#nothings sweeter than revenge ;)))

[cordeliawhohung]

Thoroughfare

interwoven; maledicted || ao3

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader

Undone fibers and tissue — you are Simon’s magnum opus. The greatest mess he’s ever created.

cw: fucked up soulmate!au, dub-con, smut, alcohol, forced breeding kink, dacryphilia, implied kidnapping, implied baby trapping, simon is a little insane, bound by dreams and memories trope, reader is hyperfeminine

In his dreams, Simon rips you apart with bare hands and teeth.

Sinew and fibers undone, iron on his lips, flesh filling the chasm of his belly. Fingernails grow short and bloodied as he delicately picks apart every inch of you that the universe reveals to him. Easy as tearing through wrapping paper. You are a gift. The only glimpse of light that can make it through the depths; the suffocating layers of earth and soil he’s buried under. 

At first, he is convinced you are just like any other dream. A figment of his imagination. You appear after he kills Roba, with his skin still slick with the viscera of the men he had slaughtered in the name of revenge. A fine thing to look at. Soft — softer than him — with untainted eyes. A gaze not stained by death and horror. His first dream of you is the first time in a long while that he sleeps through the night without a nightmare. Domestic. You smile and laugh for the entire dream. Gentle. An angel. 

It is not your only appearance. Somehow, Simon is lucky enough to be blessed with weekly dreams of you, if not more. He dreams of warm tea, and hands smaller than his wrapping around a cup. He dreams of bright smiles and flowing dresses. Of liquor sweeter than he’d ever order. A chaste kiss with a stranger. Expert fingers typing at an office keyboard. A scraped knee from missing the landing to your apartment. 

You have become his only solace in a world that wants nothing more than to smother him. Crush him and grind him up until there’s nothing left of him — a red paste to feed the worms. For once, he gets to look at the world and enjoy it in ignorance, just as you do. Soak up the beauty of it without glancing over his shoulder. Smell the roses and not worry about pricking his fingers. He sleeps, so he can dream of you; his strange little visitor. 

It isn’t until a few years after your sneaky arrival into his mind that he entertains the fact that you exist in the conscious plane. Something living and breathing. A tangible being. This revelation invades his mind when he dreams of you in front of your vanity, skin clean and fresh from the shower that still wets your skin. A perfect canvas for the makeup you paint yourself with when you go out with friends. 

If he were conscious, his pupils would swallow his irises at the way the wand of your gloss drags across your lips. His thumb would twitch, wanting to replace it, to feel your breath against his skin. Warm him up until he melts. A dripping mess to pool on the floor and ruin that lovely, pristine blouse. 

Goosebumps ripple over your exposed skin halfway through your routine, and you freeze, fingers still gripping your applicator. The features in your face harden — growing cold as if you’ve seen a ghost — before relaxing as your eyes find yourself in the mirror. Your lips press together, then split open to speak. 

“Do you dream of me too, Simon?” 

He wakes with a start. Thick sweat coating his bare chest, scars angry and searing, heart throbbing against his ribs. It’s impossible to tell if it’s fear or infatuation that has his blood singing the way it is, reverberating through tight veins and arteries like a gushing river. He doesn’t care to attempt to differentiate the two feelings. In his mind, they’re both the same; they both feel like impending death. Instead, he keeps his eyes glued on the cigarette-yellowed ceiling above him as he tries to recall the way your lips moved when you said his name. 

There is not a religious or superstitious bone in Simon’s body. He has seen the brutal truth that if there is some superior power holding the cards, they certainly haven’t cared enough to lend him a hand. But he believes in you. In your existence. He believes there is a heat that dwells underneath your skin that will sear away everything that ails him. A softness to you that counteracts his puffy scars and calloused hands. A sweetness that he wants to siphon out of you and devour whole. 

All he has to do is find you. 

It’s an impossible task when he’s usually on the other side of the planet. Heavy gunpowder, disgusting residue, the recoil of his 1911 in the palm of his hand. Simon is the antithesis of you. Sharp where you are gentle, bitter where you are sweet. He thinks that’s why he’s so drawn to you, polar opposites pulling to one another until they crash and burn; superheated sugar melting and blazing through his skin until all he can think about is the pain and you. 

Your voice speaking his name rings loud and clear on his ears as he drags himself through the threshold of his flat. He wonders if you would say his name in real life just as sweetly as you did in his dream. Dead on his feet, he hasn’t slept in a proper bed in weeks, and the plush mattress almost feels foreign against the ache in his back. Usually he knows better than to try and sleep fresh off of deployment. High anxiety and fried nerves force him to toss and turn for a majority of the night, reliving the feeling of gore soaking the threads of his uniform and gloves. 

Countless weeks of long nights have meant there’s been no time for him to sleep, and if he can’t sleep, then he can’t see you. Whether you know it or not, you’ve become his anchor. His gift. The one thing he can focus on that brings him pleasure instead of pain. So he forces his eyes shut and —

He hates what he sees. 

Fresh, unclaimed skin glistening in the faint lighting of a stranger's room — your skin, that soft and beautiful flesh he dreams of every night — you’re in perfect view of a man he doesn’t recognize. Synthetically sweet moans pour from your lips as this stranger — this son of a bitch, this bastard — lazily pumps his cock into you. Even in his unconscious state, Simon can feel the unbridled rage ignite in his chest, flames licking up the cells of his heart until it’s nothing but embers and charcoal. 

Who the hell is fucking his girl? 

Even from an outsider's perspective, he can tell the sex is terrible. Knees bent awkwardly, heels in the mattress as you lay on your back, hands pawing at your own tits for some sort of stimulation as this man fucks you with the slowest speed Simon has ever seen in his life. There’s no friction. No build up of pressure to get you to keen and whine. Your moans born of pity quickly drown in your flings own euphoria as he whines, cock half buried in your cunt. 

He’s finished already.

An unsatisfied but cleverly covered moan leaves your lips as your fling carefully holds onto the condom as he pulls out of you, being courteous enough to not spill. (It’s the least he can do, saying as how he obviously couldn’t make you come). He quickly ties it off, having already caught his breath (he hadn’t worked that hard anyway. Not nearly as hard as you deserve) before he smiles at you with a sigh.

Then there’s the awkward conversation. A terminal lack of chemistry. Polite laughter and reassurances fall from your lips, rehearsed so well it’s almost painful. Too thoughtful for your own good for someone who couldn’t even consider you in such an intimate exchange. A smile swells in the apples of your cheeks as your partner excuses himself to shower, to rid himself of any evidence of you on his body, like he refuses to bask in what little glory he was able to pull out of you. 

Metal squeaks, and the water heater sputters to life. You lie alone in that bed, half spun, yearning to grow tighter. Simon should have seen it coming — your hands slipping between your legs. It’s only natural for the pads of your fingers to dip and toy with the furious, worked up flesh of your clit. There is nothing leisure about it. No teasing yourself — no, everything you do is expertly done. 

Now, it’s an actual task to keep quiet, to not moan and groan as you fuck yourself open on the three fingers you hastily shove inside of yourself while your other hand works at your clit. You’re a better solo performer than you were with that stranger — that motherfucker, that transgressor — and it doesn’t take long at all before your eyes are fluttering shut. The steady rise and fall of your chest heaves with your breaths as you pulse and writhe around your own fingers. You stay like that for as long as you’re willing to risk until you quickly wipe the lingering wetness on your fingers into your thighs before —

Simon stirs, cock painfully hard, straining against his boxers, throbbing. It’s normal for him to sweat when he wakes up from dreams, but not like this. Sticky, thick, heavy; his want taints him to the point of ruin. Seeps from his pores where it soaks into his bedsheets. He grunts as he props his body up on his pillows, heedy desire too heavy on his body. 

There is not a single speck of shame to be found inside his conscience as he yanks the band of his boxers past the crest of his hips. He wastes no time wrapping his hand around himself, blood pulsing through the veins of his cock, searing his hand with each stroke. Unlike you, with your desperate, quick fingers and unrestrained desire to get yourself off, Simon teases himself. Thumbs over the raging nerves in the head of his cock, lazily bucks into his own hand, squeezes just as hard as he thinks your cunt would. 

You. You. Christ, you’re all he can think about. All he dreams about. Haunting him like the grass stains on his uniform or the echo of a gunshot in a small room. Deafening. All consuming. 

It’s only fair that he consumes you back. 

He imagines what it would be like to undo you. Watch your eyes glaze over until you’re nothing but a content, mindless thing. He wonders if you’d cry trying to take his cock for the first time. There’s a certain girth to him that your lover certainly doesn’t have, and he thinks he’d enjoy the brine of your tears. Salty. The only thing on you that isn’t sickeningly sweet. Something that can match his abrasiveness. 

“I dream of ya. All the fuckin’ time,” Simon hisses. Fatigue coats his vocal chords with thick gravel, rumbling deep in his chest as he groans. Glossy lips around his cock, hands rubbing at the length of him that you can’t reach — he craves it. Imagines it so vividly he can almost taste the sex in the air of his stale, hardly lived-in bedroom. “Dream of you fuckin’ other men. Dream of how I could do it better. You’d like that, yeah?” 

Umber eyes peer through the darkness and land on the vague, fuzzy outline of his body. Wide hips, meaty hands, pulsing cock — he hopes you’ll be able to see it when you sleep. He wants you to wake up with that same burning want that you’ve bequeathed to him. 

“Sweet thing, so soft, arent’cha? I know you. Know what you need. Sweet girls like you always need it rough. Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? I’ll get you askin’ for it. Have you on your goddamn knees beggin’ for me.” 

Simon doesn’t make a show of it when he comes. There’s no need to overperform for you. He just makes sure to take in every detail. The steady dribble of cum that slides down his cock into the unruly hair at the base, the angry protruding veins, his own hitched breath and panting. He stares, and stares, and stares until he starts to go soft. 

“Hope you dream of this tonight, sweetheart,” he purrs. 

That’s the only name he calls you by. Sweetheart. Whispers it to the void in the morning when he pulls himself out of bed just before dawn. Asks if his scars turn you on as he lazily shaves his face in the mirror. Mutters wish me luck, sweetheart with a gun in hand, and the sound of roaring plane engines drowning his voice out. 

You leave him treats. Luring a dog with a still wet bone. Twirling in the mirror in cute outfits he craves to tear through with a knife. Popping your lips in the mirror after applying a fresh layer of gloss. Your fingers in your cunt after another failed hookup.

He kills a mercenary in Mexico and wonders if the shade of his blood would look good on your lips. Wants that same shade to stain the base of his cock in smeared lipstick and spit. He sees the bright, piercing pink of brain matter and he thinks about your tongue — what it would look like lulling out of your mouth as you moan. Simon expertly weaves the destructive nature of his hands with your delicate existence until you are nothing but a corrupted glitch in his mind. His cherished gift he can’t help but ruin because it’s the only thing he knows how to do. 

There are some nights when mere thoughts and dreams of you alone aren’t enough to quell the tempest that makes his hands itch with the urge to shred and devour. It’s an easy affliction to satiate on the field when he’s got a knife in his hand. It’s significantly harder when he’s on his third week on leave and he hasn’t heard the death rattle of an enemy — his favorite song. While you are mouthwatering, you aren’t quite tangible enough to pick apart the way his fingers yearn to do so, so he wanders to someplace a bit more stimulating. 

Terminus. The end of the line. He always finds his way back to this bar one way or another. Never to drink, oddly enough. There’s always going to be the rough parts of him he refuses to uncover; the rigid scars on his skin, and the sharpness of his teeth. A thick balaclava always covers anything that would give him away as the blood thirsty devil he so desperately attempts to suppress. No, he never goes to Terminus to order a pint and sit in some dark, sour corner of the building while all other patrons crowd around the dart boards or billiard tables. Simon goes to Terminus because it’s a close walk from his rental, and they sell Kentucky bourbon by the bottle.

