. We can shape those while these cool," he suggests and she brightens. 

"Can we make dinosaurs?" she asks, seeming to bounce on the spot without actually moving. 

"No," he says, because sugar cookies should be round and he's pretty sure the dinosaur cutters found a new home, far away from his kitchen. 

She frowns. "Animals then." 

He pulls the dough out of the fridge and sets it next to the ganache while he preps another sheet pan. "No," he says, because he's fairly sure the animal cutters went to live on the same farm as the dinosaurs. "Rounds are fine."

"You're no fun," she grumps and frowns at him, seeing the quirk in his lip that means he's secretly amused and not buying her act at all. 

"I made you two types of cookie," he protests, and reaches into the cupboard on the wall, pulling out a new blend of sprinkles. They're less lurid than her usual pick, but they're also dyed with natural extracts and not chemicals he can't pronounce and so he figures it's a decent trade off. 

"Ooh, sprinkles!" Parker says, grinning at him. "Sprinkles are fun." 

He cuts the log of cookie dough into neat, even slices and arranges them on the tray, reaching over to turn the oven up, wondering what to defrost for dinner. It's just him and Parker, for a change, because Nate and Sophie have a table booked at a fancy new restaurant and Hardison is at some game thing with his friends. Eliot doesn't rate the new restaurant - the menu is overly complicated, and he knows enough about Hardison's game nights to know he'll come home stuffed with enough cheap pizza, orange soda and gummy frogs to fuel a small army for a week. Parker would be quite happy with a bowl of whatever luridly coloured cereal she'd latched onto for the week, but Eliot is craving something rich and warming and comforting, because the weather shows no sign of improving. There's a ragu sauce in the freezer and he pulls it out, setting it aside to defrost, knowing there's fresh pasta in the fridge and homemade dinner rolls in the bread bin. 

Parker is rifling in the drawer next to her knees and pulls out a star shaped cutter. "Stars?" she says and waves it at him. 

"Fine," he says, and rolls his eyes. "Make half of them stars." 

She hops down and crosses to the sink to wash her hands, humming happily as she desecrates half of his perfectly round cookies. He sighs and presses the scraps together, wrapping them in plastic and dumping them in the fridge for later. The cookies will be a little tough, but that's nothing a glass of milk can't solve. 

The oven beeps to let him know it's reached temp, and he slides the cookie pan in, checking the macarons and finding them nicely cool. "You wanna fill these?" he asks as he gathers the stuff he needs for a simple glaze for the sugar cookies. "Just don't eat all of them," he warns as she takes the piping bag from his hands. 

It's the sort of kitchen task she's good at, hands that can crack a safe in seconds graceful as she works the piping bag. Piping makes his hands and wrists ache - he's broken too much stuff for there not to be consequences- so he's glad she took to it so readily. 

They work in comfortable silence as he sets the ragu sauce in a pan over a low flame to defrost and adds pasta to a second pan- fettuccine, not the one of the random bags of shaped pasta that keep appearing in his kitchen. He'd opened the cupboard and found pasta pandas a few weeks ago and wondered seriously if he'd taken one too many blows to the skull before Hardison claimed them. 

The glaze for the cookies comes together easily under his hands and he pours it into another piping bag to keep it from setting while they wait for the cookies to bake. There's lemon juice in it, to offset the sweetness of the cookies and for some reason, the combination reminds him of the team, all distinctive parts that come together to be better than they ever could be alone. 

He has nothing else to do for the moment and so turns to watch Parker as she finishes off the last few macarons, piping a neat dot of ganache on one before adding a second on top. There's a new smear of chocolate over her top lip and he reckons more than one has made its way into her stomach. 

There's an odd macaron left and she offers it to him. "They're really good," she says, around the bite in her mouth. "Is there a secret ingredient? What is it?" 

Love, he thinks and takes the macaron, knowing he's smiling again. "Now that would be telling," he says instead. 

[the-black-birb]

Bet? [Miya Atsumu x Reader]

Summary: Miya Atsumu never losses a bet. Or: At first he was in it for the sex until he found himself honestly falling for you.

Warnings: smut, virginity loss, plenty of plot to go along with it

A/N: since this is my first nsfw piece, I’m writing about times. Haha. Get it? Anyways. Here we go!

Miya Atsumu, with his suave smile and screaming fangirls, was the last person you’d think to be a college virgin. 

His ego was large enough to make up for any of his other shortcomings, boasting the pride of prepping to be a professional athlete as well as a full-time college student. No one doubted that he’d snogged countless fans or taken especially eager girls to back closets for fun, but what seemed to have slipped past them was his dedication to volleyball, always.

So dedicated, he didn’t even have the time for a serious girlfriend.

Miya Atsumu, playboy of the year, was a virgin. But he’d raise all hell if he let anyone around him find out. So when his team went out for dinner after a particularly brutal victory, Atsumu was happy to get in on all the locker room talk. He was sure he could keep up this facade.

Yet somehow, it spiraled into a competition. Although Atsumu had never been one to be invited to sleepovers or highschool parties, far too busy practicing with his team, he imagined it felt something like this.

“So,” one of the wing spikers started. “How old were you all when you lost your virginity?” The men around him laughed it off, ready to tell stories of their (awkward) first times. Each took their turn, wanting to be the youngest or the one with the best tale to tale. And then, all eyes fell on Atsumu.

Atsumu was a great liar, really. But the bar was loud and he felt the eyes of his teammates like ants on his skin and while he was confident in volleyball there was little he knew about this and Atsumu could not bring himself to do anything but sit there and stare aimlessly. The team waited for an answer.

Finally, their starting setter, who had undoubtedly been chosen based on seniority alone, broke out into laughter. “He’s a virgin!” he realized. “Miya Atsumu is a virgin!” The whole table broke out into rancorous laughter. There wasn’t truly anything bad about being a college virgin, a few on the team had admitted to it before Atsumu. But his attitude of control and snarky attitude on the court had everyone waiting to find something just one thing they could tease Miya Atsumu about. 

“I could fuck anyone if I wanted to!” was his quick reply, thinking back to all the girls cheering his names in the stands (and the boys who’d give him a slap on the ass to say “good job”). Surely, he could give up his virginity in an instant, if he put his mind to it.

“Oh, yeah?” It was a middle blocker speaking now, one who Atsumu had the (dis)pleasure of sharing a few classes with. “Even that girl in calc...the one who does all the group projects on her own and everything…”

Atsumu knew immediately who he was talking about. Y/N L/N. You were basically a genius, always getting the highest marks and never taking a moment to wait for those around you to catch up. He’d never even spoken to you. But right now, his pride was on the line.

“Pfft,” he forced a chuckle. “Easy.”

The table erupted into booming laughter again, at Atsumu’s declaration, but quickly quieted down as the senior setter leaned forward with a wager. “Then have sex with her,” he smirks. “Before the next game.”

Atsumu raised an eyebrow. “What do I get out of it?” Aside from the loss of his v-card, of course.

“I’ll ask coach to make you the starting setter.” A hush fell on the table as if a ghost had passed through. “But if you lose, you join as a wing spiker.”

Atsumu gulped down his fears. He was never one to back down on a bet. Besides, the only reason he was a virgin still was because of volleyball. Might as well gain something from it.

He pushed his hand forward, shaking the senior setter’s firmly.

“Deal.”

***

“Could you tutor me?”

Miya Atsumu wasn’t stupid. He’d never been in a serious relationship, but he knew if he asked one of his fangirls to sneak off with him they’d do it in a heartbeat. He knew he could probably find at least one girl within a mile radius who wanted to have sex with him and flirt his way to her bed.

But you weren’t just any girl.

As much as he dreaded school, Atsumu was painfully observant of the people around him. He’d noticed you before, in class and occasionally at games. You kept to yourself without anyone to talk to you, but on the occasion, he’d seen you with friends you shined brighter than any of them. It made him breathless.

Still, he knew you wouldn’t be easy. In group projects, you’d always been devilish with your expectations, dishing out jobs to everyone in an instant and critiquing their work for the best results (this quality shamefully reminded Atsumu of himself, but he’d never mentioned it).

Frankly, he was at a loss of how to get to your bed. But he knew he needed to start by talking to you, and that you’d shut down any friendly flirtation he started with. So he did something more direct. He theorized even if you weren’t keen, you were kind enough not to shut him down completely and hopefully that’d be his chance to talk with you more. But what he hadn’t calculated was your response.

“Atsumu, right? What do you need help with?”

Huh?

You hadn’t even hesitated to agree, looking up at him expectantly.

“Uh...deriving complex functions?” He thinks that’s what they’re doing in class.

You place a hand to your chin, nodding as if you were deep in thought. “Yeah, that’s pretty tough,” you agree, thinking. “I’m free after six tonight, meet me at the library?” you ask him directly.

For once in his life, Miya Atsumu is frozen. “Uh, sure?”

“Cool, give me your number in case something comes up,” you said nonchalantly, grabbing your phone. Before he could even process what was happening, he’d put his number in your phone and you were walking away from him, bidding him a friendly “see you later.”

As he watched your figure get smaller, he was reminded of all the cold comments he’d heard about how difficult you were to approach and the nicknames people said behind your back. He stifled a laugh.

Atsumu wondered if they’d even spoke to you.

***

You here?

It was the first thing Atsumu had texted you once he got your number. He didn’t come to the library often, far more concerned with practice than studying, but as he sat to get out his work from earlier he realized it was actually quite calming. Compared to the loud and irritating bar from days earlier, Atsumu was certain he preferred this.

Sorry, was out with friends. Be there in a few!

He grumbled when he saw his phone. Maybe it couldn’t be helped, but you could’ve at least had the decency to text him earlier, right? Slowly Atsumu felt himself spiraling, his bad habit of finding the negative in just about everything sneaking up his back.

But all his qualms were forgotten when you walked through the doors.

He supposed he’d only ever seen you in class and at a few volleyball games. He quicked up quickly that you were a creature of comfort, preferring a pair of loose sweatpants to anything else. Yet you walked through the door fresh from a night out with friends with your hair done up and a pair of flattering slacks clinging to your waist (and a bit further south as well but Atsumu wasn’t ready to mention that, yet).

“Miya?” He was broken from his trance by your voice, which had a playful lilt to it he’d never quite noticed before.