A heavy wave of heat hits him as soon as he enters the building, but he doesn’t even stumble as he makes a beeline for the counter. Friday night brings a thick crowd with bodies that pulse and dance to their own tunes as liquor courses through their body and rids them of all the pain and filth of the week. He’s waiting for longer than usual as the bartender — a man who Simon reckons is about as old as the establishment itself — zips between customers as they stumble along and order more poison to cure their pain. Normally, he doesn’t show up on a weekend; he knows better than that, but he’s drowning in a special kind of storm tonight.

Simon is a patient man. He has to be, with his line of work. Relentless in his endeavor to beat his enemy to the mark. Yet, even a man as stoic and persevering as Simon gets antsy when his back is towards the entrance. Door swinging open and closed, allowing the slightest summer breeze to waft through the tight room. The urge to glance over his shoulder and assess every inch of that room haunts him, but he ignores the itch underneath his skin. 

Instead, he focuses on the sounds. The idle chatter of guests as they slip throughout the room, crawling over the establishment like insects. Thick wood splintering as tiny needles drive tip first into the dart board to his left. Laughter and heavy accents, shitty jokes, clinking glass, hoppy beer, body odor, dense nicotine —

A giggle. 

Simon Riley never freezes, but he does the first time his ears are graced with your voice outside of his dreams. He’s in limbo. A terrible purgatory that makes his ears ring as his dark eyes scan the bar with the skill of a bloodthirsty dog. Deadly. Efficient. Your blood sings to him, and he follows the song until he finds you leaning against the wooden wall next to a billiards table. You’re watching some nameless freaks play a game as you sip on some fruity drink through a straw. 

Dark, mid-rise jeans sit satisfyingly low on your hips, and the flesh on your stomach is poorly covered by a thin tank top that doesn’t want to roll past your ribcage. You’re melting, sugar sweet sweat coating your chest, caramelizing deliciously on your skin. Cute, dainty, dull, teeth flash as you giggle again, laughing as some poor sod misses an easy pocket. 

He wants to run his tongue along your neck, lick up that nectar glinting in the dim lights before ruining you. Fingers twitch in time with his pulse as his heart beats harder now than it ever has in any other moment — if he doesn’t move soon, it’ll rip free from his chest and run off without him. 

He didn’t even have to track you down. Like a true gift, you fell right into his lap. 

“The usual?” 

The ancient bar hand grabs Simon’s attention and pulls him back to earth with a swift yank on his leash. Sharp eyes shoot back at him — seemingly annoyed he was pulled out of his daydream — before they soften and he huffs. The man looks impatient, irritated that he’s taking up his valuable time during such a busy night. 

“Bourbon. Angel’s Envy. Neat,” he responds. 

Bewildered, the bartender shrugs as he slinks off to get Simon’s drink, and the moment the glass is in his hand he tosses a few quid on the counter before stalking off into the crowd. He approaches you from the side, though he’s certain you wouldn’t notice him if he came from a more direct route. He waits for everyone to crowd the table, waits for you to be shoved to the back, content against the wall, drink in hand — ripe for the picking. 

You don’t flinch when his hand wraps around your waist, thick pads of his fingers digging into the tender flesh of your waist. He wants to grin at that fact — like you already know that you belong to him — but he doesn’t. Cold. Collected. You look up at him with glinting eyes that quickly grow wide with recognition. The beginning of his name forms on your glossy lips, but doesn’t quite roll off of your tongue. 

“Been lookin’ for you everywhere, sweetheart,” he says, voice a harsh whisper. 

Your eyes flutter, enticing and sweet, like you’re trying to blink sand from your eyes. “I… I didn’t think you actually existed,” you admit. 

He raises a brow, and it dances underneath his mask in a challenge. “Yeah? Is that why you asked if I dreamed of you, too? Were just takin’ the piss outta me?” 

“No- well, I mean… I had a feeling. That you existed,” you say, laugh hissing between your teeth as your gaze drops. 

Melting already, and he’s hardly got his hands on you. 

Amber liquid swirls in the glass in Simon’s hand as he holds it out for you to take. You look at it with cautious eyes, teeth sinking into your lip before you look back at him. 

“This is… this is insane, isn’t it? I mean, you’re real. And I’m real.” You swallow thickly, skin heating as his thumb slides underneath the hem of your tank top. “So everything I saw… was real? Your work, you- you’re in the military? You’ve seen me at my most… open. I’ve watched you… you know… And, uhm… I don’t know what…”

He smirks, breath pushing out of his lungs, fanning across your face even through the fabric of his balaclava. “I told you, didn’t I? I know you. I know what you need, sweetheart.” 

You have no time to answer before he’s raising the glass of bourbon up to your lips, and there’s no choice but to drink. Simon tips the glass, and you let the liquor wash over your tongue. He chuckles at the face you make — it’s too brash for something as sweet as you — yet you swallow every last drop. A thin bead sits on your bottom lip, threatening to dribble down your chin, and he uses the knuckle of his index finger to wipe it clean. 

“I know what you need, and you know what I want,” he continues, head tilting to the side — a predator sizing up his prey. “Let’s not draw this out any longer, yeah?”

Once the door of Simon’s apartment is shut and locked behind him, he’s got your back against the wall. Exposed flesh of your arms pinned beside your head, moans muffled by his lips on yours. Despite the bourbon, he can still taste the mixed drink you were nursing before; syrupy sweet. So fitting. His fingers release your hands before they’re ghosting down the center of your chest, tracing your sternum with professional precision. If he presses any harder, he’ll tear through skin and bone, sink into your blood, into the muscle of your heart, fresh ichor coating his hand with a delicious treat. 

Instead, he yanks your tank top up to your collar bones before pulling down the hem of your bra. Your tits fall free with a gasp from your heaving lungs, and he sinks his teeth into his prize. Bite after bite. Sweet as a peach, just like he knew you would be, and you bruise just as easily as one too. You whimper as he marks you, sharp canines staking claim with pressure harsh enough to draw blood. If it’s too much for you, you don’t say anything. 

You try to return the favor. Palm of your hands pressed against the firm, thick muscle of his chest, pawing at him, trying to feel him through his clothes. You’re not intimidated by the scars that paint his skin, or the roughness of his character. He’s always been like this for as long as you’ve known him, and you’re very familiar with Simon Riley. 

So you trust him completely as he yanks you down the entryway and toward the kitchen. It’s implicit. In your nature. Soft, pliable. Bending. And it’s in his nature. Rough. Demanding. Forceful — your lower back collides with the counter where Simon usually prepares his meals, and he’s aggressive when he unzips your jeans and pushes them past your hips. 

“You’ve been dreaming of this too. I know you have.” Simon grunts as he turns you around, hip bones pressing against the unforgiving countertop as his clothed cock grinds against your bare ass. You try not to wince at the sting of the corner cutting into your thin skin. “Every night. Been watchin’ me just as long as I’ve been watchin’ you. My gift. My sweet fuckin’ angel.” 

Though he assured you that he would have you on your knees begging for him, Simon doesn’t have the time to waste. He crouches down, face level with your ass as he spreads the meat of your thighs apart as far as they’ll go with your jeans restricting your knees. There’s no hesitation as he dives in, tongue lapping at your hole, saliva mixing with your wetness. Muscles tense, throat constricts, and heat courses as you bend forward, elbows resting on the counter to give him better access. 

Searing heat builds in your cunt as his tongue explores around your clit. It’s messy, hardly put together. Like a dog that can’t keep the food in his mouth as he’s chewing.

He wants to stay there forever, lapping at you like the bad dog he is, but he can’t. There’s an incessant pressure building inside of him, broiling, threatening to melt you in the very palm of his hands if he’s not quick. So he pulls away, still aching for you, and spits a thick glob of saliva on you for good measure before standing tall behind you. 

Metal grinds together as he unzips his jeans, and your own ears perk up at the sound. “Do you have protection?” you pant. “I’ve got a few rubbers in my bag if- hey- Simon!” 

Flesh burns and stretches as Simon bullies himself into you. It steals the air from your lungs as he presses, and presses, and presses, until there’s nothing left of him that you haven’t swallowed whole. It’s easy. Slick. He forces you open, giving you no choice but to give in. A strained whine leaves your lips as he rocks his hips, thick cock splitting you apart, legs too restricted to even give him more room inside of you. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout that,” he grunts, hands pulling you back against his chest by your shoulders. “We already confirmed, I know what you need, and you know what I want, yeah?” 

Your mind blanks the moment his thrusts bear weight. So full, then void, and then spilling. It racks your nerves, renders them fuzzy, bogged down with too much syrup that you can’t move fast enough through the stickiness to connect the dots. Gooey. Soft like taffy. You stretch and pull for him as his relentless pace renders you as a puddle in his hands. 

You know what I want. 

You know what you need. A good fuck. That’s why you’re here to begin with, isn’t it? To make love to the man who’s been haunting your dreams with gore and violence. To fall into the gravity of him that you couldn’t escape even if you tried. You thought you knew what he wanted. Same as you. To fuck the girl who’s been giving him a toothache from the sweetness of her voice. But now? As he’s grunting in your ear, hands pawing at your tits, fingers gripping your throat? 

Now, you’re not so sure. 

Still, the pleasure rips through you with a demanding ache you can’t ignore. So needy and worked up from the neglect of your failed love life and array of shitty partners, he feels you start to unwind. Melt and separate as your moans fall free — pleasant and the only filling thing he’s had in his entire life. Your face contorts from the intensity of it all, diaphragm spasming as you hiccup and cry, fresh and hot tears streaming down your face. 

Simon coos and coddles, fingers reaching for your jaw as he turns your face to the side. Hot breath tickles the fresh streaks on your cheeks as he chuckles, patronizing. 

“Cryin’ sweetheart?” he asks; a question he already knows the answer to. 

His tongue lies flat against your skin as you whimper, and he licks your tears like it’s fresh bourbon from the cask. He prepares himself for the salt, the addicting brine, but it doesn’t hit him. Even as you’re being torn apart, flesh pinched free from bone in his hands, you’re just as sweet as you always are. 

“S-Simon, please,” you babble, face trying to wrench free from his tongue. 

“Is there a damn thing on you that doesn’t taste this good? You’re a fuckin’ mess and still… could live off of you forever,” he promises into the raw skin of your cheek. 

There’s a few more minutes of nonstop, demanding thrusts from Simon before the pressure snaps and floods around you. You come with a sob, eyes screwing shut as his cock continues its assault — that demanding rhythm that saps you for everything you’re worth. Liquid. Mush. Bone with the marrow sucked free. Undone fibers and tissue — you are Simon’s magnum opus. The greatest mess he’s ever created. 

He finishes not too long after you in a fury of thrusts and a growl you can feel rumbling in his chest. It leaves you raw. Muscles tingling and dancing underneath your skin. Body spent. Eyes blurring with tears. He keeps himself plugged inside of you, grip slowly becoming loose as he trails kisses along the side of your neck — like he only acknowledges how fragile you are after he’s done breaking you. 

“Sweet angel,” he whispers, cock twitching inside of you as he speaks. “Let’s clean you up.” 

You wake up in his bed the next morning with the window open and the birds attempting to chirp over the sound of car engines and city white noise. Soiled clothes cling to your skin, cum staining your panties and the insides of your thighs from the two other rounds Simon insisted on going for. You’re spent. Licked clean until your sugary crust dissolved, and now you’re nothing but a bare, gooey center. Sheets stick to your body as you sit up, body yearning to stretch, only for a tattooed arm to yank you back onto the mattress. 

You’re face to face with Simon, and your muscles are too mushy to argue with him. His fingers trace your makeup-stained face. Old mascara sitting in the creases of your eyes from heavy tears, glitter from your lip gloss seeping into your chin and cheeks. He adores it. A beautiful mess — the only chaos he can create that is still worth loving. 

But you’ve been here long enough. 

“Morning,” you greet, voice faint. He does nothing but hum in response. “If uh… I can shower and maybe borrow your clothes, I can head home here soon. Get out of your hair.” 

“Not happening,” he replies, voice so sharp you flinch. 