“Just call me Atsumu,” he heard himself saying out of habit. Even without Osamu at his side in college, Atsumu was never really comfortable being called by his family name. It just wasn’t normal. Still, his cheeks flared up as he worried you’d see it as flirtations instead and be scared off.

“I-”

“Sure thing, Atsumu,” you agreed without hesitation. Oh. All of Atsumu’s nerves were on edge. Nothing to worry about, huh? He quite liked how his name sounded on your lips. He could listen to it on repeat for days, probably.

Snapping him out of his trance, you were quick to get to business. Although Atsumu came with ulterior motives, you were an incredible help. Your notes were neat and easy to understand, but whatever he stumbled on you still found ways to re-word so they’d make sense. He could practically feel all the wheels in his head turning when you spoke like he was in the middle of an intense volley trying to figure out what came next.

Actually, you made it kind of fun.

Before he realized, an hour had elapsed and he felt his eyelids drooping. It wasn’t often that Atsumu used his brain that intensely without break, and he could feel his focus starting to waver. But you’d made it so easy to focus, he’d easily lost track of time.

You let out a sigh next to him. “That’s enough for today,” you determined, shutting your notebook. “Seeing as we have a quiz next class, I can meet again to tutor the night before if you’d like? Just keep doing the practice I showed you and we can do some review.” You had everything planned out in your mind already.

Atsumu let his head hit the table in exhaustion. Although normally he’d have a snarky comment for anyone who dared tease him, he let your laughter ease over him like a blanket. It was music to his ears.

“Get better and it won’t be so tiring,” you assured him, patting his shoulder. Before he could agree or disagree with anything you’d asked him, you had one foot out the door. “See you Wednesday at six,” you bid him goodbye (though Atsumu swore it sounded more like an order).

He grumbled against the table once again, quick to back up his notebook. There was still practice, after all.

While Atsumu found himself more tired than usual at practice, having already used his mind plenty, it was enthralling. The quips of his teammates, asking if it was some hot banging that had tired him out, fell on deaf ears. He could only think about how you’d managed to make calculus of all things sound interesting and the smell of your perfume whenever you bent close to him. Sure, your expectations for him were evident but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He wondered how anyone could have called you ‘cold.’

***

Your next tutoring session went fairly standard. True to your word, you checked over the review and prepped for your exam the next day. While you harshly pointed out Atsumu’s repeated mistakes, you gave him insightful tips and tricks to help him fix them in the same breath. You were definitely a genius, he determined.

But he’d also realized he was getting nowhere with these tutoring sessions. Your company was surprisingly relaxing in the midst of his long days and he was delighted at the playful jokes you always managed to slip in, but there were no sparks and his next game was drawing nearer. The word wing spiker loomed over his head like a curse.

He had to do something to change this.

“Would you want to grab coffee with me?” he found himself asking as you packed your bag. For a moment you looked at him dumbfounded, trying to figure out if he was serious.

“Are you asking me on a date?” you tease, no fear of misunderstanding the situation. As usual, Atsumu was shaken to his core by your forwardness. He thought he was honest. But he was certain now was the time to back down.

“If I am, would you say yes?” he flirts back, praying you can’t see the sweat dripping down his neck. There was something electric and unnerving about your smile, seemingly unhindered.

“The Miya Atsumu…” you put on a face like you’re deep in thought, but you’re already sure of your answer. “Sure,” you grin. “Text me the details.” Before he even has the chance to celebrate, you’re gone.

The next day, Atsumu got his highest grade on a quiz since grade school (he wasn’t stupid, really, just very average with school). Even when he got stuck on questions, he’d visualize your mechanical pencil (you’d covered it in stickers) gliding across his page and the sound of your voice, explaining each problem patiently and easily. Then, he’d know what to do.

He texted you a thank you with a flurry of emojis, supremely grateful for your help. Soon, he’s pulling on his nicest pair of jeans for his casual date with you, brimming with energy. Atsumu was so excited he could just kiss you.

That is until he was sitting in front of you in the cafe, realizing he’d never talked to you about anything but calculus. And now that he had his breakthrough and secured a date, he was hopeless. He had no idea where to start. So, always quite shallow, he broke the ice by saying what was on his mind.

“Why’d you agree to tutor me?” For a moment, he wonders if you’ll get offended by the question before he’s reminded of all your rude comments about his mathematical prowess. He was certain you had tougher skin than that. “I mean, I sort of asked you out of the blue. Don’t you want money? Food?”

He expects you to take a while to answer since you seem like the person to have calculated reasons behind all your actions, but your answer is almost immediate.

“Is it not enough to just want company?” you wonder, completely unabashed. Atsumu almost blushes for you, before you think for a moment and find you stumbling over your words. It’s the first time he’s heard you sound unsure of yourself and he ingrains the moment of vulnerability into his mind like a movie he’ll play one day. He never wants to forget the sight of your lightly flushed cheeks, eyes scattering to break contact with him.

“W-What I mean is,” you interrupt yourself. “I hear people talk and I know my reputation. I get focused on work and people get scared away...” Atsumu knows that feeling. “I guess I was just over eager that someone would approach me. Is that weird?”

Ah. Atsumu thinks. This is my chance.

He bends forward, his hand brushing against yours, and greets you with a practiced smile. It’s the sort of smirk that is sneaky enough to have any girl squealing, but sincere enough not to scare you away. “Not at all, doll,” he promises, voice like honey.

Mentally, Atsumu congratulates himself for the smooth delivery, sure that he’ll have you in his arms in no time. Instead, you start laughing at him.

“Do not call me that!” you exclaim, tears bursting from the corners of your eyes. “What do you think this is, the 1950s? [Y/N] will do, yeah?” Your hands reach up to wipe your eyes and the entire atmosphere Atsumu worked to create is lost (although secretly, he prefers that honest and straightforward attitude you replace it with) and he’s left staring at you blankly.

“Why’d you ask in the first place?” you wonder, looking sufficiently amused.

Because I want to have sex with you.

Atsumu finds himself attacked by his own thoughts. It’s not that he wants to, of course. It’s just that he was dared to and he can’t lose the bet. But, wouldn’t it be more enjoyable if he wanted to? Of course, he could want to. But he thinks to get there he’d need to be terribly emotionally invested and he’s barely even had a girlfriend and you’re definitely too perfect for him and-

“Atsumu?” You’re smiling up at him, eyebrows raised. “Did I manage to leave you, who never shuts up,” He wants to tell you that you’re wrong but he knows you’re not and you won’t hesitate to remind him of that. “Speechless?”

He can’t let you catch on, Atsumu tells himself. “I’m bad at calculus and you’re good,” he decides is a good lie. Straightforward and true, just like you. “Is that not enough?” You huff, leaning back in your seat.

“Touche.”

Although your date had started off awkward and tense, Atsumu felt the relief of being entirely comfortable talking to you. He got lost in your quick wit and electric eyes, losing track of the conversation and letting himself get immersed entirely in you. Before he knew it, your phone was going off.

“Shit!” you rushed to turn it off. “I’ve got class in ten.” You were quick to grab your bag and head out, and Atsumu felt his stomach drop, wishing he’d said something. Yet just as quickly you were turning on your heal, an unfamiliar shakiness in your voice, as you bent down to plant on Atsumu’s cheek.

“Same time next week?” you asked, eyes sparkling.

Atsumu felt an unfamiliar tightness in his chest as he smiled back at you. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

***

In the blink of an eye, you became a surprisingly regular part of Miya Atsumu’s daily life. He’d sit next to you in calculus and on days you didn’t have calculus he’ get coffee with you. Every day you were there next to him, smiling fearlessly. He wasn’t entirely sure what had happened to your untouchable reputation, but he’d never hesitated to be beside you.

For two weeks this had gone on, your strange friendship that sprung up out of nowhere raging strong. But Atsumu’s next game was soon and he felt the pressure. Yet he knew, no matter what, he didn’t want to ruin what he had going with you. Maybe, it was even worth being wing spiker for a season.

“Could I come to the match tomorrow?” you asked as you were getting ready to leave one day. Atsumu almost choked on his coffee, not prepared for such a bold question. He wanted to ask you who you were asking him as: a volleyball fan, a friend or… a partner?

He shooed the thought from his head. Although both of you called these coffee outings “dates,” they’d never ended with anything more than him walking you him and a kiss on the cheek outside the door to your apartment. You were far from dating.

“Sure, why not?” he responded, pretending to keep his cool. But would you like him less when you realized he was benched? Why did you even want to go?

“It’s raining,” you moaned, distracted from Atsumu’s response. He looked to your (lovely) legs to see you were wearing shorts and converse, definitely not ideal for this weather.

“I’ll drive you home,” he offered, keen on showing off his new car. He’d already sent you a photo of it, of course (a selfie, actually. He looked quite stunning) but he still wanted to show you in person. Soon, you were next to him in the passenger seat, looking at the road ahead.

You made normal small talk, but Atsumu noticed your hand seemed to be wondering closer to the area between you two. He ignored it.

When you reached your apartment, he walked you in like normal. He waved hello to the person at the security desk, they were familiar with him at this point. Finally, the two of you reached the doormat. It always felt to him like a save point in a game before a boss. He just couldn’t seem to get past it and into your apartment.

But when he noticed you wore a different lip gloss than usual and a new perfume, he thought maybe today could be the day. He swallowed, rolling his shoulders back. He’d make his move for sure. Breathing in, he readied his mind for what he’d say to you, wondering what kind of flirting could make you break.

“Kiss me.”

Huh.

“Atsumu,” you looked up at him, eyes demanding. “Kiss me.”

When he first started talking to you, occasionally you’d say something that caught him so off guard he’d freeze up and have no idea what to do. But kissing wasn’t sex, and Atsumu knew he could win in a battle of the lips. Before you could even fully open your door, he’d close the space between you two.

He didn’t take a moment to question why you asked him, instead silently praying you felt the same pull to him that he did to you. The kiss was desperate and long-awaited. As soon as he was in the apartment you were closing the door behind him and letting him press you up against him.

Desperately, Atsumu wanted to feel all of you. He gripped his hands around your waist and sucked at your lips, begging to be closer to you. It was intense and passionate and everything he’d ever dreamed of.