You clear your throat in a poor attempt to regain your composure. “Well, uh. We should probably head to the pharmacy. The morning after pill would be a good idea considering-”

You’re silenced by his hand gently grazing your cheek. He looks human lying there next to you, half of his face smushed into a pillow. Almost. There’s something wrong with his eyes. A darkness lurking there that you hadn’t noticed before. Or had you just forced yourself to be blind to it? You watch him with wide eyes as his gaze narrows, a seething question burning on his tongue. 

“The fuck do you think this is, sweetheart?” You swallow, and it feels like razors tear you apart the whole way down your throat. “Dreamin’ of each other? I’ve been craving you for fucking years. Think this is all just a coincidence? Think this was all for one good fuck?”

“You… don’t seem like the type of man to be superstitious,” you admit. 

His glare undos you as the muscles in his jaw tense. He leans up, towering over you as you lay under him, face mere inches from yours as his upper lip fights back a snarl. 

“We’re in this for the long run, sweetheart,” he says as if he’s staking a claim. “I’ll get you nice and fat with my kid if you aren’t already, and I’ll take good care of the both of you. Protect you. Make sure I never have to dream about you again because you’ll always be right here.”

“That’s crazy, you’re speaking nonsense,” you say, “I-I hardly know you.” 

“We’ll go down to the registrar's office,” he continues as if you never even spoke in the first place. “Next month you’ll be my wife and we’ll make good on the mess our minds have been making of each other for the last few years.” 

Palpable fear plagues your body, forcing your bottom lip to quiver as you shake your head at his utter nonsense. This… this is insane. He’s insane. But weren’t you aware of that much? How many men have you watched him kill? How often have you watched him wash the blood from his gloves, or claw out of an early grave? Heard him chuckle as a man groveled and sobbed, begging to be let go, just for him to skewer him with his knife anyway? 

What else did you expect from a man you met at Terminus? 

While Simon dreamed the good dreams — the fair dreams of sweet smiles and smooth liquor — you’ve been the antithesis of him. You’ve had the nightmares, the sweats, the anxiety. Every single image you ever saw of his life had been a warning. A siren screaming for you to run. A premonition of the trained hunter that’s been on your savory scent for years. And still, you fell right into his trap as if you weren’t taught the exact way to wiggle out of it. 

“What else have these dreams been for, sweetheart? I’ve been huntin’ you for years. Not lettin’ you go now just ‘cause you’ve got cold feet.”

Teeth embedded in flesh, now all you can do is squirm as Simon’s lips press against yours. He no longer needs to dream of ripping you apart. Flesh from bone, sinew shredding and snapping. Now, he can do that all from the comfort of his bed as he devours you — his lovely wife — soul and all. 

[thevillainswhore]

Revenge Sweeter Than Honey

Pairing: College!Bucky Barnes x MILF!Reader

Word Count: 9.2k

Summary: When Bucky’s professor unfairly grades his college assignment, ruining his perfect GPA, he finds a way to get revenge — And doesn’t his sweet little wife look delicious?

Warnings: Bucky POV, revenge plot, age gap, older!reader, flirting, cheating, kissing, smut, mommy kink, nipple play, oral sex (fem receiving), ass play, spanking, p in v sex, recording of sex, cum play.

Author’s Note: Unbeta’d. Dividers by @saradika. Hi, lovelies! It’s been a while 🤍 This is by far not my best work, but I started it at the beginning of the year and finally finished it and decided to let it go before I convince myself not to post it.

Also, I have little to no knowledge about the education system outside of the UK, since I’m British. So please excuse any facts I may have gotten wrong, this was purely for the smut 😅

The arms of the leather chair Bucky was sitting on creaked, straining under the tense grip of his fingers. Fury coursed through every muscle of his body, boiling his blood until he was sure steam was blowing out of his ears. 

He had been sitting in his professor’s office for thirty whole minutes and not once had the man had the decency to look him in the eye and tell him a good enough reason for the C- marked on his most recent assignment. Thinking about it, he wasn’t even sure if his professor had ever made eye contact with him before; certain that he wouldn’t be able to recognise him if he ever looked at him. 

Bucky was a straight A student, working towards the perfect GPA to graduate with full honors and claim the job of his dreams. And yet, the second since his professor had licked his finger and slapped the stack of papers — stained with a ring of coffee that wasn’t there when he handed it in — on Bucky’s desk, his whole world had been turned upside down. 

He remembered his frenzy, the whirlwind of erratically flicking through each page and trying to find a single comment or suggestion that could help explain the low grade. But there was nothing. Only a forbidden red-inked C- that had taunted him ever since. 

Immediately, Bucky had booked an office session, since his professor was strict on the rules of when and where to discuss anything other than current class material. There must have been a mistake he reasoned with himself in the beginning — maybe a mix up with another student or maybe his professor had missed a chunk of his work because surely that godforsaken C- wasn’t right. 

However, Bucky soon came to realise in the thirty long minutes of his office session, that it wasn’t a mistake. In fact, it was the most generous grade received of the whole class. 

“Sir.” He attempted once again to get through to his professor. “With all due respect, I worked extremely hard on his assignment. Every variable is valid, I ran through each test multiple times to gain an accurate representation. My method has been executed perfectly.” He swallowed the dryness in his throat. “I can’t understand why I’ve been graded so low.” 

Dr Parker couldn’t have seemed less interested if he tried, the keys of his computer clicking away aimlessly as his brown eyes were glued to the screen. “For the last time, if you don’t understand what is wrong with your assignment, then I can’t help you.” 

Bucky discreetly gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. The logic his professor spewed made absolutely no sense. He took a calming breath before he responded. “I’m not sure I can understand what exactly is wrong with my work if there’s no feedback to go off, Sir.”  

Dr Parker sighed, seemingly fed up with the conversation. “It's not for me to serve you on a silver platter. If you want a mentor who gives you a free ride or has to hold your hand through a grade then it seems like college isn’t the place for you, James.”

The material of the chair almost ripped where Bucky’s nails began to furiously dig in. He never wanted a hand to hold or a free ride during his time in college; the bare minimum he expected was to at least have some kind of evaluation or support that offered more than a lousy grade that wasn’t fair. 

Out of options, he desperately pleaded with his professor once again. “Sir, all I’m asking for is a reason for my grade being low. My GPA has been perfect all year and this assignment has made it take a huge hit. Please understand.”

Still, Dr Parker continued uselessly typing away without looking at him. “There’s nothing I can do for you, Mr Barnes.”

Bucky’s words came out jumbled as he jumped to offer an alternative. “What about— What if I did something for extra credit! You know? Just for— to boost my GPA back up?”

“That won’t be necessary.”  

Bucky was at the end of his tether and his throat began to tighten. “Please, Sir—I need—“ 

“What you need to do is move on from this assignment and work harder on the next one.” Dr Parker interrupted him coldly as he suddenly stood, packing his papers into his satchel. “My office hours are over and I have somewhere to be, so if you wouldn’t mind shutting the door behind you when you leave that would be great. Goodbye.” With that, his professor walked around the desk and out of the door without a second glance. 

Tears sprung to Bucky’s eyes while he sat there, staring mindlessly at the now empty chair behind the desk in front of him. He forced the lump building in his chest down, never having felt so defeated in his life. Throughout his years of education, he had sacrificed, placed everything that wasn’t important on the back burner; holidays, parties, normal friendships, just to put his future career first and for what? For one complete asshole to decide he didn’t care enough about his job or students to fuck him over? 

He shot out of his seat and paced over the carpeted floor. All of his dedication to his studies had been pointless — the thought burned through his mind and wounded him. All his life he had worked hard and this is how he had been repaid. The soles of his shoes thudded heavily until he came to a stop, running his hands down his face in despair. 

When Bucky opened his eyes, he blinked until his blurred vision became clear, finding himself in front of the floor to ceiling bookcase that panned over the length of the full wall. Sighing at a complete loss on what to do, his eye flitted over the polished ornaments in front of him.

As he trailed over the neatly placed trophies and certificates, a scoff left his mouth — bitter and venomous. Every one of the awarded achievements built his resentment even more. The pretentiousness was aggravating. 

He was about to walk away, go for a stroll with some fresh air to try and cool himself down and think properly. But just as he was going to leave, his eagle eye caught a small wooden picture frame shoved to the very back corner of the shelf, hardly noticeable with everything else taking front and center and ultimately hiding it. 

Bucky glanced over his shoulder, making sure his professor had really left before stepping forward. His nosiness had gotten the better of him and now his interest was peaked. Careful not to knock over any ornaments, he plucked out the frame and blew off the dust that had accumulated over the picture for god knows how long. 

To his surprise, it was a photograph of Dr Parker, many years younger and dressed in a tuxedo. Next to him, a stunning woman with the biggest smile on her face, dressed in an ivory, white dress. 

Bucky’s eyes flew wide open while his jaw unhinged in shock. 

Dr Parker had a wife?

Now that he thought about it, his professor did wear a gold band around his finger; one that the sun caught during a lecture one time and blinded Bucky enough to choke while he was drinking his coffee. 

Studying the photo some more, Bucky only focused on the woman, one with kind eyes, pretty lips and a body to kill for; silhouetted in a gown that complimented her figure amazingly. He was utterly blown away. 

The picture was at least ten years old, he summarised. His professor looked way younger than he did now, with frown lines and dark circles underneath his eyes. But he couldn’t get over how beautiful his wife was and how the hell he had managed to snag her with his douchebag personality. His mind ran a million miles per hour. 

For all Bucky knew, you could have been just like your husband; just as dull and just as unbearable. It was only rational, because no one in their right mind would willingly be with a man like that. 

He stared at you through the glass and tilted his head in thought, until the cogs started to turn. What if? he asked himself. What if he got his comeuppance somehow? 

As soon as the thought presented itself, he batted it away, shaking his head and placing the photo frame back in its place. 

But as he stood the frame upon the shelf, his hand stayed with it, unable to let go of the nagging idea that had now taken root in his mind. 

What if you were his perfect route for revenge? 

Looking out towards the window of the office, the setting sun beamed in. Bucky followed the streams of light that shined through, one landing on another photograph, larger in size of a chocolate haired boy with bright eyes. While he resembled Dr Parker, the boy’s eyes were all yours, kind and filled with light. The kid looked around the same age as himself, in a lab coat that had the same emblem as Bucky’s college. 

A plan began to quickly form in his mind, each piece and detail intricately connected together to create the most beautiful retribution. The biggest fuck you to his professor for screwing him over. 

Bucky sheathed his hands into his front pockets, running his tongue over his teeth with the most evil grin on his face. Dr Parker was going to get what he rightfully deserved. 

Vengeance.

Having met up after their last classes of the day, Bucky followed Peter into his home when he opened the door, the droolworthy aroma of a home cooked meal slinking into his senses and making his stomach grumble. 

It was now routine for him to come round to the Parker residence every week on a Friday afternoon. Once you found out your son had a new friend at college, you had extended the invitation to Bucky as Peter had recited. And of course, it would be rude of him to refuse. 

The execution of his plan had come together seamlessly, almost too perfectly. It was just his luck that a clumsy Peter Parker happened to bump into Bucky on campus in a rush to his next class, spilling his coffee onto the ground and offering to buy him a new one. 

Since then, he had made it his mission to become closer to Peter and soon enough, it was the night of his first dinner with you. 

Before that first meeting, he had drilled it into his head that his scheme of revenge was strictly business; to get in and out and call it a day. But that went down the drain when he rounded the corner to the kitchen to introduce himself and he choked on his words when you spun around on your heels. 

Bucky still remembered that moment, the first time he laid eyes on you in the cutest sundress, decorated with daisies that hugged your waist sinfully. The way your tits practically spilled out the damn thing stuck with him too. 

You were a vision, a sight for sore eyes — the photograph in his professor’s office did not do you justice even with ten years added on. Then, as soon as you bounced over to him and pulled him into a hug that made his dick hard, his initial intentions went out the window. He was a goner and he knew one time wouldn’t be enough of you.

However, when it came down to dinner, Bucky was admittedly nervous. It wasn’t only just meeting you in the flesh and having his expectations blown out of the water that threw him off balance, the inevitable of seeing his professor outside of college worried him. His plan for revenge could have fallen through as soon as he met him. They almost did. If that would have been the case, Bucky wasn’t sure what his next steps would be.  

But when he sat down at the dining table, his professor had only just noticed another guest in his home. Bucky remembered the slight sweat of his palms, the dryness of his throat as your husband looked at him over his newspaper and cocked his head; a familiarity brewing between them. Those couple of seconds lasted longer than he cared for. Then, unexpectedly, Dr Parker brushed him off and went straight back to reading his paper — evidently deeming Bucky unrecognisable and only a new friend of his son’s.  

That memory still offended him slightly. There wasn’t a hint of recognition, even though he had fucked Bucky’s chances of attaining his dream career. 

Snapping out of his memory, Bucky quickly shook his jacket off, taking care to hang it neatly on the coat rack and made a beeline to the kitchen. 

“Dude. I know you like my mom’s cooking but damn.” Peter shook his head with laughter but Bucky ignored him in favour of something of much higher importance. 

Stepping into the kitchen, he immediately found you balancing on your tiptoes, trying to reach the spice rack on the highest shelf. The skirt of your dress inched up your thighs and he couldn’t help but stare unabashedly at a sneak peak of your white g-string. 

Clearing his throat, Bucky held out his arms wide and acted casual with a wide smile. “Where’s my favourite girl?” 

His heart jumped as you snapped your head around, grinning wide once you saw who it was. “Bucky!” you cheerfully sang. “Hi, sweetie. I’m so happy you made it.” 

You have no idea how happy I am to see you too, he groaned internally. “What do you take me for? Like I would ever miss your cookin’, Mrs Parker,” he teased aloud. 

Raising an eyebrow playfully, you cocked your hip and crossed your arms over each other. “What have I told you about that, hm? Call me Honey, sweetheart. All my friends do.” 

Bucky held his arms up to placate you. “Forgive me. Your food is too damn good to pass up, Honey.” 

You rolled your eyes lightheartedly and turned back around to try and pluck the thyme from the top shelf. “You and that charm, boy. You’re gonna be the death of some poor college girl one day.” 

Noticing your struggle, Bucky took the opportunity to come up behind you and reach over your head. His lips perfectly aligned with your ear and so with a sly hand to your waist, he grabbed the jar of herbs and placed them onto the counter in front of you while he whispered, “What if I’m not into college girls?” 

Bucky heard the sharp inhale you tried so hard to smother, but it was useless with the proximity between you. It was instinct to then squeeze your hip, listening for your sweet whimper he lived to be the cause of. 

The moment lasted only a couple seconds longer until Peter called out for you from the hallway. “Hi, Mom. We’re home if you hadn’t already noticed.” 

Breaking away from Bucky sharply, you held a shaky hand to your chest. “H-Hey P, how was your week?” 

Small incidents as such repeated themselves every week. You and Bucky would find yourselves — or he would create them — in intimate, dangerous positions that wouldn’t be explainable to your son or your husband should they ever catch you. 

Which only made the game all the more exciting for him.

“Mom,” Peter whined while he walked into the kitchen. “Can you please not call me that when I have friends around?” 

Bucky held his laughter behind his hand when you passed your son by, pinching his cheek and putting on a baby voice. “Oh, but you’re just so cute!” 

However, that smile was soon wiped away from his face when the front door opened, immediately slamming shut with a loud bang. “I’m home, Honey,” your husband yelled. 

Your name on another man’s lips left a sour taste in Bucky’s mouth. He had come to learn that your nickname was born from your old college roommate who had affectionately bestowed it upon you after your love of baking dessert treats. 

The story was adorable, one he had soaked in with all the details you offered him. But your husband and his boring, monotonous tone turned even the sweetest name into something unpleasant. 

With his keen eye, Bucky had spotted the fake smile you plastered on your face to greet your husband, even when he walked straight past you without a hug or a kiss and into his usual chair at the dining table. 

“Glad your home safe, love,” you quickly offered him a half assed hello and headed back towards the kitchen to grab the meat out of the oven. 

“Hey.” Bucky shot forward before you could grab the handle and slid the oven mitts laying on the counter onto his hands. “I got this, don’t worry about it.” 

You paused to look at him like he had grown another head. “Bucky, I've done this a million times. I’m perfectly capable.” 

“I know you are, beautiful.” He didn’t miss the way your lips parted from his compliment, reserved for your moments alone. “Doesn’t mean you should have to. Lemme do it, please.” 

It didn’t take much for you to relent, already flustered enough to give in to him. Stepping aside, you made room for Bucky to take the dish out of the oven and place it on the worktop. 

“Smells fuckin’ delicious, Honey.” You gently swatted his arm for his colourful language, but he couldn’t help test the waters as he stared directly into your eyes. “Hopefully tastes as good as she looks.” 

What he didn’t expect was for you to retort back with a quick wit. “Oh, don’t worry about that. She’s as juicy as they get.” 

These interactions were just considered harmless flirting to you. Bucky knew you had no idea that he went home and fucked his fist, replaying these exact moments in his head. He licked his lips with a groan. “I bet she is.” 

“Where the hell is this damn food, woman? I’m eating away here!” your husband barked from the dining table. 

Bucky gritted his teeth while he watched you bow your head in embarrassment. “Just plating up now. It won’t be much longer, dear!” 

Turning back to Bucky, you smiled apologetically. “Sorry about that, he gets a little grumpy when he’s hungry.” 

He couldn’t believe you were apologising for that son of a bitch, though this was a regular occurrence by now; excusing your husband’s wrongdoings even if you were ashamed of it. 

Placing his hand over yours, Bucky told you firmly, “Don’t think for one second that you have to apologise to me, Honey.” The next words he grumbled under his breath. “Especially never on behalf of that fucker.”

Your free hand smoothed over the skirt of your dress, a nervous habit of yours when you were upset. 

Bucky recognised your unease and took initiative to derail the conversation. “What do you need me to take?” he asked while rolling the sleeves of his shirt up. 

You looked at him then, quick to protest and shake your head. “No, sweetheart. You’ve done enough, honestly. Go sit down and—”

“Honey.” Bucky held your hand, rubbing his thumb over your skin. “Just tell me what to do and I’ll help you. I’m all yours.”

Sighing defeatedly, you nodded your head to the foil covered dishes on top of the counter. “The vegetables and mashed potatoes could do with taking to the table.” 

Bucky grinned wide, all teeth and brought your hand up to place a kiss to the back of it. “Good girl.” 

A shudder ran down your spine that he didn’t miss, the hitch of your breath that blew the front strands of his hair giving you away. With a wink, he backed away to grab the dishes, piling them in his arms, along with a couple extra to take to the dining table. 

Soon enough, a full roast dinner was set out, steaming hot and ready to be eaten. 

Peter was already sitting on the chair by his Dad’s side, speaking animatedly about his recent discoveries on his science assignment for class. You always sat opposite your husband, which meant the only free seat that Bucky could take was opposite Peter and next to you. 

Not that he was complaining. 

He steadily pulled the chair out and sat down. It wasn’t exactly a coincidence that he brushed against you, not when he shuffled his chair as close as possible to you without raising suspicion. “Everything looks incredible,” he whispered as he leaned into you. 

The grip you had on your cutlery faltered. Bucky reveled in your bashfulness, always competing with himself to see how much he could make you squirm. So he smirked when you gulped, peeking at him from the corner of your eye. “T-Thank you, Bucky.” 

Your son‘s voice brought you out of your flustered state “—So I was right, Dad! My results actually confirmed my hypothesis.”

You cleared your throat and chimed in cheerfully when your husband only answered with an uninterested hum. “That’s amazing news, P!” With a stern tone, you addressed your husband this time. “Aren’t you proud of him, love?”  

But instead of congratulating him, your husband turned the page of his newspaper while shoveling food into his mouth. “Mhm. He did good, I guess.”

Luckily, Peter didn’t notice or bat an eye to his father. Bucky had witnessed over the few weeks he had been invited over for dinner that your son had enough support from you alone to keep his spirits uplifted. 

You decided not to bite and move on with the conversation, mouth open about to speak when your husband suddenly laid his newspaper down and spoke over you. “You know, I’ve had the worst week at work.” 

Frustrated, your fingers clenched tightly around your knife. “Oh yeah?”

Dr Parker blew out an irritating sigh. “The students this week—god—I had a flock of them at my door, complaining about their grades being too low.” 

Bucky felt the blood in his veins begin to boil. Normally he would tune out the grating voice of your husband, but he couldn’t help but listen to something that directly involved him — unknowingly to his professor. 

“I mean, I can’t help that their work isn’t up to par. What do they want me to do? Mollycoddle them?” he scoffed. “If they come crying to me for help all the time then they may as well cut their losses and drop out. They’re only wasting their own money.” 

The loud clink of your cutlery dropping against the plate cut through the tense atmosphere. “Are you serious right now?” 

“Dad,” Peter cringed, obviously uncomfortable. “You can’t say that.” 

“I’m not saying anything that’s not true.” Dr Parker shrugged. 

“It is your job to guide your students—who are paying thousands for their education by the way—and give them feedback to help them improve,” you shot back, heatedly.

Bucky’s chest puffed out in pride. Though he couldn’t outwardly say anything, he was proud of you for inadvertently defending him — even if you didn’t know it. 

Your husband’s tone turned biting towards you, however. “I’m not their babysitter, Honey.” 

But you stood your ground. “No you’re not. You’re their teacher and they look to you for guidance. It's the bare minimum your job requires.” 

A weighted silence fell over the dinner table while you and your husband glared at each other until the chime of a text cut through the awkwardness. 

Dr Parker retrieved his phone from his pocket and read his message. After a couple of seconds, he wiped his mouth with a napkin and threw it onto  his plate. “I’ve got to go back into the office. Emergency.”  

“What?” you asked in disbelief. “But you’ve only just come home.” 

“Well, unlike some, I can’t just slack off at home all day.” 

Bucky watched out of the corner of his eye as your mouth dropped open in shock at your husband’s barely hidden jab. Unrestrained anger filled his veins as he had to hold back. Though the urge to fly over the table at Dr Parker was hanging on by a thread. 

Is this what life was like at home for you? A husband who so obviously didn’t care for you while you made his life as comfortable as possible. And Peter, a son who held his tongue while he stiffly carried on eating his dinner and not defending his own mother?

Bucky looked to you as you quickly regathered yourself, blinking away the tears building over your waterline and pretending like you weren’t hurt. 

Your husband passed over his harmful statement as nonchalantly as he said it while lifting out of his seat. “Don’t wait up for me, I’ll be home late.” 

And just as rudely as he came home, he walked out, the slam of the door reverberating through the house. 

It wasn’t a minute after that when Peter also received a text. After reading the message, his eyes lit up with excitement. Bucky knew well enough what that face meant — Peter was getting lucky. “Hey mom, is it okay if I go out? Hang with my friends for the night?” 

The dinner you laboured over had already gone out the window once your husband had ruined it. Of course it didn’t bother you as much that your son wanted to leave too. “Of course, sweetie.” You stood up and collected the half empty plates from the table robotically. “Just be careful and let me know when you’re there.” 

With a dejected sigh that only Bucky noticed, you gathered the rest of the cutlery and took them to the kitchen, beginning to fill the sink to wash up. 

Peter waited until you were out of ear shot to whisper, “Dude, MJ asked me to come round tonight. I think she finally wants it!” Bucky held back a cringe. “You think it’s cool if I shoot off? You can make your own way home, right?” 

Bucky couldn’t have given a single fuck where Peter went or what he did right now. All he cared about, as he shot discreet glances of you in the kitchen washing the plates, was your wellbeing. “Sure, Parker. I can figure it out.” 

“Awesome!” Peter laughed before whipping out of his seat and running towards the door. “Catch you Monday, pal!” 

The house grew silent apart from the departing slam of the door, this time by your son. As soon as Peter was gone, Bucky instantly left his seat to join you. 

He leaned his shoulder against the archway of the kitchen. “You okay, Honey?” 

Looking towards him in surprise, your eyes held onto a last tendril of hope that someone hadn’t let you be alone. “Sweetheart, I thought you would have left with P.” 