The two of you were a mess of sweat and pent up tension, but somehow you made it to your bedroom. Your hands searched over Atsumu, wanting to feel the expanse of his toned body and broad shoulders. You could feel him getting excited against you, edging him on by grind against him. More you called out. You wanted to feel more of him, all of him.

And then he froze.

You looked up to him, confused. “Are you okay, Atsumu?” you pulled away from him immediately, scared that you’d set something off. Instead, you reached out to grab his hand in yours, squeezing it gently. “We can stop if this is too fast,” you assured him. While you’d been getting impatient waiting for him to make a move, the last thing you wanted was for him to be uncomfortable with you.

“I’m fine,” he promised you, but his eyes said differently. His pupils were blown out and his eyes wide but he looked downright scared. You breathed out, not yet sure how to comfort him. Instead, you took in all the things you knew about him, coolly trying to wonder what could be bothering him.

“Is this going to lead to sex?” he asked you, sitting on your bed with his clothes riled up and his face looking very thoroughly kissed. You wanted to laugh, looking at his swollen red lips and the clueless expression on his face because the answer would be clear to anyone else, but Atsumu kept surprising you. Still, you knew better than to make fun of him. It was very clear he was trusting himself to you.

“If you want it to you,” you answer, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “But it doesn’t have to.”

There’s a nervousness in Atsumu’s eyes that you were unfamiliar with. It was different than the frustration that built up when he didn’t understand math, or the shyness he tried to hide whenever he’d flirt with you. It was the realization that if he wanted whatever was between the two of you to go anywhere, he had to come clean now.

“I asked you to tutor me because my seniors on the volleyball team dared me to have sex with you!” he burst, folding in on himself.

For a moment you thought you could feel your heartbreaking because you couldn’t believe you’d let yourself get tricked. But naively, you prayed that maybe his feelings still rang true, reminding yourself of all the coffee dates and late nights studying. That worth more than just a dare, you hoped.

“But I asked you on the coffee date because I like you! I sat next to you in calculus because I like you and I don’t care what people say about you!” Atsumu declared, face burning red.

You knew there was a lot that could get under Miya Atsumu’s skin. You’d been to a few practice volleyball games where he played and seen his short fuse first hand, but still, you found yourself surprised and relieved by his words. Atsumu was, if nothing else, straight forward. Even though he’d had different motives, you knew he still worked hard to get better at calculus. You knew how his face lit up whenever you walked into the cafe and the most common emojis he used when he texted. You had no doubt behind his words now.

“So,” you start teasingly, tracing circles around his shoulder. “Does that make you a virgin?” The way your voice dropped, eyes looking promisingly at Atsumu like he was about to be devoured, had him straining against his pants.

“Yeah,” he admitted, pupils blown out for a whole new reason.

You slid yourself over him, letting your self straddle his hips. Your fingers continued to trace his chest, appreciating all the time he spent training. Excruciatingly slowly, you bent forward to whisper against his ear. “Let’s change that tonight, yeah?”

That was enough for Atsumu.

For a virgin, he was surprisingly dominating while you made out. Atsumu brought his mouth to yours once again, quick to bite at your lips. His hands came up to knead your ass, large and strong. I’ve been waiting to do that, Atsumu thought, picturing your slacks from the first time you tutored him. He always did love to see you walk away.

Soon, he got bored with your lips and found himself peppering kissing across your jawline and traveling across your neck. As he got to the crook between your should and neck he heard your breath hitch. Perfect. 

Mercilessly, he nipped and sucked at the spot. As much as you tried to keep down your moans, you felt them bubbling up in your chest.

“You know…” you told him breathlessly. “For someone who’s never had sex you’re awfully good at this.”

Atsumu scoffed in response. “I’m a virgin, not a celibate,” he explained, before going after your neck again. You threw your head back in pleasure, giving him easier access. You wondered what else he could do with his mouth.

His pursuit of learning about your entire body continued, one hand leaving your ass to grope your breasts. He reached his hand up and under your shirt, sending shocks straight to your core as his calloused fingers brushed over your skin. Finally, palm landed on your breast, feeling it enthusiastically. You could hear him sigh as he did it, surely having played this moment over in his mind time after time.

You wanted to enjoy it, really, but there was only so much you could handle. “It’s not a balloon!” you laughed, swatting his hand away.

“Hey, I was busy with that,” Atsumu teased but brought his hand away regardless. He held onto your hips, instead, watching as you rid yourself of your shirt and bra. He watched you with a calculating eye, trying to learn more, to be better.

“Like this,” you told him, dragging his hand to your breast again. You had him pressing feather-light touches to you. “Gentle,” you whispered, letting yourself get lost in the sensation. He took your directions carefully, bringing both of his hands up to take in your chest. He was more careful now, experimenting. He ghosted his thumb over your nipple, watching how your body shivered in response.

Atsumu was completely in tune with your every reaction and quickly understood how sensitive you’d become from this slow grueling pace. All he’d done was play with your nipples, switching between light ghosts of touches and rougher swipes with the pads of his fingers, but he could already feel you grinding against him.

Unable to hold back, he finally broke his concentrated silence, letting a groan out into your shoulder.

“Right,” you noticed, looking down. “You probably want to take care of that?” As if teasing him, you rolled your hips against his bulge again. His grip around your waist tightened.

Atsumu started to protest. “But-”

“No buts!” you cut him off. “I’m gonna make you feel good, okay?” you promised, eyes unwavering.

This was even better than his dreams.

“Whatever you say, [Y/N],” he breathed out, letting you get up so your hands could work at his belt.

“Call me doll,” you muttered, unzipping his jeans and pulling them down. Although he was still in his boxers, you went to your own shorts first, pulling them down eagerly.

Atsumu twitched. “What is this,” he drawled. “The 1950s?” It felt good to have the upper hand for once.

“Throw me a bone here, you won’t even take your own clothes off,” you whined, pulling at his shirt. He helped you along the way, getting it over his head. Finally, you pulled his boxers off, letting his erection stand tall and proud for all to see.

You gulped at the sight of it. His length was average, but it was quite girthy with an intimidating tilt to it. How many fingers is that? You wondered.

“Impressive?” Atsumu asked when he noticed your wide eyes. The only people he’d ever really compared himself to were porn stars and his brother so truly he had no idea if he was packing, but he’d let you do the talking tomorrow.

But you were quick to wipe the wonderous expression of your face. “In your dreams,” you bit back, going to grab a condom.

“In your nightstand?” Atsumu said incredulously. You rolled your eyes.

“Where else?”

Touche.

You started to unpack the condom and roll it over his member, eager to get the show on the road, but Atsumu found himself grabbing your wrists. “What about you?” he asked. “I mean…” Atsumu was never one to admit to his shortcomings, but there was something pretty clear here. You had more experience than him. “Don’t you want to feel good, too?”

If your pace was too fast, you’d probably get left high and dry while Atsumu chased his orgasm. “Couldn’t I…” he gestured with his hands, pushing two fingers forward. “Help you out?”

You chuckled. “Love if you’ve never fingered a girl before I’m not becoming your test subject,” you quipped, Atsumu grumbling below you. What was the point if you didn’t both enjoy yourselves? “But…” you traced his jawline. “I can show you how I do it next time. Teach you how I like it?”

Atsumu smirked, pulling you down to the bed with him and rolling over you so he could linger over you. He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, sweet and so unlike him. “Sounds perfect, doll,” he whispered against your lips.

You gulped. For someone so inexperienced, there was an intensity to his eyes that went unmatched by anyone else. Even when you had been the one guiding him along, you felt his eyes drinking all of you up. He was truly beautiful, leaning over you in all his glory. You could get used to that sight.

“Is…” he cleared his throat. “Is it okay if I put it in?” he asked, reminding you both that he was still unsure of himself.

“Yeah,” you assured, reaching up to grab his hand. “Take it slow.”

He did, Excruciatingly. You felt his tip enter you curiously, already stretching you out so well. Atsumu entered you in a way that you felt every single millimeter. You yearned for him to get closer, to fill you better.

“More,” you whined out.

Atsumu smirked at you, his face screaming I win. “What’s that, doll?” You groaned, rolling your head back. “You wanted me to take it slow?” he taunted.

“Fuck me like you mean it, Atsumu!” you snapped, pushing your hips up to meet his. You sighed at the feeling as he finally bottomed out. But Atsumu didn’t take your challenge lightly, not letting up. He pulled back out of you, only to snap his hips back. You had no time to get used to his size, not with the brutal pace he was setting.

Soon, you were a mess. While you were fairly sure Atsumu was simply his own release, he made you feel so damn good while doing it. His strong hips pushed back into you ruthlessly, hitting you deep and well. Your arms wrapped around his back, nails pressing into his shoulders.

“You like that, doll?” he asked through his own groans. He’d done his best to hold them back, but the feeling of you surrounding every single inch of him was simply too much. You felt too good.

“Yeah baby,” you urged him on. “You’re doing so well. You’re fucking me so well.” Your nails gripped into him, scratching at his back. But it only had him pushing harder into you, feeding into your praise. He was the one wrecking you like this.

Yet Atsumu lost track of his inhibitions and quickly found himself feeling a familiar coil in his stomach. He didn’t want this to end yet. He wanted to feel more of you, all of you. He let out a loud moan, trying to hold back.

“It’s alright,” you assured him. “There’ll be time to do more. Let go.” It angered him that you had the energy to soothe him while he was trying to fuck you silly, but that only encouraged him to push harder. Through your own moans, you found it in you to whisper to him. “Please, Atsumu. Cum for me.”

He couldn’t hold back anymore. His hands grabbed your hips, surely tight enough to leave bruises, and snapped forward, pushing all of himself into you. He came into the condom in hot streams, breathing heavily.

“I’ve never orgasmed like that,” he admitted, finally slipping out of you. You whimpered a bit at the feeling of being empty, before taking the semen-filled condom out of you.

“Ew,” the two of you said in unison, before laughing at one another.

Even though you’d just been thoroughly fucked and he felt like he’d ran a marathon, Atsumu bathed in the feeling of complete trust he had when he was beside you. It was incredible.

“I could sleep for days,” Atsumu sighed, collapsing on your bed. You laughed at him, pulling on a nightshirt.

“Hey, don’t cover the view!” he teased, wrapping an arm around your waist as you joined him. As if he didn’t stare at it long enough to etch it into his mind.

“You have a match tomorrow,” you reminded him. “Gotta laugh in your teammates’ face for that dumbass dare, so you can only sleep for one night.” You snuggled up against Atsumu, letting his warmth wash over the best of you.

You were too tired to really process the surprised in Atsumu’s voice when he agreed with you, too busy drifting off to sleep.

***

The match came without fail. Atsumu didn’t mention anything to his teammates as you gave him a kiss good luck before he entered the gym. You had proudly donned his jersey, ready to support him from the stands. But if that wasn’t enough, the scratch marks all across Atsumu’s back were enough to thoroughly shut up any doubts his teammates had about the night prior.

Atsumu was the setter for the whole game.

[themadlostgirl]

When It’s Cold (9)

*School is out! Writers block is over! I have finally updated! It’s a good day. Have some soft Felix mixed with a little smut.*

~~~

Felix was able to keep his cool up until he closed your bedroom door. Then he promptly dropped to the floor with his face buried in his hands. All he had meant to do was check to see what you wanted for lunch! How did it go from something so innocent to something so salacious in that quick a turn?

You had been behaving weird that morning and he was concerned something was wrong. When he came downstairs to find you though he realized exactly what was going on. He knew that he should have turned away and leave you to your privacy but he couldn’t look away. It was just like that night he had heard you outside your bedroom door except this time he had a visual as well.

Next thing he knew he was kneeling on the floor with his head between your legs. For as much as he thought about devouring you, actually doing it was another thing entirely. All he had were the fantasies in his head to guide him. But when you responded so beautifully to him he found his confidence surging. It made him so happy to know that he was making you feel good. Amazing even. That’s what you had said anyway. You felt amazing.

After that day you took his words to heart and did not hesitate to tell him when you were horny as all hell. Which turned out to be often. Not that he was complaining. He wanted you just as much as you wanted him.

You had not gotten to the point where you asked him for proper sex though. A few times he thought you would but you always asked for something else. It was obvious that you both wanted each other and you two had already done so much together he was wondering why you were holding back on this. Not that he was going to rush you into it. He said he would go at your pace and he meant that. Still, he had to wonder what was going on in that brain of yours that you would keep denying each other what you both clearly wanted.

It was late in the morning. You and Felix had yet to get out of bed. It was a dreary day outside and the warmth of the blankets was too cozy to leave. You were nestled under Felix’s arm, eyes closed, still in that pocket of drowsiness where you were aware of the world but had yet to greet it properly. He figured now was a good as time as any to find out why you avoided sex proper.

“Darling,” He spoke softly so not to disturb the hazy peace you were wrapped in, “Can I ask you something?”

“Hmm?” you hummed, burrowing closer into him.

“Do you not want to have sex?”

That got your attention. Your eyes squinted open to look at him. “What?”

“I only ask because we’ve been doing quite a lot of other stuff but you’ve never asked me to make love to you. Do you just not want to or are you not ready?”

“Oh um…” Your face was hot to the touch.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s not that. I just...I was kinda…” You closed your eyes again, “I’ve been waiting for you to be ready.”

“Waiting for me? Why would you be waiting for me to be ready? What makes you think that I’m not ready?”

“Well you never initiate anything so…”

“Because I didn’t want to pressure you into doing something you didn’t want to do.”

“Also, we’ve been messing around for weeks now and you have never once let me blow you, even though I have offered.”

“Not this again,”

“I’m curious as to why you are so opposed to the idea. I thought that was supposed to be a thing boys liked.”

“It is but I don’t know how I feel about kissing the same mouth that had my dick in it.”

“How is that any different from you kissing me after you go down on me?”

“Ah...I see your point.” he was blushing, honest to god blushing.

Felix couldn’t bring himself to voice his other concern. He had fantasized about you taking him in your mouth before but he was worried that in practice he would get lost in his hormones and end up being too rough with you. He didn’t want to hurt you after all.

“Felix,” you snuggled closer to him, “I want to have all this with you but you can’t rely on me to start everything. Take some initiative. This isn’t just about me, this is about you too. I want to make you feel good and please you too. Okay?”

“You unravel me,” Felix grabbed you and rolled you over so he was on top of you. Your body was pushed deeper into the mattress as he hungrily sought your mouth with his. You always tasted so sweet. Even first thing in the morning.

Your legs hooked around his hips pushing him closer. His cock started to stir and he groaned as he started rutting against you, desperate for more of the sweet friction between your bodies. An animalistic side of him wanted tear the clothes from your body and pound into you with rough, reckless abandon. The sane part of him let those thoughts stay in his head as he continued to grind against your clothed sex.

You panted and moaned underneath him and it spurred him on more. That voice in his head telling him he was doing something good. He was making you feel nice. He was doing a good job.

He lavished hot kisses to your neck that had you crying out in pleasure. Your own hips met his as you frantically chased your growing pleasure. His own orgasm was starting to peak and fast if he didn’t slow down at all. But he didn’t want to. Everything felt too good. But he wanted you to finish first. Always you first.

He pulled your shirt up so he had access to your chest and sucked greedily on the bud of your soft, supple tits. “Felix, fuck!” you moaned loudly. You were getting closer. Your grinding becoming clumsier as you neared your peak.

He moved back up to your neck, gently nipping at the lobe of your ear as he ground against you harder. You held him tighter, like a snake coiled around its prey. God he loved it.

“Touch yourself,” he told you, “Touch yourself for me, baby.”

One of the hands holding onto him slipped underneath the band of your sleep pants and swiped at your clit in graceless fast circles. “Good girl,” he praised, “Such a good girl,”

“Felix!” you moaned louder, “Close! So close! I need to--need to--”

“I know, baby. Almost there,” He pulled back so he was staring at your face. He loved watching your expression when you fell apart. “Look at me,” your eyes opened so you were looking directly into his eyes, “I want you looking at me when you cum. Come on, baby. Be a good girl and cum for me.”

“Felix! Shit! Fuck! Yes! Yes! Please!” He watched in rapture as your orgasm overcame you and the intelligence behind your eyes disappeared as pleasure overtook you. God, it was so satisfying seeing that expression on you.

Felix wasn’t too far off now and his need was only getting worse. “Felix,” you touched his face as some semblance of lucidity returned to you, “Do what you need to to make yourself feel good okay? I’m not gonna break. I want you to feel good too.”

“Damn woman,” he grabbed you by the hips and pushed against your clothed sex harder. He could feel the faint wetness that had soaked through your pants with your orgasm. It was like a flipped got switched in him. Those animalistic feelings before creeping up again as he ground against you faster, harder, rougher, chasing his own pleasure with no regard for anything else. He came with a shout of your name, still rutting against you in more slow and gentle movements as he rode out the high.

It had left a mess in his pants but that was hardly a problem right now. “Is that what you wanted, little girl?” Felix asked, his voice gravelly.

“Mmhmm,” You held him closer, pressing soft kisses along his shoulder and neck. “And I bet it felt damn good too, didn’t it?”

“So good, darling,” he cracked a lopsided smile. “How does pancakes sound for breakfast?”

“Yes please!”

The next night was the night of the dinner. Felix had been planning for it for weeks and finally he was executing it. Your dessert rested already made. The one contribution you had made to the meal while Felix prepped everything else. It was a frantic couple of hours as he got everything assembled and made sure to time everything so it was done at the correct time.

The dinner sat in the kitchen ready to go as the night grew late. It was almost time. He got changed and waited in the dining room for you. His heart was beating hard in his chest. Why was he so nervous about this? It was just dinner. Sure he put a lot of effort into it but it shouldn’t be making him this anxious.

The dining room door opened and Felix held his breath. You entered wearing a pure white dress that complimented your figure immensely. You had even made an effort to style your hair past what you normally did. “You look beautiful,” the words left his mouth in an awed hush.

“This room looks beautiful,” you approached the table. You regarded the choice of table dressing with a knowing smirk. “I thought you said candlelight and rose petals was pushing things and yet I see both here.”

“I also said that I was gonna wear sweats. Things change,” he gestured to the simple white button up shirt, and black slacks he had purchased in secret.

“You even got a tie,” your hands ran over the black tie knotted messily around his collar, “And here I thought you were too good for a monkey suit.”

“It’s not a full stuffy death trap,” he shrugged, “Besides, I would be looking like a real bum next to you if I hadn’t decided to dress up last minute. How does it look?”

“You look incredibly handsome and sexy,” you pulled him down by his tie to kiss him, “You are definitely going to have to wear this for me again some time.”

“This doing something for ya, darling?” Felix smirked.

“Oh definitely,” you grinned wider.

“Well you are just gonna have to stew in those dirty thoughts of yours because from here on out tonight is about the food.” He pulled your chair out, “Now sit your ass down,”

“Oh what a gentleman,” you giggled before taking the seat. The dinner went by without a hitch as Felix served up the food. He watched as you ate everything with such glee and praise. It was a rather delicious dinner. It had better have been considering how much work he put into making it.

This was nice. It was nothing different from what you two did every day but this felt far more intimate. He had done all this to impress you. He had lit candles and scattered rose petals to make it romantic. All these little details and it just made your smile wider.

After you finished the main course it was time for dessert. Felix made to stand and grab it but you shot to your feet first. “No you don’t,” you started walking towards the kitchen, “You have done everything else tonight. I at least get to serve the dessert.”

“Sounds good to me,” he leaned back in his chair, “I deserve a little pampering too, after all.”

You rolled your eyes and rushed into the kitchen and emerged again with two plates.

“Here we are!” You set a plate down in front of him. “I know how much you love sweet and salty desserts so I made this salted maple pie. I hope you like it.”

“Sounds delicious.” Felix looked down at his plate and paused.

Resting on top of his slice of pie was a white sand dollar. He gently picked it up and inspected it. It was perfect. No chips or cracks. He looked up and saw you watching him with a wide smile. “What’s this about?” He asked.

“Well,” You squirmed in your seat, “I remembered you talking about how you collected sand dollars while on Neverland so I thought that you may like it. Maybe now that we live here you can start a new collection.”