Bucky shook his head with a fond smile, the curls at the top of his head bouncing with the movement. “Of course not. I’ve got nothing better to do with my Friday night than spend time with a gorgeous woman.” 

He caught the tightening of your lips, as though you were holding back your flustered smile. “Oh, stop that. You flatter me.” 

“I can’t help it. You make a man go weak. What can I say?” 

“Are you flirting with me?” you laughed incredulously. 

“And what if I was?” Bucky noticed the way your eyes latched onto the sight of his shirt, tightening over his arms as he crossed them over each other. “Would you like it?” 

Your eyes flicked up to his, holding his intense gaze for a few seconds before you huffed a breath and began cleaning the dishes again. “You’re cute, Bucky.” 

Bucky licked his lips and ravaged your form silhouetted in your fitted dress. “Wouldn’t exactly be the word I would use, but I’ll take it from you.” 

A rare giggle, only let out in his presence, escaped you. “Scram would you? You don’t want to be spending your Friday night with your friend’s mom, sweetie.” 

Testing the waters, Bucky let slip exactly what was on his mind. “Actually, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”  

Your hand stilled, chest rising and falling at a faster pace than before. “Oh, if only I was twenty years younger,” you chuckled quietly to yourself, not expecting for Bucky to overhear. 

Jackpot, he smirked to himself. 

Walking to the kitchen island, Bucky leaned his elbow on the counter beside you. “What would you do, Mrs Parker?” 

You jumped with a yelp, visibly surprised to have received a response so close; eyes blown wide as they flitted over Bucky’s face in panic. “E-Excuse me?” 

Bucky closed the distance between you even further. He leaned over the sink to turn the running water off. “I said,” he whispered huskily, keeping consistent eye contact with you. “What would you do if you were twenty years younger?”

“I—I um,” your breathing started to become heavy while Bucky stared shamelessly at you. “It’s just an expression, sweetie,” you laughed, shaking your head to try and brush the comment off. “I d-didn’t mean it like that—“ 

“No?” He watched carefully as your eyes darted around, trying so hard not to look at him. “How did you mean it then?” 

The spotlight Bucky was intentionally putting on you made you falter, even more so when he tucked your hair behind your ear and let his hand linger over your collarbone. 

“C’mon, tell me. I don’t bite.” A sadistic smirk adorned his face while you stared at his lips. “Unless you want me to, of course.” 

“I s-swear, Bucky.” Your voice was breathless with the heat of his stare. “There was nothing behind it, I—”

“I don’t believe you.” Bucky backed you against the sink, trapping you with his arms on each side of your waist. “I think,” he rasped, teasingly trailing his fingers up the bare skin of your arms. “That you would let me bend you over this counter right here and fuck you senseless.” 

The wind was audibly knocked from your lungs as you gasped. Words failed you, stuttering over yourself which was most amusing to Bucky.

Nonetheless, your eyes still followed him with a glaze, hooked onto every word that left his lips. “I think you’d let me take you from behind. Stuff your pretty pussy full with my fat cock.” He grabbed your hand and pressed it against the bulge in his trousers. “You feel that, huh? How good it would feel to take all a’me, pretty mama?” 

Bucky watched as your eyes fluttered and you bit your lip — the last of your reserve hanging by a thread. One more deadly blow to your empty head and you would be putty in his hands.

Any remaining distance between you disappeared as he placed wet kisses from the pulse of your neck up to the corner of your mouth. “I think—” he whispered against your lips, his next words uttered in his most seductive voice. “I think you’d let me do it. Right. Fuckin’. Now.” 

You placed your hands over the shirt on his chest to push him away; a mistake he imagined as you alternatively began bundling the material up with clenched fists. “Bucky—“ you painfully uttered with your eyes squeezed shut. You shook your head, as though that would help you. “This—this isn’t right. You’re my son’s friend and I n-need you to leave—“ 

“Look at me.” Bucky slid his hands over your neck, holding your jaw with his thumbs to tilt your head up. Slowly, your eyes squinted open and he saw the confliction clear as day in your glossy eyes, the battle you were facing in your mind. “You’re practically melting in my hands, Honey. You just gotta give in. We’ve been playin’ this game for far too long now, don’t you think?”

There was no escaping his blue eyes when you tried to look away once again and he firmly guided your gaze back to him. “None of that, now. Do as I say.” 

Your expression was tortured — torn between right and wrong, pleasure and sin. Bucky knew you were good, a dutiful housewife and loyal to a fault to a man who didn’t deserve it. 

Where had that gotten you? Whilst the revenge plan was hot on his mind — the very reason he had meticulously planned everything up to this exact moment — he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth that he was getting something extra out of this. You.

“We shouldn’t do this,” you pleaded painfully, still with a wild spark in your eye. “We can’t do this.” 

“You know what I’m not hearing, Honey?” Bucky asked. “I’m not hearing that you don’t want to do it.” 

You shook your head frantically with wide eyes until he tightened his grip on your cheeks. “I’m gonna give you one chance to answer me.” He squeezed your cheeks until your lips puckered. “You want me to fuck you, baby?”

Desire rolled through your eyes as your thighs clenched together. Though you still tried to deny your need for him. “Bucky—”

“Ah, ah. I want an answer.” 

Bucky watched as your throat bobbed. Your nostrils flared with your harsh breaths and your breasts heaved up and down with exerted force. Seconds went by, the two of you staring at each other before you finally answered. “Yes.” 

The two of you burst into the master bedroom — the one you shared with your husband, kissing erratically while your hands fumbled through Bucky’s hair. 

He moaned deeply, pushing you against the wall, and turning feral over the feel of you as he kneaded your body. “You’re so fuckin’ hot,” he hummed against your lips. 

Your head thumped back against the wall, chest heaving while you tried to catch your breath. All of Bucky’s attention was drawn to your chest. “Has anyone ever told you you’ve got the most perfect tits?” 

Choking on your spit, you stumbled over your words, so adorably oblivious to your own attraction. “I—I didn’t realise—um, t—thank you—”

Bucky laughed, shaking his head before quickly ripping down your dress to your waist with force. Your upper body was bare, free for him to roam his rabid eyes over your naked tits.

“Bucky!” Your squeal of shock was followed by you hastily trying to cover your chest with your hands. 

But a scowling Bucky immediately ripped them away; offended you would dare try to keep them from him. “Don’t you dare fuckin’ cover yourself up, Honey.” 

He could tell it was intense for you, to be so thoroughly desired and the thought that you had never received this much attention before made him angry once again. 

“It’s been a while,” you mumbled. The mousy confession only heightened Bucky’s fury towards your pathetic husband.

Delicately, he kissed you and began to trail his lips down the slope of your neck. “Ain’t gotta worry about that. I’ll take care of you.” 

Slowly descending, Bucky laved his tongue over your peaked nipple, sucking it into his mouth and letting it go with a pop. Your breast bounced with the motion and he squeezed his dick over his trousers with a groan. “Look at you, Honey. You’re a fuckin’ goddess.” 

Bucky’s tunnel vision made whatever you said next pointless. Grabbing your tits, he buried his head in between them, relishing in your softness. He peppered his kisses across to your other nipple and swirled his tongue around the peak. 

Your legs crumbled, the sensation overwhelming for you. The thought that Bucky could get you off by just playing with your tits made his cock even harder. But he had so much more in store for you.

“Why don’t you take off your dress, baby?” he murmured into your skin. “Want you to kneel on the bed for me, alright?” 

You nodded shakily. Bucky hovered over your breasts a couple of seconds more, savouring the feel of you before stepping backwards to give you space to move. 

With a deep breath, you walked on unsteady legs towards your bed, letting your dress shimmy down your body on your way. Your back was turned to Bucky and he salaciously eyed your figure, each and every curve of your body. He internally created a map of your stretch marks and imperfections that only made him more crazed for you. 

The mattress sank down while you knelt onto it carefully. Bucky watched the arch of your back intently, the flesh of your ass rounding out from your position. 

Forget the damn reason he plotted this very moment, he was just excited to finally get a taste of you. 

Your quiet murmur sounded over Bucky’s thoughts. “I’m ready.” 

Biting his lip, he strolled forward until he came to a stop behind you. Still fully clothed, Bucky desperately singed the picture in front of him into his mind. He held so much power in that moment, and it felt like a dream that he had you bent over solely for him. 

Bucky leaned over your form, beginning to place delicate kisses down your back. He basked in the goosebumps that arose on your skin. “How the fuck are you real?” he murmured to himself. 

With a shaky sigh, you whispered, “I still don’t know about this.” 

Chuckling, Bucky finally dropped down to his knees, ignoring your reluctance to eye the flimsy piece of material covering your pussy. Hooking a finger inside your underwear, he peeled it away and held it to the side. “Oh, fuck me.” 

You squirmed in place as the cold air hit you in your most vulnerable state. Your raw scent clogged Bucky’s nose and his eyes rolled to the back of his head in bliss. “Can’t fuckin’ wait any longer, Honey. Gotta know how you taste.” 

Surging forward, Bucky buried himself between your thighs. You screamed in retaliation to the feel of his tongue snaking its way through your folds and he was sure he hadn’t heard a better sound. 

He explored every inch of your cunt, unwilling to leave the heaven you so graciously granted him. But it was the sensation of Bucky’s tongue beginning to ease its way inside your hole that made you vocal once again. 

“My husband—“ you called out, obvious to Bucky  that you were trying to clear your conscience of guilt. But he knew you couldn’t care less about him — you didn’t even mention the fucker once while you were too busy feeling sorry for your son in the kitchen and making silly excuses to not let him have his way with you. 

Landing a harsh smack to the top of your thigh, Bucky savored your squeal of shock. “Don’t act like you give a fuck about him now, Honey. Who’s the one eating your pussy this good, hm?” He ran two fingers down the middle of your folds, biting his lip at the wetness coating them. When your only answer was a moan muffled by your pillow, he spanked you again in the same place with more force. “Answer me.”

“You, Bucky!” you instantly shouted out. “You’re the one eating my pussy so good!” 

“There we go. That wasn’t so hard was it?” He eased over the marks beginning to bloom on your skin and smiled to himself. “Call me James, though. I like it better.” 

Without letting you reply, Bucky dived back in, fucking your pussy with his tongue. You reached back to hold your asscheeks open with each hand, desperate to have him go deeper into your hole. The glint from the diamond of your wedding ring caught his attention and he smirked into your cunt; the reminder that you were married only fuelled his arousal even more. 

“Fuck, baby,” he spoke into your cunt. “You really are sweet, ain’t ya? Taste fuckin’ incredible.” 

The filthy sounds of slurps and moans filled the room. Bucky was a starved beast, held back and pushed to the edge for too long and every little bit of anger and resentment that had built in his body from your husband’s treatment was taken out on you. 

It only boosted his ego when you grinded your cunt back against him too. His cock jumped with excitement with how fucking dirty you truly were. You had been locked up too, he remembered. Stuck holding back your true self for a shitty excuse of a man. 

Bucky grunted deeply before licking a wide stripe from your clit, slowly running through your pussy lips and reaching higher towards the puckered hole that twitched with anticipation. 

“Oh!” you exclaimed aloud in surprise. Bucky thought he may have gone too far, then. But once you relaxed and backed yourself into his tongue, he smiled wickedly. 

“You like that, filthy girl?” he laughed, darkly. “Should’ve known you’d be a little freak.” 

Bucky circled the tip of his tongue teasingly around your asshole, moaning at your eagerness when you tried to reach further back with your hands and drag him closer. 

“Don’t tease,” you gasped, out of breath. “Please, I want more. Gimmie more.” 

Almost immediately, Bucky complied, ripping your hands away with vigor to replace them with his. He spreaded your asscheeks wide and lapped at your tight hole. 

“Fuck yes—oh my god, James—yes!” 

The depravity was obscene and disgusting and Bucky absolutely loved it. Never had he been more turned on and he decided then and there that this wasn’t going to be a one and done deal. He wanted you to be his. 