You remembered that? He had only mentioned it once and that was months ago now. But here it was. Felix would never say he was one that was easily ruled by emotion. A sentiment that lost more meaning the more time he spent with you and tonight was no different. This was hands down one of the nicest things anyone had ever done for him. It made him feel all warm inside. Not like the hot lust he had become familiar with but a comforting warmth. Like you had draped a blanket fresh out of the dryer over him. It felt...it felt like...love.

Love.

You were still watching him. You started fiddling with your nails like you did when you got nervous. “It’s okay if you don’t like it.” You said suddenly, “I just thought that because of what you said that you would--it doesn’t matter. Please, try some of the pie. I think you’ll really like it.”

You thought he didn’t like your gift. That wasn’t a shock since he had just stared at it instead of saying anything about your perfect token. What was he expected to say though? What could he say for something this personal? Just saying that he loved it didn’t seem like enough.

“Darling,” He reached across and took your hand. You looked at him with wide eyes like a startled deer. How much he loved gazing into those eyes. “Can I make love to you?”

“Huh?” Came your articulate response. Felix tried not to chuckle at your shocked expression.

“I love this.” He held up the sand dollar, “I love that you thought to give me this. No one has ever done something like this for me and I--” Words escaped him as he tried to articulate what was going through his brain. “I want to show you how much I love it if you would let me make love to you tonight.”

“Felix…” You squeezed his hand, “I would love nothing more.”

“Come along then, little girl,” He stood up. “No time to waste.”

“You mean right now? Don’t we need to clean up dinner?”

“Worry about it tomorrow. Right now I just want you.” He pulled you to your feet.

“Okay,” Your voice was hushed, “We should at least blow out the candles first.”

“Right.” You two went about blowing out the candles dotted around the room. Felix turned to look at you and his gaze wandered down to your shapely ass bent over the table to blow out some of the candles. It wasn’t lust that kept his gaze locked there though.

“Um, darling,” Felix said. You straightened up and turned to him. “There’s a stain on your dress.”

“A stain? Where?” You looked down your torso.

“Not there.” He motioned to behind you, “There’s a dark stain on your butt.”

“My butt?” You looked puzzled for a moment before abject horror settled in. You looked down with a growing sense of dread. “No. No no no no no NO!” You scuttled off towards the bathroom. Felix finished blowing out the candles and followed after you.

“Are you alright?” He asked through the door.

You cracked the door open with a deep frown. “I’m sorry, Felix.” You mumbled, “We can’t have sex tonight.”

“Okay. But are you alright? You’re worrying me, darling.”

“I’ll be fine.” You scowled, “I got my period. So sex is kind of off the table until it’s over which will be a few days. I didn’t even realize it was blood, I thought I was wet down there cause I was turned on. This sucks!”

Felix was a tad disappointed but that hardly mattered now. So he had to wait a few more days to make sweet love to you. That was hardly anything to get upset about. He hugged you close and whispered words of reassurance to you. He wanted you to know it was alright.

“It’s bad enough I’m bleeding out of my vagina but it just had to go and ruin my pretty new dress too!” You whined as Felix led you back upstairs, “I really liked it.”

“I’m sure we can get a little blood out of your pretty dress, darling.” Felix kissed the top of your head, “For now, go clean yourself up and get comfortable. Okay?”

“Care to join me?” You asked. “Just because we can’t have sex doesn’t mean you can’t join me for a quick shower.”

“Sounds great,” He followed you into the bathroom. Both of you undressed and Felix whined in his throat when he saw you in your naked glory, water streaming down your body as you beckoned him from the shower.

He stepped into the shower with you, the hot water hitting his back. You were standing right in front of him and he was having a hard time not giving in and taking you right there in the shower. He failed to see how a little blood meant that you two couldn’t be joined but it was a stopping point for you and he accepted that. But god did he want to.

While he stood admiring you, you had set about lathering up the loofah and scrubbing yourself clean. “Ah ah,” He grabbed it out of your hands, “Since I don’t get to make love to you tonight I at least get to do this.”

“What? Bathe me?” You arched an eyebrow up at him.

“Will you just let me do this for you?” He asked.

You smiled and nodded. Unlike your methodical scrubbing to quickly and efficiently wipe the day away, Felix was far more slow. Every swipe of his hands like a soft caress as he lathered your body with sweet smelling bubbles. It wasn’t even about cleaning you up, he just wanted this chance to touch you. It was one of his favorite pastimes. He loved the way you just melted into his touch and became so pliant in his arms. You relaxed and trusted him so much, you felt safe with him, and he reveled in it.

Before any of this had happened, before he came to Storybrooke with you, Felix had always been on edge. He was used to constantly having to look over his shoulder and wait tensed for danger on Neverland. He could never find a moment to let his guard down. Not even when he was sleeping. On Neverland he kept up a hard and bitter exterior to scare anyone away from trying to mess with him. It worked too. After a few years no one dared cross him. Being the guy everyone was scared of though made it very lonely. His only real friend on the island being Pan himself. He was the only one that wasn’t scared of him.

Then you came along. You two had never had many interactions on Neverland but you didn’t scuttle away from him when he crossed your path. You were wary, he could see that, but you never tried to avoid him like the others did. You trusted him just about as much as you trusted anyone else on the island which wasn’t saying much. Now here you were, sharing a shower with him while he washed your hair for you. Your eyes closed as you leaned back into the gentle scrubbing of your scalp.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“For what?” You asked.

“For trusting me.” He kissed your shoulder. You turned around and laid your head against his chest. “I don’t think I’ve said it before but, you mean a lot to me. I need you to understand that I really do care about you. I care about you so much.”

“I care about you too.” You hugged him tighter, “I adore you, Felix.”

The both of you stood there under the hot spray of the shower until your fingers started going pruny. Felix’s attention to you didn’t stop after the pair of you got out of the shower either. He grabbed one of the towels and dried you off. You laughed when he covered your head with the towel to dry your hair.

After he got dressed for bed he ran back downstairs and grabbed the slices of pie you had left out and brought them up to the bedroom to eat. He hoped with everything in his being that you understood just how much he meant what he said...and what he had left unsaid. He hoped you felt loved. Cause that’s what it all came down to. Felix loved you. He loved you and though he didn’t have the courage to say it yet, he hoped that tonight let you know exactly what he was feeling.

When the pie was finished and the lights were turned off, Felix pulled you close to him and kissed you. “Have sweet dreams, my darling.”

---

(Previous) (Next)

[mochimiyas]

don’t follow me, you’ll end up in my arms

summary: interviewer: “when did you realize that miya osamu no longer loved you the same way he did in the beginning?”

warnings: angst, mentions of depression, implied cheating, mentions of miya atsumu and suna rintarou

pairings: timeskip!miya osamu x reader

a/n: i just woke up today and chose violence uwu. content is under the cut!

-

‘what a coincidence...’ you pondered to yourself as you looked outside your window, the condensation making it hard for you to make out the figures running to their homes, cars rushing to their destination for the day. it rarely rained during the spring in hyogo. normally hyogo had warm, yet refreshing cool breezes; it always felt as if spring was gently guiding you through their season.

today... seemed different. 

your normal morning routine didn’t wake you up the way it usually does. you woke up 5 minutes later than your alarm clock, throwing you off your balance as you rushed to shut that annoying beeping noise. groaning, you threw your comforter out of the way and placed your feet on the cold, cold tiles, seeking warmth in your fuzzy slippers. 

they weren’t in the place they should be in. 

your senses started to fully awaken, and you finally took in the state of your room. work clothes thrown haphazardly on your love seat in the corner, your slippers sitting nice and prettily against the door to your bathroom. 

why was everything so out of place?

confusion started to settle in your features as you walked up to your restroom, feet snuggling into your slippers as you flicked on the light, your reflection staring hauntingly back at you. letting out a sigh, you continued the rest of your morning routine, hoping to get rid of the uneasy feeling settling in your bones. 

-

click. clack. click. 

every click and clack of their shoes gnawed at the back of your conscience, the slight tremble in your figure starting to feel overwhelming as you looked up, standing to greet the interviewer as they did the same. 

sick, you just felt sick to your stomach at their smile. 

“thank you so much for coming to the interview! here at as/is japan, we want to expand and broaden japan’s society, showing our audience that anyone, including celebrities and every day people, that everyone goes through similar issues. we’re hoping through this video that we can convey that they’re not alone in this, and we’re all in this together,” they explained, gesturing to the group of people being ushered into the waiting rooms to get prepped. 

you laughed nervously, “i hope so as well. it’s a very thoughtful video for you guys to prepare for your audience.”

the sound of the clapperboard startled you, the director behind the camera holding up three fingers, slowly counting down before the camera started rolling. 

the interviewer cleared their throat and pointed to the camera, indicating to maintain eye contact with the device. 

they started. 

[today at as/is japan, we asked questions about their relationships and why it ended. we’re going over the topic of heartbreak today. so please, introduce yourself.]

“my name is y/n. i used to be in a relationship for six years with the owner of onigiri miya, miya osamu. we ended our relationship last year in march.”

[i’m sorry to hear that but wow! you dated one of the miya twins. how was it dating the famous miya osamu?]

“it was just amazing. i didn’t care for the fact he was famous, and we started dating way before he opened his restaurant; i believe it was our third year when we finally sealed the deal, haha. miya-san is kind, super attentive, and just overall a great man. anyone would be so lucky to have him.”

[gosh, he really does live up to the name. miya osamu is truly known to be the quiet one compared to his brother, but i’ve always thought twins would have the same personality y’know?]

“right? i thought the same when i first met them at the beginning of high school, and until i started hanging out with them, my perspective has changed.” 

[good to know. moving on, what caused your relationship to fall?]

“...it was our third year anniversary. we somewhat had a routine when it came to our anniversary. we always went to awaji island early in the morning to rent a boat and fish for the day. he and i really enjoy basking in nature, so it was ideal for the both of us. when i woke up at the usual time, i usually snuggle with him before we have to get ready.”

“when i woke up, he wasn’t there, and it was downhill from there.”

[a-ah, y/n-san you don’t have to continue if you don’t feel comfortable. here, a tissue.]

sniff. “thank you, but i would like to continue.”