A string of saliva connected Bucky’s mouth to your ass as he reluctantly backed away. The slick that had poured out of you smothered his chin and cheeks and Bucky happily licked his lips with a groan. “Baby, as much as I wanna keep eating your ass, I need to feel your pretty little cunt wrapped around my cock.” 

You whimpered while your pussy clenched with a need to be filled. Bucky watched your cute little hole flutter. “Put it in me,” you slurred. “Need your cock.” 

He wasted no time unfastening his jeans to pull them down enough until his dick bobbed out of its confines. Bucky caught you peeking your head around, trying to catch a glimpse of his cock, but he spanked your ass and bit his lip with amusement at your scream. “Not yet, baby. You’ll get a chance to see it when I fuck your throat later.” 

You squirmed impatiently, needy moans escaping you and Bucky couldn’t hold back any longer. Grabbing his cock, he began to push the fat head of his length inside you. 

A loud gasp tore from your throat and your pussy instantly tried to suck him in deeper. Your walls, tight and warm, hugged his dick like a vice. “You’re—oh my fucking god—how are you so big?” 

The smirk that donned Bucky’s face was lethal. He had you right where he wanted you. And yet his eye rolled back all the same, savouring the flutter of your tight hole around him. 

“This is all for you, baby,” he breathily whispered, bullying his way deeper into your pussy. “Get me so fuckin’ hard everytime I see you. Cookin’ in them pretty little dresses. Just wanna lift your skirt up and fuck you wherever I want.” 

Your moans both fell into sync as Bucky finally slid his cock all the way to the hilt. You couldn’t stop squirming and it drove him crazy. 

“You need to move,” you begged in between pants. “Please, I can’t stay still.” 

Bucky licked his teeth with desire blazing through him. “Since you asked so nicely, Honey.” 

Without the decency to ease you into it, Bucky instantly set a brutal pace. He looked down, admiring the thick coating of your juices lathering his dick and he willed himself not to blow his load so fast. He tightly closed his eyes, adjusted his stance and began to fuck you. 

You were quick to grab ahold of whatever you could, scrambling for purchase within the sheets,  but you were useless to try to stop how your head buried into the bed. The force of Bucky’s thrusts were too violent and so you surrendered to what was inevitable, letting yourself drool over the cotton.

“Bu—CKY!” your cry of surprise when he lifted his foot onto the bed, allowing him a better angle to fuck you, was music to his ears. 

“What’s’a matter, baby?” Bucky mocked. “Thought you were a big girl, huh? Can’t handle me?” 

Your reply was instant. “I can! I can, I promise, I promise!” 

“Then shut the fuck up and take it.” 

Bucky didn’t know where to look, he was spoilt for choice. To watch your eyes roll back in ecstasy? To concentrate on the shlick shlick of your soaked cunt? Ultimately, his eyes were glued to the jiggle of your ass, his hands soon following as though he was hypnotised. How it so perfectly met his hips without a falt in rhythm.

“Fuck me—this ass is heaven, baby. You been hiding it from me all this time?” 

There was no answer this time, at least not a coherent one. Bucky was instead graced with your constant squeaks and groans — a woman too invested in a physical gratification she had so sadly been starved of. 

Bucky chuckled. “Ain’t gotta answer, Honey. The sounds comin’ outta that mouth are keeping my dick happy enough.” 

He almost forgot the end goal of his proposition in the midst of the delectable feel of your cunt. With a sudden bolt of clarification as he felt a vibration against his leg, Bucky kept one hand on your hip while he reached for his phone in his pocket with the other. Keeping up the pace of his thrusts, you were clueless as he unlocked it and opened the camera app. 

“Now, Honey, I want you to really scream my name, okay? Wanna hear how good I’m makin’ you feel. Can you do that for me?”

“Uh-huh.” You nodded, dumbly. “C-Can do that for you, James.” 

He grinned wickedly and threw his head back. “Just like that. Good fuckin’ girl.” Looking back down at you through the phone screen, he hovered his finger over the record button and brought his other hand down hard on your ass. “Go on then, baby. Put on a show for me.”

If Bucky thought you were a fucking treat before, his mind was blown once you began to take the reigns of your own pleasure. Bucky hardly had to move and you still plunged yourself onto his cock with an unmatched enthusiasm to anyone else he had fucked. He could hardly keep his hand that held the phone up from shaking. The combined sounds coming from the both of you were insane. 

None of his wet dreams could compare to his reality. “You—shit—you’re killing me, Honey.” 

You must not have heard him because you decided to torture him even more by arching your back just that little bit further. 

Bucky thought he was a goner, soon to approach his end. But he couldn’t let that happen. He was far from done with you yet. 

Propping one foot up onto the bed for better leverage, he gathered his restraint and began to drive forward once more. He felt high. 

“That husband of yours ever fuck you like this, huh?” Bucky demanded. “Can he make you leak all over his dick like a fuckin’ slut?”

You violently shook your head from side to side, like the thought of your husband left a sour taste in your mouth you wanted to get rid of. “Nuh-uh,” you whimpered, popping your ass up even more to take as much as you could. “O-Only you.” 

“Tell him, baby.” Bucky noticed too late that he had slipped up, too gone off the feel of your cunt wrapped snug around his dick. But you hadn’t seemed to realise his mistake either and the thought that you were too much of a wreck from his cock to comprehend who he was talking about made him even harder. “Let him know who’s balls deep in your tight, slutty pussy.” 

“Oh, fuck—please, please—you, James, it’s you.  Please, it’s you!” 

“Atta girl,” he cooed, hoarsely. “Look at the fuckin’ mess you’re makin’ on me.”

Bucky reached down to where the two of you were connected with his free hand, sweeping the copious amount of your slick gathered in a ring around the bottom of his cock. “Here.” He leant forward, one palm up towards you with his phone still in his other hand out of your view. “Open your mouth, pretty mama.” 

You slightly turned your head with your tongue sticking out wide and eagerly sucked the juices off his hand with a long moan. 

Managing to get all of it on camera, Bucky watched as you licked between his fingers, not wasting a drop. “Holy fuck,” he grunted deeply. “You’ll really do anything I say, won’t you?” 

You bobbed your head up and down, eventually letting his fingers go, clean as a whistle. 

“What a fuckin’ filthy whore. You’re perfect for me.” 

You backed yourself onto Bucky’s cock, meeting his thrusts perfectly while the meat of your ass clapped against his toned waist. “You’re a needy little thing, ain’t you baby?” 

“Anythin’ you want,” you slurred. “Can be whatever you need.” 

“Poor mommy hasn’t been treated this good in a long time I can tell.” Bucky gripped your ass harshly with his hand, jiggling the flesh for his own satisfaction. “Women like you, need putting in their place on a daily basis. Need a good fuckin’ to keep them happy.” 

“Yes!” you agreed, firmly. “Mommy needs to be fucked like this all the time.” 

Unbelievable. Bucky didn’t even have to try to add salt into the wound. He couldn’t help the continuous conspicuous messages that he could easily pass off to you. “This is what happens when you don’t take care of your wife.”

Harsh slaps echoed in your bedroom. The two of you could only share the raw sounds that left your mouths in your haze of the thrill as the string between you pulled tighter and tighter. 

“I’m—so—close,” you murmured with all your depleted energy. 

Bucky didn’t need the confirmation when he could feel the rapid pulses of your walls that squeezed him. He knew your orgasm was clutching at its straws and he was so close himself. The blood from his head had long since made its way to his dick and his composure was swiftly deflating. 

“Want that cum,” he garbled as his mouth hung open. “I’ve been such a good boy, mommy. Give it to me, please.”

You whined loudly, like a dog in heat. But your voices became lost on each other. That didn’t stop Bucky from losing his inhibitions out loud.  

Thrust. “I’ve been such,” thrust. “A good,” thrust. “Boy.” 

The wound up ball of tension in your lower stomach exploded in a series of screams and violent shivering that overtook your whole nervous system and the very sensation brought Bucky to his defeat. 

The muscles in his legs failed him as they turned to jelly. Bucky let out the sluttiest moan he’s ever experienced in his life and all but collapsed onto your sweat slicked body. He could feel his cock shooting a constant stream of cum into your cunt with seemingly no end in sight. 

“Fuck,” he whimpered into your ear. Slowly, his conscience came back to life and the flow of his load finally came to a stop. 

The two of you laid still, only the heavy panting serving to fill the silence. After a couple of minutes, Bucky kissed your shoulder blade, before lifting himself up. He gathered the strength to gently retrieve his length from your hole that still strangled him. 

Bucky was reminded of the phone that was still recording in his hand and he quickly made sure to get the winning money shot of his load dripping out of your pulsing hole while he wholly detached himself from you. 

He was only human to push his finger into your cunt, he thought, letting himself gather himself on his own fingers. 

Flipping the camera around to himself, Bucky put his coated finger in his mouth, sucking your combined juices and humming and letting it go with a pop. He laughed, out of breath, his red cheeks and mussed hair only adding to the depravity of the video. “Y’know some people should really keep an eye on their wives. You never know what they’re up to in their spare time. Ain’t that right, Honey?” 

Bucky knew you were out of it — he watched on while you buried your head in the sheets, rubbing your thighs together as aftershocks made your body twitch. Your needy, high pitched keens bounced off the walls. “Wan’ more of your cock, James—please—need you to fuck me again.” 

He licked his lips in delight, the sight of your ass wiggling with his cum leaking out of you and your unprompted addition to the recording filling him with glee. 

“Well,” he sighed, turning back to the camera and shrugging with no remorse. “You heard the wife. Duty calls.” With a cocky wink, he ended the recording with a final farewell. “See you in class, Professor.”  

Bucky exited his camera app and quickly brought up his emails, scouring through to a saved draft and attaching the video link. After pressing send, he shut off his phone, making sure any future notifications would be silenced before throwing it to the ground with a careless thump. 

“Baby,” you whimpered, looking behind you to search for him. “What are you doing? I said I wanna be fucked again.” 

Undressing the rest of his clothes, Bucky stalked towards you, kneeling onto the bed and effortlessly flipping you over to kiss you deeply to share your combined tastes. “Don’t worry, mommy,” he breathed into your mouth. “I’ll take care of you now.” 

Meanwhile at his college, a new email popped up on Dr Parker’s computer screen, shrouding the dark office with a white glow in the late night. With an exhausted huff, he looked up from grading papers — all of them marked with a C or lower — and squinted his eyes at the bright screen. 

New Email from James Buchanan Barnes

He rolled his eyes with a sigh. The name was familiar as he thought back to the day the kid almost cried in his office, complaining about his poorly-graded assignment and his GPA; Dr Parker had gossiped with Professor Stark in his department on his dinner break, recounting the annoying way this particular student had whined like a baby. Though he couldn’t quite remember how James looked, unable to place him among the hundreds of pupils he taught.

Amused curiosity ran through him, wondering what his student had to moan about this time and so with a sadistic smirk, he clicked on the link, waiting until his message came up. 

Though that smirk was quickly replaced with a frown when the email finally loaded with an attachment. 

They say revenge is a dish best served cold. But I like mine warm, tight and sweet.

Just like Honey. 

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

Sweeter Than Revenge Part 4

Fandom: Twisters, Tyler Owens, f!reader, Scott's Sister!reader Summary: The next morning, you get to learn a little more about Tyler's past and what makes him the way he is. But after he introduces you to his crew, you find out some things that have you second-guessing your connection with him... Word Count: 3847 TW: Fluff, Flirting, Doubt, Developing Feelings, Unrequited Feelings (or are they...), Description of Reader's Clothes Notes: A massive thank you to @blue-aconite and @green-socks for reading this over for me and for all the constant support! And to @mayhem24-7forever for always answering my late-night panicked messages

Divider created by me (please ask/credit before using)

Series Masterlist

The next morning, Tyler knocked on your door at exactly 7:30. You were actually pretty sure you heard him walk up a few minutes before, but you hadn’t peeked out because you wanted to see how long he would stand there before announcing himself. However, the second he knocked, you swung open the door with your bag slung over your shoulder and your sunglasses snuggly settled on your face. Tyler’s hand was still raised, leaning forward to knock again, and he was taken off guard. You bit your lip to hide your smile as he quickly caught himself and straightened up. 

He was wearing what appeared to be the same boots and jeans from the night before (you had noticed a small oil stain on his right thigh when he was driving), but he had exchanged his flannel shirt for a dark maroon long-sleeved denim button-down, his sunglasses tucked into the collar. And of course, his off-white cowboy hat was proudly perched on top of his head.

You, on the other hand, had opted for an outfit rather different from the one you wore the previous night. Gone was the plunging, sheer top and itty-bitty cut-offs. Instead, you chose a comfortably fitting faded band shirt and mid-thigh cargo shorts. You had spent way too long considering your attire for the day and what Tyler may think of each option, but you finally settled on something less impressive but more yourself. It still made you feel attractive, yet comfortable.

And based on the way his eyes roamed across your body, Tyler approved of this decision. “Good morning, sweetheart. You look as beautiful as ever.”

“Thank you,” you said, stepping out into the hall and using the fact you had to lock the door as a reason to hide your face for a moment. “I wasn’t sure what one was supposed to wear to go tornado wranglin’ but this seemed like a safe choice.”

“Unlike your brother’s team, we don’t do uniforms or dress codes so whatever you wanted to wear would have been fine. In fact, just for the hell of it, Boone and I have gone on a few chases wearing nothing at all. But you won’t see those videos on our YouTube channel.” He winked at you before sliding your backpack off your shoulder and placing it on his own. Then he added, “Don’t get me wrong, I loved what you were wearing last night too, but this just…it feels more you.”

The butterflies that had laid dormant since last night once again sprang to life in your stomach. “Seems you’ve got me figured out pretty quickly there, Mr. Owens. Anything else you’ve noticed about me?”

“Let’s see…” Placing his arm over your shoulder, he began to steer you towards the stairs as he thought. “You have a sarcastic, confident shell you hide behind so people don’t see how vulnerable you feel. You know how to use your looks to your advantage in certain situations, but otherwise seem to forget how breathtaking you are. And—” you had started to turn at his last comment, but he placed his finger under your chin and tilted your head towards him “—you like to hide your face when someone compliments you, though I’m not sure yet if it’s because you don’t want them to see how their words affect you or if you don’t think you deserve the praise. Maybe a bit of both.”

You shifted under the weight of his sage-green gaze. “You make me sound like I’m heading into a battle with my armor, my weapon, and my shield.” 

“Maybe you are. Is that how it feels to you?”

In fact, it sometimes was, though you weren’t going to admit that. You rolled your eyes instead, trying to hide how rattled you were by his spot-on assessment. “Geez, and here I thought you were a tornado wrangler, not a therapist.” Shifting the topic off of yourself, you asked, “When did you learn to read people so well?”

Now it was Tyler’s turn to become uncomfortable. His eyes flickered away for the first time and he muttered, “...I’d rather not say.”

If he had seemed hurt or sad or uneasy as the two of you made your way down to the first floor, you would have dropped it immediately. However, the way he avoided eye contact now after just staring at you so intently, plus the slight redness spreading up his neck and face, told you he was hiding it for a very different reason. And after all the times you had been embarrassed in front of him, you weren’t going to let this opportunity go. 

You slipped from under his arm and turned to face him as you reached the top of the stairs. “Well, now you have to tell me! You can’t just tease me with something like that and expect me to drop it! Besides, all we’ve done since we met is talk about me and my messed up life. Let me learn something about you for once.”

He sighed, chewing on the inside of his lip, then said, “Okay, you asked.” As the two of you began walking down to the ground floor, he said, “Back before I got into storm chasing, I used to compete in the rodeo circuit.”

“Really?” you asked. “I didn’t know that. Have you ever mentioned that on your channel?”

“Nah. It was another life. But, one of the things you learn when you’re left staring down a 2,000-pound bull is how to be observant. You gotta notice every little shift or twitch he makes to predict what he’s gonna do and how to stay outta his way. And after a while, it just becomes a habit you do with everyone you meet.”

You raised one eyebrow. “Oh, so you noticed all those things about me because you were examining me like a bull about to charge you?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” he chuckled. “Which is why I didn’t want to tell you. Most girls don’t tend to like it when you compare them to a cow.” 

“Well, I’m not most girls,” you said as you reached the bottom of the stairs and faced him once more.

He smiled, his eyes sparkling in the morning light. “I’ve noticed. You’re definitely keeping me on my toes.”

“Oh?” you asked, taking a step closer to him. “Afraid you won’t get out of my way in time?”

He leaned over until the brim of his hat just grazed the top of your head. “I haven’t decided if I want to yet.”

Staring into his eyes, you felt that same zap of electricity from the night before zooming through your body. You watched his tongue peek out, slowly wet his lips, and, without meaning to, you leaned in closer until—

Slam!

Jumping at the loud noise to your left, you and Tyler both turned to see Scott glaring at the two of you as the Storm PAR team swarmed around their vehicles, loading up their gear. Scott had just slammed the sliding door on the van marked “Wizard” and, after spitting his gum on the ground and popping in a new piece, eyes trained on you the entire time, he climbed into the front seat of Scarecrow and started the engine. You saw Javi approaching Lion and he lifted his hand, giving you a small, apologetic smile that you returned. Then he climbed into the truck and the Storm PAR team pulled out of the lot. 

Whatever spell you and Tyler had been under now broken, you resumed walking towards the cluster of Wranglers’ vehicles. There was an awkward tension in the air you had never felt around him before and, in an attempt to break it, you asked, “So, is that how you read tornados so well? You approach them the same way you approached a bull?”

He shrugged, seemingly as happy to get back to the earlier conversation as you were. “More or less. There’s more science that goes into it but you just have to make careful observations and then, ultimately, go with your gut. Even if that means ignoring what all the data is telling you.”

“And that works?”

“Most of the time.”

“And when it doesn’t?”

He grinned as he approached the side of an old, beat-up camper van. “Then you better hope you have a great team watching your back.” With that, he banged twice on the side of the van.

The doors flew open and four people jumped out. You recognized them all from their YouTube videos as the other members of Tyler’s crew, but you couldn’t remember any of their names except for Boone. He was the other man you had seen with Tyler in the diner parking lot when you first arrived and he always manned the handheld camera in the videos, making commentary and jokes as Tyler drove them into a storm.

Tyler quickly introduced you to everyone. He had already filled them in on who you were and that you would be riding with them for the next week or so. You had been slightly worried about how they would feel about you tagging along given how Scott had responded to the idea of you going on a chase. However, they swarmed around you excitedly and immediately began to chat about how much you were going to love your first storm as if you had known them for ages.

It was such a stark difference from your brother’s reaction. Where he was instantly dismissive and challenged your bravery, each and every one of the Wranglers welcomed you with open arms, giving you heads-ups about what it would be like out there and assuring you it was fine to react in different ways. They even shared their various first storm chases and how they had responded (it was comforting to know that even Boone, who seemed as reckless and wild—if not more so—as Tyler, had torn a vocal chord “screaming like a little girl” the first time Tyler had planted the truck in the middle of a storm).

Your head was on a constant swivel as each of your four new friends talked over one another, and as you moved to turn from Dexter explaining the different tracking equipment the crew used to monitor storms to Dani explaining the upgrades that had been made to Tyler’s truck, you caught sight of Tyler. He was several feet away from the mob surrounding you, leaning his shoulder against the van with his arms folded across his chest, amusement gleaming in his eyes as he watched the chaos around you. Seeing the slight panic in your eyes, he chuckled softly to himself before pushing off the side of the van and clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention.

“All right guys, give her room to breathe. She’ll be here for at least a week so no need to tell her your whole life stories in the first five minutes. She’s still getting used to things around here and we don’t wanna scare her off.” As they all apologized and backed away, you tried to assure them you were fine but Tyler came over and placed his hands on your shoulders. “It’s alright, sweetheart, we’re just all a little excited to have some fresh blood around here. Now, Dexter, is there any breakfast left? I’m starved and I doubt she’s eaten either.”

You tried to insist you were fine, but the words died in your throat as Dexter opened the door to the camper van and the sticky sweet smell of freshly syruped pancakes hit your nose, eliciting a loud growl from your stomach. Tyler must have heard it because he chuckled and began directing you towards the van, walking behind you as he steered you by your shoulders. 

As you ate, it was decided that today you would ride in the camper van with Dani and Dexter so you could get close to the storms, yet not have to immediately dive into one. At first, you wanted to object, thinking they meant that figuratively. But then you remembered the videos you had seen of Tyler and Boone driving straight into the center of a tornado, and, realizing they meant that literally, you agreed it was probably for the best. Part of you wanted to impress Tyler and jump into his truck anyway, but Scott’s comment that you would get too scared and force his team to end the chase early echoed in your mind. 

You were still a little disappointed Tyler’s “embarrassing secret” he had tried to keep hidden this morning was not embarrassing at all. Instead, you had just prodded him into sharing something that made him seem infinitely cooler than he already had. And, once again, you were reminded of the fact that since you two had met, you had spent the majority of the time either complaining about how much of a jerk your brother was, how shitty of a person you used to be, or crying into his shoulder. Meanwhile, here he was, this daredevil tornado wrangler who learned how to read people by staring down deadly bulls for a living and looked like most women’s cowboy wet dream come to life. 

You wanted to prove to him that you were more than what he had seen so far—that you were worthy of all the time and attention he was giving you. If you told Tyler you wanted to ride with him, you had no doubt he would let you. But what if Scott was right and you freaked out as soon as you neared a tornado? What if you had a panic attack or somehow caused the Wranglers to turn back instead of diving into the storm? They made their money—money they used to help others—from their videos. A video they would not be able to post if they couldn’t record a storm because you were having a complete meltdown. 

So, at least for today, you climbed into the back of the camper van as everyone got ready to chase their first storm of the day.

Dani and Dexter were an interesting pair. Dani was brash and loud, riding with her boots propped up on the dashboard as she slouched in her seat, all the while telling you jokes and poking fun at the other Wranglers. Dexter was more reserved at first, but the longer Dani talked, the more comfortable he seemed and he began joining in. You could tell by how they interacted, often speaking over the other or laughing at a joke before it got to the punchline, that they spent a lot of time together and had a close bond. It was really nice to see. You thought about how stiff and professional the members of Storm PAR seemed and you found yet another reason to be thankful Scott had turned you away. There was no way you would be having this much fun with his team.

As time went on and the clouds above you began to darken, Dexter began to explain how storms were formed, what kinds of conditions were necessary for them, the destruction they could cause, and how much scientists still didn’t know about them. Dani rested her head in her hand, looking half-asleep as she struggled to listen to information you were sure she had heard a million times before, but you were captivated.

Just as Dexter began telling you how the radar in the center console worked, the radio crackled to life and Tyler’s voice, distorted slightly through the ancient speaker, came through. “You okay back there, sweetheart?” Dani picked up the receiver and passed it back to you. “Dani and Dexter aren’t just bickering the whole time, are they?”

You laughed as both Dani and Dexter objected to that statement. “No, they’re great. Dexter’s been teaching me all about the science behind the storms. It’s been much more interesting than those dry reports Scotty left behind.” You saw Dexter beaming in the rearview mirror and you smiled back at him.

“Well, just don’t let him get started on funnel formation or you might change your mind.” Dexter shot a stern glance at the radio as Dani looked out the window, swallowing a laugh. Then, lowering his voice slightly so it felt like he was speaking to you and you alone, Tyler said, “I can’t wait to get you up here with me so I can show you the storm through my eyes.”

Clutching the radio closer to your face, you smiled softly. “That sounds amazing. I can’t wait. And Tyler, I—” You wanted to thank him again for everything he was doing for you. For welcoming you into his life without a second thought and introducing you to these other people who were already starting to feel more like family than your own flesh-in-blood. But, more than that, you wanted to thank him for the way he always made you feel as if he was actually excited you were there—that you were wanted. But just as you were trying to find the words to express those feelings, you remembered the rest of the team could hear you and you quickly cleared your throat. “Um, just be safe up there. You can’t show me anything tomorrow if you do something stupid today.”