[as you wish. may i ask what’s happened since your third year anniversary?]

“he... osa- miya-san slowly, but surely stopped being affectionate with me. mornings that were filled with loving kisses turned to waking up alone. lunches that used to be spent together were now filled with empty promises and excuses, saying he had plans to eat lunch with someone else. truthfully, i didn’t think too much of it, and kept supporting him from the sidelines, even if it meant not being able to see him as much.” 

gasps overloaded your senses. [when did you realize that miya osamu no longer loved you the same way as he did in the beginning?]

pause.

“i... fuck, i need to get my shit together.” 

you took a moment to breathe.

in, and out. in, and out.

“on our six year anniversary, i tried to set up our usual routine, and it seemed like he was on board with it. for the past three years, miya-san made excuses, saying things like, ‘i need to meet up with a rep from an investment company,’ or ‘i made a promise to atsumu and rin to meet up with them.’ i could give less shit if it was an ordinary day but it was our anniversary for fucks sake! i had so much hope that he would stay, wake up in bed with me, do our usual, and just be with each other for once.”

in, and out. in and out, in-

“i woke up to an empty space right next to me. it was barely warm, so it meant that he’s been out for a while. i remember being so fucking angry, so torn up inside. how could he flake on me again? i walked to the restroom and saw his phone on the sink counter. i didn’t think too much of it until his phone lit up, and i saw a preview of a message he received. i knew right then and there that this relationship was done for good, so i packed all of my stuff and left without a trace. blocked him and all of his friends on everything and moved away.”

[is there anything you would like to say to our audience, and quite possibly miya-san if he’s watching this?]

“to the as/is japan fans, thank you for tuning in. i hope you all know that you’re not alone, and even the nicest people in this world can be scum bags. my advice to everyone is to make sure you’re in a relationship where one isn’t sacrificing more than the other, and that your happiness isn’t defined by theirs. i’ve always thought whenever miya-san was happy, i was too yet there was still a void in my heart every time i questioned it; make sure it’s genuine and real. and as for miya-san...”

ahem. 

“miya osamu. i don’t hate you, and i never will. i’ve forgiven you a long time ago. truthfully speaking, the day he told us that he would be trying out for teams in tokyo and i saw that look in your eyes, i knew i would never be enough yet i kept on trying. for six years, i’ve chased after you to make you stay while you had eyes for him, traveling to set up your stands at his games. you even had the audacity to invite me to one of his games. i wish you could’ve ended it when you realized it because to this day, i... i’m still in love with you unfortunately, and i don’t know if i ever will stop. please stop searching for me. i just want to be left alone and for him, i hope you make osamu happy.”

wiping your tears, you bowed towards the camera, faintly hearing the clapperboard as you stood up. you bowed once again to the crew members and made your way to the exit, the sound of the light shower soothing your senses. looking up, you smiled. 

‘what a coincidence...’ you pondered to yourself as you saw the sun shyly peeking out from gray, murky clouds. 

- 

gray eyes stared blankly at the outro of the video, the screen illuminating his grave features. 

he brought his hand up to wipe the tears on his sunken cheeks, the action causing for more tears to leak out. miya osamu finally felt the consequences of his actions catch up to him, and he couldn’t take it any longer. every single word that left your lips, your sad smile; it felt as if there were thousands upon thousands of needles pricking his heart. 

to hear that you still loved him, yet didn’t want to do anything with him, killed him inside. 

... “i’m so fuckin’ sorry y/n, i’m so fuckin’ sorry-”

[peterrparrkerr]

Revoked consent - read on ao3

TW for rape/noncon

*-*

Peter's hands shake a little as he takes the offered glass from Tony. He gives a smile, hoping he doesn't look as nervous as he really is.

Its his first time being paid for sex, and he doesn't know why it's so daunting this time. Hes had sex before, he's fucked himself on a dildo on camera for money.

But this is the first time he's actually sold himself for it.

Tony had offered him an amount he couldn't refuse. Not only would he be able to pay three months of rent, but he'll be able to actually get groceries and still have enough money to live comfortably for a couple months after.

Tony had already deposited half of it into his account. Peter's throat had closed up when he'd seen it.

Tony sits down beside him on the couch with his own glass. Peter glances over at him, then down at the glass.

He had to act like he was old enough to drink. Tony didn't know he was only sixteen. He'd said he was twenty-three online. It was the only way he could get on the website.

"Drink," Tony commanded softly. Peter glances up at him before giving a small nod and brought the glass to his lips.

He could feel Tony watching him as he tipped the glass up. He held his breath -the scent of the alcohol making his nose burn- and swallowed quickly.

The burn and taste isn't something Peter's ever felt before. It feels like he's swallowed acid and the burning won't leave his tongue.

He chokes on a cough, trying desperately to act like its not as fowl as it really is. But the one cough opens up the gateway, and he's hacking out a lung, his eyes burning with tears.

"Not into the hard stuff, hmm?" Tony asked, sounding amused as he plucked the glass from Peter's hand.

He shakes his head, forcing himself to calm down. How fucking embarrassing.

"No, I'm sorry," he manages, wiping under his eyes.

"Dont be," Tony hummed, standing up and moving back to the bar. "Its an acquired taste."

Peter doesn't say anything. He watches as Tony reaches down behind the bar. Theres a distinct sound of a can being opened, the sizzle of something carbonated being poured into the glass, and then Tony was returning.

Peter's glass was fuller than before, darker and fizzy. "Try this."

Peter takes the glass, bringing it to his nose and sniffing it quietly. Its pepsi. He takes a tentative sip, all while Tony watches silently beside him, leaning back against the couch.

Peter takes a drink. The alcohol is hidden in the soda, the burn lost in the fizz, and he smiles gratefully at Tony.

"Thank you," he manages, nerves still closing around his throat in a vice-like grip.

He drinks more, feeling Tony's fingers brushing softly against the hairs at the back of his neck. It makes Peter shiver, his stomach rolling and threatening to bring up his lunch.

He's halfway through his drink when Tony sets his empty glass down on the coffee table.

He then takes Peter's glass and sets it down too.

"Come sit on my lap," he orders.

Peter's hands grow sweaty, and he awkwardly does as he's told, feeling like he's all limbs and no grace.

Tony's hands feel huge on his hips, fingers pressing into the softness of his ass while his thumbs hook over the front of his hip bones.

"You're tense," Tony hummed, squeezing Peter's hips. "Relax."

Peter gives a small nod, forcing himself to put his whole weight onto Tony's thighs. It makes the older man smile, and Peter fights back the urge to get up and run out of the penthouse.

"What- what would you like to do?" Peter asked, hiding his shaky hands by holding the back of the couch on either side of Tony's head.

"Hmm," Tony grins, his hands moving up and under Peter's shirt. They're warm against the bare skin of Peter's sides, and it makes him slightly nauseous.

"Why don't you let me be in control," he suggested. The idea made Peter's heart rate quicken, but he forced himself not to outwardly react.

Tony had paid him handsomely for this, and he was going to pay him more once this was over. This was just a job. Peter's had sex before. Hes had a job before. This was just- combining the two.

"All you have to do is follow my lead, okay, sweetheart?"

Peter swallows thickly before nodding. "Okay," he agrees. He can do that.

Tony smirks before lifting his hands higher, forcing Peter's shirt up and exposing his tummy to the cool air.

Peter lifts his arms, allowing Tony to pull the shirt completely off before returning them to the back of the couch.

"Kiss me."

Peter leans forward, kissing Tony hesitantly, softly. His goatee is scratchy, the shirt pricks of hair biting into Peter's soft skin.

He hates it. Hates how kissing Tony makes him feel. But he kisses him with everything he's got.

The man under him groans against his mouth and begins working Peter's fly open.

Peter pulls away, glancing down, opening his mouth to tell Tony he's changed his mind, when the man grabs him by the chin and forces their mouths together.

Peter forces himself to allow Tony to tug at his jeans and boxers. He even gets up to allow them to fall to his ankles.

He's mostly soft, and he wants nothing more than to hide himself away from Tony's eyes as he crawls back onto his lap.

Tears burn in his eyes, but Peter forces them away, leaning in and kissing Tony as the man's hands roam over his naked body.

His nakedness to Tony's suit is unnerving -the juxtaposition making Peter feel lesser than.

He tries to ignore it. Tries to ignore the hands kneading his bare ass, pulling him apart to expose more of him to the cold air of the penthouse.

Tony's tongue tastes like whiskey, and Peter pinches his eyes shut on the wave of nausea that curls in his gut.

"Up," Tony orders, shoving at Peter. He climbs up as quickly as he can, and struggles to breathe as Tony manhandles him onto the floor.

He's on his knees, bent over the cushions, his ass presented to Tony.

Peter struggles to level out his breathing. He pinches his eyes shut and lowers himself so his chest is pressed to the couch cushions, mostly to hide his face in his arms.

"Hmm," Tony hums approvingly, hands rubbing at Peter's ass. "You sure are a pretty little thing."

Thing.

Peter feels humiliated, on the verse of a panic attack. His knees hurt against the hard floor -he thinks it might be granite or even marble. Its cold.  He doesn't think he can go through with this.

But Tony's already lubing his fingers and pressing two inside. Peter bites back a sob, reminding himself this is only for the money.

This is a job. He can do this. Its one time, and after this, he'll leave and never see Tony again.

He'll delete his cam page, he'll cut off any ties to Tony. Its just one time.

Tony continues to finger him open, but Peter can tell he's becoming impatient. He winces as three fingers are shoved in, the back and forth much too rough for prep work. Thankfully, Peter had done a lot of it himself.

Tony's fingers leave his hole and Peter can't help the momentary relief that floods his system.

Its chased away with cold water though, when he hears the zip of Tony's pants and the snick of the lid popping on the bottle of lube.

Peter's heart lodges itself deep in his throat, and its suddenly all too much.

He pushes himself up off the couch, half turning. "Wait, Tony, I can't do this-"

Tony's hand shoves against his back, right between his shoulder blades and pinning him to the couch. "Don't be nervous," he orders.

Peter feels the head of Tony's cock nudge at his entrance and he lets out a whine, frightened and desperate all at once.

"Wait, Tony, stop," Peter gasped, fighting to push himself up. Tony only leans more of his weight onto his back, and shoves his cock inside in one quick thrust.

Peter yelps at the stretch and burn, thighs shaking as his muscles work to keep Tony out.

"There you go, relax, sweetheart, you're doing so well," Tony grunts, feeding more of his cock in until its flush, hips to Peter's ass.

Tears burn at Peter's eyes as he struggles against the weight on his back.

Tony's fucking huge -bigger than he thought he'd be. He feels split open, ripped at the seams. Its so painful, and Peter has to bury his mouth into the cushions to muffle his whines and mewls of pain.

"Ton-Tony I can't-"

"Sure you can," Tony huffed, beginning to thrust in and out. Peter wails at the sharp snap of his hips.

He cries openly against the pillow, chest heaving, body shaking.

Each thrust punches out a breathy "ah, ah, ah," from Peter, his gut twisting with a mix of pleasure and disgust.

"Listen to you," Tony hummed, sounding almost desperate, hands holding Peter down. "Those noises. God, you're so tight, sweetheart. Taking my cock so well."

Peter chokes on a sob at those words, a string of babbled begging leaving his mouth, muffled by the leather couch cushions.

Tony must interpret the unintelligible babbling for something else, because he goes harder, thrusting faster, and Peter's back arcs, his head lifting off the couch on a shout.

"Please, please, please," Peter sobs, chest heaving. Tony pistons his hips, shoving Peter into the couch over and over in a disorienting pace.

Tony drives into him hard, burying himself as depe as he can go, and then pushing in further. Peter sobs against the pressure, being filled to the maximum.

And then Peter feels it. The unmistakable warm wetness that spreads inside him, coating his inner walls.

Peter whimpers as Tony punches his cock deep inside, pushing the cum deeper than Peter knew possible before pulling out.

Peter doesn't move, just tries to level his breathing. To collect himself before Tony seems his face.

"You going to cum for me, sweetheart?" Tony asks only seconds later. His hands are still pinning him down, but one now slids around Peter's front.

He doesn't get a chance to deny the man before a callused hand grips his cock and tugs painfully.

He yelps as his orgasm is yanked from him. Its not pleasurable in the slightest. It hurts so bad, Peter's eyes water again.

And Tony keeps milking him through it, wben when the last of it has dribbled to the floor. Peter reaches a hand down, whimpering and whining at the assault.

"Stop, stop!" He begs, stilling Tony's hand. "Please it hurts."

Tony stops, smoothing his hands over his belly and pressing a soft kiss to Peter's shoulder blades.

"Such a sensitive thing," he remarks. Peter buries his face in his arm. Tony gets to his feet then and steps away.

Peter reaches for his shirt on the couch and quickly pulls it over his head, hands still trembling.

He glances over to see Tony's back at the bar, filling a glass for himself.

Peter stands on shaky legs, stepping into his boxers and jeans and pulling them up before any of Tony's cum drips down his legs.

He tucks himself in and zips up before stepping into his shoes. His phone and wallet are still in his back pockets.

He glances up at Tony again, who's watching him over the rim of his glass. Peter doesn't know what to say, so he makes his way halting towards the door.

"The rest of your money will be deposited tonight," Tony said when Peter reached the door. Peter's gut twists, but he nods in thanks.

"I'd be more than happy to continue this partnership in the future," Tony hummed, just as Peter gripped the doorhandle that lead to the hallway. "Should you have need of extra money."

Peter doesn't acknowledge that. He slips out of the penthouse and into the hallway, making sure the door shuts behind him before rushing for the elevator, fresh tears blurring his vision.

[idga-buck]

Some and Others, 2/?

Bucky finds it difficult to end a relationship without a good reason, until he has a good reason.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3,702

Content: sexual references (18+ only), swearing, Bucky seems like a jerk in this, but he really isn’t. I’m so behind on FATWS (like..second episode behind) because the friend I’m watching with is very busy and I respect that. This doesn’t contain any spoilers that I know of and doesn’t use the show as a point of reference. May change in future chapters if I ever get to watch it.

“Fuck... Fuuuu-“

The word died in Bucky’s chest, dissolving into a

mouthful of shamelessness. Grunts that vibrated against the back of his teeth as his body tightened, every muscle from his fingers digging into your hips to his burning quads pulled so taut that his ass cheeks could have crushed rock between them. He was getting rather comfortable using his new body to dole out something other than pain and suffering, to experience something else too. Though by the yellowing finger shaped bruises scattered on your legs and arms, there was still a little pain. The good kind, you’d assured him many times and some days Bucky Barnes was in awe of the fact that there was a “good kind” of pain. He wasn’t ready to be on the receiving end to find out for himself and you never pushed him to it. You were good, he liked that.

When his orgasm faded, leaving Bucky feeling like an empty husk of a man, he leaned down to kiss you in the middle of your back. A “good job” kind of peck that ended with him pulling out and pulling away to flop his sweaty body into your bed. There was a fuzzy blanket that irritated his heated skin and while he kicked awkwardly at it until it fell onto the floor, you were catching your breath next to him and inching closer. He wasn’t in the mood to cuddle and he closed his eyes hoping you wouldn’t expect too much. That was why he’d come over so early in the morning anyways. To see you off to work in a fun way, but at a time when he knew you wouldn’t be able to dawdle. Much to his surprise, you kissed his shoulder, the same little gesture he’d given your spine, and then rolled away, yanking a flowery robe from under his wide spread leg to pull it out. It was getting hot outside, the summer air a little too sticky when it seeped under those long sleeved shirts he preferred, but thankfully you kept a stand up fan at the end of your bed and Bucky sighed dreamily when he heard you flick it on, the artificial breeze shooting up his legs and cooling his damp skin. He’d expected you to continue your walk across the room and into the bathroom to prep for work, but your footsteps were muffled, which meant you’d stayed on the rug next to his side of the bed. Even with his eyes closed, he could tell you were watching him. Sure enough, there was a small dip in the mattress next to his head and your hand reached up to play with his sweaty hair.

“I could call in today.”

Bucky’s left eye fluttered open at the offer. You’d squatted next to the bed, leaning in one elbow to mess with the hair around his ears while you spoke. He usually liked that. There weren’t any memories of gentle touches from the last oh, 7 decades or so, and the therapist he stopped going to had encouraged him to seek out hands that didn’t hurt him. He’d found you shortly after and it felt good enough. Lately, especially today, Bucky just wanted the touching to stop making him feel so guilty.

“You’ve been gone a week, maybe we-“

“Better not,” he interrupted, rolling his head against the pillow to look at you. It felt like the decent thing to do. Look a person in the eye when you tell them no.

You were still smiling at him, but the hand that was touching him fell to the mattress. “You sure? We could stay in bed,” your voice lifted, knowing it was an extremely tempting offer. “I missed you, soldier.”

“Yeah,” Bucky offered a tight smile that probably looked even less convincing when it was half smashed into a pillow. “You should go to work.”

You licked your lips and kept them tucked in over your teeth as you nodded then stood without saying anything else. You’d get ready in the bathroom, Bucky would close his eyes again and pretend to be asleep when you emerged. You’d kiss his cheek and he’d enjoy your quiet apartment for the rest of the day while you were at work. It was how things had gone for a while. Long enough that it surprised Bucky a bit that you were still offering to stay home with him after he’d returned from a mission.

He flinched a bit when the bathroom door creaked open again and recovered quickly, waiting for his kiss before the front door closed behind you. But he heard dull footsteps pause before being replaced by the sharp sound of heels against wood. Then the rivets on your leather bag scraped over the kitchen counter and the keys jingled in your hand. Bucky waited, but the door opened then closed again without your lips stopping near his face. He sat up right and looked through the open bedroom door toward the entry, half expecting you to come back in, apologizing as you awkwardly stooped in a tight skirt to right this mistake.

You didn’t. And Bucky took it to mean that you felt it too. This whole thing was over.

He’d started feeling that way just a few weeks ago. You’d been feeling ill and he realized that he was more than happy to stay away. There wasn’t any urgency or desire to take care of you and only realized it a week later when he was coming over and you’d asked him to bring a Gatorade. He’d stopped dead on the street just outside your window and wondered if he should ask after any other needs. Or if maybe he should just assume and bring something he knew you liked. But then he spent too long standing in front of the candy rack by the glass covered register without a clue what you liked. He grabbed one of everything at first then put them all back, not wanting to admit he hadn’t been paying attention. He’d been a spy, an assassin, a marksman, a ladies man- all of which required keen observations. Yet, he’d missed this. Bucky told himself it hadn’t come up and he paid for only what you asked before heading upstairs.

After that, he started to feel off about everything. Noticing all the different things he didn’t necessarily like about- not you- but being with you. Not that it would sound any better, but once he realized he wasn’t actually ready to be in a relationship, the awkward dance began. Bucky Barnes had never been dumped. Obviously. But he’d never really had to let a girl go either. Dating was so different back when he was at it. Dates were frequent and they were fun. Being seen out and being seen with the right girls only made you more popular. It was especially good for the girls and a date with Bucky Barnes was as good as gold. Now, you and he had skipped over all the steps he’d known anything about and once you called yourself his girlfriend he had no clue what to do with you. Fumbling around for a few months didn’t yield much progress and the frustration was too much.

Everytime he thought he’d do it, he decided it wasn’t the right time… or he’d decide to kiss you instead, one last time. Last kisses taste as good as the first if you don’t really mean it and too often, Bucky found himself back in your bed instead of walking away. He’d linger in your apartment while you were at work, treating it like his own secret clubhouse and try not to think about how his mother would pinch his ear for how he was treating you. So Bucky finally rolled out of your bed and stepped into the shower.

Under the spray, he eyed the products you kept in a gray plastic bin for him and he wondered if he should throw them out when he was done. He had no use for them back in the compound, but when he pictured you coming home to find all his stuff in the trash before he’d had a chance to say something, he left the bottles where they were and toweled off. Then he dressed and checked his phone in the kitchen. You’d texted from your office, asking him if he’d meet you for dinner. He didn’t prefer going out, but he could suck it up for this. It would be easier to let you down in public. Maybe. Bucky agreed and you responded with a tiny picture of a floating yellow head. It was smiling so he slid his phone into his pocket and left it there to eye the kitchen next. Part of him wanted to leave, knowing what he’d have to tell you later. But another part of him was hungry and he knew you kept bacon in the freezer for weekends. So he stayed.

He’d changed into a set of clothes in the bottom drawer of your dresser. Just a black pair of jeans and a sweater that you said made his arms look tasty. The outfit was left after a different date and now Bucky was glad to be getting it out of your dresser. He didn’t bother leaving the city, but he did leave the apartment, knowing you’d stop home to change before heading to the restaurant you chose. He found a bar to sit at until 6:00, but while he was killing time a text message came in that ruined his whole evening.

Bucky should have seen it coming and when the toe of his boot collided with the trash can outside, he wished it was his own brain. Or heart. Or whichever other organ was responsible for putting him in this mess. He looked down toward the sidewalk and kicked that too. He knew exactly which organ got him here.

There were plenty of signs. Little moments that he ignored to soothe every selfish ache. The need for sleep, the need for comfort, the need for release, the need for something that was just his. You’d given him all of that without question, but clearly not without expectation. Dating a hundred year old soldier came with its own difficulties sure, but dating an Avenger seemed to make up for all of that. Bucky knew he wasn’t blameless, having agreed to the whole boyfriend thing knowing your name, your address, and how much he liked sleeping on your sheets. Beyond that you were a mystery to him and it seemed to be unraveling right before him.

This kind of thing was meant for Steve or Tony, the faces of the organization not the bloody fists behind them. Bucky hadn’t even considered that he was being used until FRIDAY alerted him of a sudden social media buzz that included his name circulating around the internet. Tweets and posts and fan accounts which he wasn’t aware he had were passing around a photo of him. It was undeniably him. Even without seeing it on a regular basis, Bucky could recognize his own back from a photograph. The problem was his shirt, or lack thereof, highlighting the fact that one of his arms was the color of gunpowder and twice as deadly. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out who it was.

Aside from the obvious violation, feeling like the intimate moments he’d guarded so carefully were suddenly being invaded by a world of people who didn’t know him, Bucky also couldn’t help but feel hurt as the leaked photo proved something he’d suspected, but never gave much thought to. You were only with him to be with an Avenger. He wasn’t sure it would matter who it was, you would have gone home with any member of the team given the chance. It was his face you found at the bar that night, so it was his life you slithered into without remorse. Bucky had only one desire left when it came to you— to slither out the same way.

“What is this?”

Bucky dropped the phone on the table between you and watched you wince at the loud clattering of silverware. If only you’d known his real desire was to throw the damn thing. On the screen before you was a familiar photo, one you’d posted yourself to Instagram, desaturated just enough to catch the early morning sun glinting off Bucky’s arm complete with the location “Welcome to New York” and appropriate Taylor Swift lyrics in the caption. The muscles in his bare back tensed as he looked out the window of a swanky hotel room. You’d met him for drinks in the bar downstairs when the night manager caught wind of the avenger in his hotel and made the surprisingly vacant presidential suite available for you two. It’d been a good night. A very good night, Bucky thought, before those steamy memories were spoiled in this very moment.

“Earth’s Mightiest Lover, question mark?” You read aloud, laughing at the headline, before looking up at Bucky’s face drawn tight in annoyance. “I mean, it’s not far off,” you offered casually, winking as you passed Bucky his phone back. He was unamused and watched as you straightened in your seat, tone suddenly matching the serious look on his face. “My page is private, I don’t know how they got that.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he seethed. “You posted it.”

You scoffed. “I didn’t realize this was a secret.” You sounded offended and that surprised Bucky. As if you didn’t know exactly what you’d done.

“What I do in my personal life isn’t anyone’s business,” he insisted, still standing next to the table instead of sitting to join you.

He only became aware of the other patrons watching the exchange when your eyes left his to float around the room. You lowered your voice in response. “Well, what I choose to share from my life is.”

“This isn’t about you,” he sighed, dropping his voice a bit to match yours. No reason to bring anymore unwanted attention to himself.

“It feels like it is!” Your whisper was forceful and you turned your face away from him immediately after. “Why the big fuss, Bucky? Was it really a secret?” He didn’t answer. If he’d done what he’d been meaning to do sooner, this whole thing could have been avoided and he felt more ashamed of himself than you. It wasn’t that you were a secret, per se. It just wasn’t something he knew enough about to share with the world. He was still getting used to this century, let alone dating in it, let alone being a public figure in it. There wasn’t any part of him that wanted to fail in front of an audience and he assumed you’d know that. Even if he’d never told you. “What’s the point of a superhero boyfriend if no one can know,” he heard you mutter while he was lost in thought.

Bucky froze. “What’s the point?”

“Bucky, I’m sorry,” you said quickly. The air around your table changed immediately and you’d both picked up on it. “I hear how that sounds, that sounds bad, that’s not how I meant-“ he turned around and unfortunately, you chose to follow. He heard the offended gasp of a nearby table as you scampered after him, heels a dull thud in the thick carpet. “Bucky, come on. I didn’t mean it, can we talk about this?”

“No,” he said gruffly, pushing the door open and stepping out onto the sidewalk again.

“We’ve both said things-“

“Well, I’m done saying things.”

“Wait…” Bucky stopped walking when you grabbed at his arm. You didn’t normally go for his left side. He didn’t know if it was because you found it weird or if you thought he did. Another thing he never brought up. The feeling of your hands wrapped around vibranium was startling enough for him to face you, expectantly. “What just happened here?”

“This isn’t going to work for me,” he said, watching your mouth twitch a little as you considered his words. At least he wasn’t kissing you. He still kind of wanted to, it’d become a sort of habit over the last few months. When he was wound up, like he was now, he came to you and you made it go away. Simple. Yet now it felt complicated. Like the relationship was supposed to be more but also felt like too much. He wasn’t ready for it and as long as he focused, as long as he got out as soon as possible, he wouldn’t slide back into comfortable ways.

“Bucky…” your eyes were wide and your voice broke a bit at the end of his name. “Are we… are you breaking up with me?” You asked, before adding, “Over a picture?”

No, but also yes.

Bucky knew that he should, before you got hurt, though apparently he was too late for that. Your arms were crossed over your chest defensively and he dropped his eyes to the pavement. It wasn’t the picture. It was everything. The picture gave him permission to do the right thing. Though the right thing probably would have been telling you he wasn’t interested in a relationship at all when you asked.

“Delete the picture,” he said simply, choosing not to say more. “You don’t have a superhero boyfriend to brag about anymore.” With the twisting of that knife, he felt more like the Winter Soldier again in that moment than he had in months. Cruel and beyond his own control.

It happened so fast. All of it. By the time he’d returned to the compound, half the team was waiting for him. Tony stood smugly looking like a dad that hated being the bad cop, while Steve wondered aloud why Bucky had kept his relationship a secret for so long anyways. Sam’s questions were blessedly lighthearted, but Bucky’s gratitude could only be expressed in quick grunts as he pushed through the Brady Bunch. Back in his room with the door shut, Shuri called and without really thinking, Bucky answered. He didn’t turn to face the hologram floating above the kimoyo beads on his bedside table, just let the princess talk directly at the side of his head while he listened.

“Sergeant Barnes!” The honorific was standard for her and most of the time he appreciated it, but storming out of a date like a teenager had him feeling less than worthy of any title. He was barely fit to command his own personal life at that second and being called sergeant left a sour taste at the back of his tongue. If the boys could see him now, moping about because a gal was too eager to show him off. Ridiculous.

“Bucky…” he muttered to himself, but it didn’t matter. Shuri was already rambling excitedly about something or other she’d cooked up in her lab. Under normal circumstances, Bucky would be enthralled, but he was tired. Not physically, after accidentally on purpose taking a nap in your bed before getting dressed again. Just… all the other kinds of tired that he couldn’t talk about. So while the Princess talked, Bucky hummed randomly. He didn’t think he was allowed to miss this call and stayed on the line, though his disinterest was noticeable and promptly called out.

“Why do you look like someone kicked your goat?” Bucky turned to glare at the floating head and Shuri cackled. His time as a shepherd was nothing compared to the real Wakandans who’d been perfecting their craft over thousands of years, but she’d never let him forget his ‘roots’ as she jokingly called them. Because of her he was reborn, therefore Wakanda was his de facto home. Honorary member of the border tribe and the royal family’s favorite broken white boy.

“We broke up.”

“You know,” she started in a light tone, far too playful in response to his news. “White Wolf is just a name, you don’t have to be so lonely… or mopey.”

“I’m not mopey,” he argued, but the fight wasn’t really there.

“Says the mope,” Shuri countered, sucking her teeth and shaking her head. “Nakia would twist your lip if she saw it stuck out like that.”

“Well the next time I’m in the presence of the queen I’ll let her.”

“You know Sergeant Barnes,” the youthful tone in her voice disappeared instantly. She sounded every bit of the Black Panther mantle. “It’s been a long time since a man has snapped at me like that and walked away unscathed.” There was an underlying threat that sent Bucky upright, sitting on the edge of his bed and lifting the beads in his palm. Already his posture was more respectful than it had been a moment ago.

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely and Shuri nodded. “I… I don’t want to talk about it.”

Finally the princess’s smile broke back through and Bucky was instantly relieved. “I didn’t call you to talk about girls anyways.”

“Can we skip this one?”

“No,” said Shuri, leaving no room for argument.

“How many diagnostics does one arm need?”

Shuri looked back up from the tablet she’d grabbed and squinted at Bucky. “The next time you rebuild a brain and an arm from scratch- you can tell me.”

And there was nothing to say to that, so Bucky detached the arm in question and set it down before popping a single kimoyo bead into the empty joint. He got comfortable and waited for Shuri to engage him again for another evaluation. The first year was critical, she kept saying, and he had no choice, but to agree with her.

He’d never rebuilt an arm or a brain.

While he waited for her to need his input again, Bucky thought about you. How surprised you looked when he started to walk away. Maybe you hadn’t seen it coming like he had. Just before Shuri finished with the arm, he’d decided to reach out to you. Not tonight. Probably not even tomorrow. But at some point, he’d apologize for the brusqueness of his exit. If he got the chance to.

Photo because, Bast bless this woman. She is too good for the world. Also. A mood. Shuri isn’t here to fix your relationship, Bucky. She’s a genius and a princess and a badass.

A/N: this is my not so subtle introduction to a genre I have created called, what is everybody else doing? Ok do the opposite just for fun. One of my favorite things in fic is when Bucky finds himself a girl who’s DiFfErEnT. Seriously I eat that shit up like fourth meal. But for fun, I asked, what if ‘reader’ is just like everyone else? A little shallow. A little star struck. A little in over her head. A little bit Alexis. Jk. Kind of. The excitement starts in the next chapter which I won’t wait two months to post. I don’t think.

Tags: @fangirl-swagg