“You heard the lady, Boone. Guess we’re taking it easy today.” You heard Boone muttering his objection and you could almost see his pout through the radio. “Cell should be coming up on our left. Y’all enjoy the show.”

The radio clicked off, but you continued staring at the receiver, cupping it close to your chest as you thought about all the things you wished you had been able to say to him.

Glancing back at you, Dani and Dexter exchanged a look before chuckling to themselves. Looking up, you asked, “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” Dani said, examining her nails. “Just seems that someone’s already fallen under the spell of the ol’ Owens charm.”

You raised an eyebrow. “‘The ol’ Owens charm’?”

“You know exactly what I mean. Believe it or not, he doesn’t do it on purpose, it’s just who he is and he can’t turn it off if he tried—not that he even realizes he’s doing it. He’s just naturally one smooth SOB that anyone could find hard to resist.”

A vice suddenly tightened around your heart making it hard to breathe. Was…was that all this was? Did Tyler treat everyone he met with the same kind of attention and kindness? Were you reading into his actions more than you should? 

Trying to maintain a blank expression, you shook your head. “Well, it’s not like that. He’s just letting me hang out with you guys to piss off my brother.”

“That’s what he said…but I’ve seen that look before,” Dani said smugly. 

“Dani…” Dexter muttered, giving her a pointed glance.

“What look?” you asked.

“The one you had when Tyler was talking to you. Like you were soaring on cloud nine and he was the only other person up there with you. Happens all the time.”

“Dani,” Dexter said a little louder.

But she either didn’t hear him or ignored him as she continued, “It doesn’t help that he’s so damn noble on top of everything. You should see the things he does when we stop by a town that has just been hit. He’s almost been crushed in more destroyed houses than I can count trying to go back for a kid’s teddy bear or a family’s photo album. The guy just can’t say no to someone in need.”

“Dani!”

“What?” She glanced at her friend then back to you and her smile faded. She must have noticed the way you had folded in on yourself, your arms wrapped tightly around your middle as you tried to process everything she had said. 

Stuttering slightly, Dani tried to backtrack. “Hey, listen, I didn’t mean…” She sighed and ran her hand through her dark hair. “I might be wrong. Tyler’s never invited someone to join the team outta nowhere like this. And he’s seemed different since he came back from your date yesterday.”

“It wasn’t a dat—” you mumbled, but she cut you off.

“Whatever it was. He’s had even more swagger in his step than usual and, this morning, he checked his watch like a million times to make sure he wasn’t late meeting you at your room. And Tyler never gets wound up like that for anyone. Right, Dexter?” The man nodded, and Dani smiled as if to say “see? I told you”. But then her smile dimmed slightly. “Just…just be careful. You seem like a really nice girl and none of us want to see you get hurt. So maybe know where you stand with him before you let yourself fall too hard.”

“Thanks,” you said, letting your arms unfold slightly. You were still questioning every interaction you had had with Tyler, but knowing you might have had some effect on him did make you feel a little better.

“Plus, you’ve been a lot of fun to have around and I’d hate for you to leave because Tyler can’t see what a catch he has in front of him.” Dani winked at you, and you gave her a small smile. 

You lean forward and hand her the radio. In an attempt to break some of the tension that has now filled the camper van, you asked Dexter to resume what he was saying when Tyler called. But as he happily returns to explaining the radar monitor, the excitement you had previously had listening to his lessons had evaporated. Instead, all you could think about was Tyler.

You thought about the way he held you close to his chest last night, his arms wrapped around you as you cried. You thought about the way he defended you to Scott, how he said you had found someone willing to give you their “attention and love”. You thought about that spark of electricity flowing between you as he pressed his lips to the back of your hand, and how that same spark seemed to gleam in his eyes before he left. You thought about this morning as you had leaned in to kiss Tyler, and how for just a brief moment before Scott’s slamming truck door ruined the moment, you swore you saw Tyler begin to lean in too.

Were you just seeing what your smitten heart wanted to see? 

The more you thought about it, the more you realized Dani was right. You needed to know for sure how Tyler felt before your feelings for him grew any stronger. If he was just being nice and that was all, that was fine. You were supposed to be here to get revenge on Scott, not to fall in love. So if that was the case, you would stuff down these developing feelings and try your best to forget them. But if Tyler really did feel this same magnetic pull that you did, well…that would be great to know too.

Part 5 coming 9/9!

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[hoseoksluna]

RASPBERRIES | jhs ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!hobi x berries!oc (feat. ex-boyfriend!jk and luna)

genre: smut, angst

word count: 10.5k

summary: a step towards breaking the curse of your life—nothing could be sweeter than that, could it?

pinterest board: raspberries / taglist: join

warnings: anal sex:), blowjob, a bit of an argument?:), bathtub sex, ass eating, pussy licking, this whole chapter is a warning itself, oc and hobi are just horny, anger, crying, daddy issues, breeding kink, praise kink, spitting:), their emotions are all over the place, brief mention of suicide.

note: okay, this chapter might have salvaged this entire series. i wrote entirely through my feelings and the plot took a whole different direction. like i had something planned, but the characters do what they want. :) SORRY FOR THE CLIFFHANGER. THE CHAP WAS GETTING LONG. and i want the last (next) chapter to be juicy! please, send me your thoughts via my inboooox. i'll be waiting. do we trust jk or not? skfhskfhs. enjoy, my loves!

Perhaps, you should’ve seen it coming—the fact that Jungkook wouldn’t pick up. The rosily gold sunlight warms your fire of anger as you try and try again, the number beside his name on your screen rising and rising until another digit joins it. Something about it feels like a childish payback and you don’t really know why you like it so much. Why you like making him feel the way he made you feel when he spammed your phone after you made the worst mistake of your life by accidentally sending him the video of you professing that your intimate parts belong to Hobi. 

Perhaps, it's as simple as that—it’s childish. And you find yourself to be in a safe realm for your inner child to come out and live. Come out and take revenge. 

Another layer of warmth is pressed against your bare back, heavier, more homely. You swivel your head to bump into Hobi’s jaw, to catch the furrow of his brows as they serve as a shadow from the morning sun, along with the antique structure of his body. His trembling hands hook onto your shoulders, squeezing once before they drift down your arms. Inching closer, he wraps them around you in a suffocating hold. And it isn’t until he closes his lips down onto your temple and steals your phone, flinging it away, that you realize he did it in order to stifle the fire. 

“That’s enough,” he whispers and it graces you with the notion that it should be saved for another time, the picture of his tremor coming forth and the question of why. It kills you, slowly, the liveliness of his emotions, portrayed so gently by his hands. Why are they shaking? 

They snuffed out the fire, but the residue of the painting, colorless and bland, remains. It lines your skin—you can even see it in the streaks of the sunlight. The curves, the message. What was he punishing you for? It’s a question that now unfolds within the strange calmness descending down your body. Was he punishing you for having a man? For returning to your salvation that is in a lung burner? For going against him? Or for raising your fists—feeding him the poisonous negativity of your emotions? 

The need to reach for your phone and talk to Jungkook seizes you again and you fight against Hobi’s hold, but he says no. Sternly, seriously. Tightens his hold. Doesn’t let go. 

“Let it be,” he adds, rubbing your arm with the hand that lays across your chest. But you can’t, you can’t—

“Hobi, I can’t—”

Your sentence is silenced by the sudden kneading of his hands upon your knotted shoulders. Relief evaporates every need, every black fume of your doused fire. His hands bear strength now as his thumb focuses on the tightness of your muscles and you droop, you crumble. And what you didn’t expect—Hobi droops and crumbles with you. 

The violence of his heart against your back, it becomes yours when he pulls you into the shadows of the wavering structure of his body. Its stones ricochet off of your decaying figure, dropping onto the floor with a loud, thunderous thud. You feel the saddened line of his mouth against your cheek, into which he sinks, quietly as a mouse, his whimper. He doesn’t cry and he doesn’t yell, his infelicity, bound to yours, radiates the entire room in gloom. Clouds swim past the sun and linger, the rosy glow snuffed out—just like your fire. 

The wedding of your joy has been put off. The groom has been left at the altar, and it’s all your fault. 

Why is everything so temporary? 

Why are you unable to be stable? To stay submissive amidst the ups and downs of your life? To stay calm, unaffected? 

You’re so weary of it. Weary of yourself, weary of your life, of the curse. 

You turn around and embrace him. Feel like it’s the only right thing you can do at this very moment. Hobi welcomes you in, lets you sign and recuperate in the kingdom of his arms. Rubs your back, gathers the ends of your hair in his hands as if it were a stream of water he longed to refresh himself with. 

It’s so different, to be given love when you don’t ask for it. Something opens within you, a circle of mildness that cracks its mouth wide to consume the edges of the curse until only its axis, its middle core remains. Lightness drives your hands to embrace him tighter, only for Hobi to follow the movement—lungs in sync while your heart tries to mimic his rapid movement. 

It’s like a wordless eulogy. Goodbye to the old life, to the old pain, so the new can settle. Hobi can sense it, too. Supports it when he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the crown of your head, wets his mouth, prepares himself to speak. 

But then your phone starts ringing. 

Your heart lurches forward, but you dwell in motionlessness. You don’t care anymore. Hold the serenity, the lightness in higher regard. 

“Let it ring,” Hobi whispers, tracing circles on your back, the same pattern that has opened within you. 

You nod against his clavicle. “I will.” 

His hands descend to your waist and clenches it for a while, a sensation of groundedness washing over you, cleansing you. You kiss his collarbone. Then, a message dings. 

“How about I run you a bath?” Hobi asks in your ear, nuzzling his nose in your hair, muffling out the sound of another Jungkook’s intrusion. The idea resembles a paradise to you and you beg for it with a singular, pretty word. 

Scooping you up in his arms, he sets you down in front of your bathtub, your nipples brushing against his chest with the descent, awakening the dried pool of your arousal deep in your core. A fresh spring of water fills it until it brims over and so you don’t waste a drop, you slam your mouth onto his, kissing him. He hums, lowly, into your mouth, not foreseeing something like this, and the sound splashes in the pool, drenching you whole, showering your orchard in the life it needs. 

Slipping your tongue inside, he lets you taste him for a mere moment, before he clasps your mouth in his hand and stares you down. “Hold it.” 

Hold what? Your incessant stream of horniness for him? 

Reaching over, he fills up the bath with warm water with one hand, its mist rising up your body, spreading little dots of anticipation on your skin, erasing the lines, the curves and the message of the painting you never saw, but envisioned. And before he can straighten, you pull him back up. He smiles down at you, kissing you, tenderly, mouths smacking within the briefness and the pool within you heats up. 

Except for the orgasm he gave you in the middle of the night, right before dawn, neither you or him got the release you needed when you were connected. Pity ripples in your water and you grasp his manhood in your hand, semi-hard. How did he get excited this quickly? You coo, but only for yourself, drifting your hand down his poor, blue balls, squeezing them, coaxing a pained sigh out of him. 

“Does it hurt?” you ask, softly, flicking your gaze up into his. They must be hurting, considering the amount of arousal that swirled inside without an ounce of alleviation. 

He doesn’t respond, but that’s an answer for you. Light flows from his eyes as seriousness draws his features tight, bottom lip tucked between his teeth. You kiss his chest, gripping him a little before you let go, threading your fingers through your hair, parting them into three sections and, blindly, instinctively, you plait them into a braid, securing the end with a silk, thin scrunchie. Pink, like his imaginary wings. 

“Come join me.” 

Hobi shakes his head, though. Holds you steady as you swing your leg over the lip of the bathtub, sinking into the warm, misty water. At the sight of you kneeling, he lets out another pained sigh, prolonged this time and you feel so bad for him that you don’t think twice before you take him into your mouth. 

“Pup, fuck,” he moans, grabbing the crown of your head as his knees shake. All of his emotions are expressed through the tremors, you note, and it drives you to open your mouth wider, swallowing him deeper. “Oh, yeah, that’s so good.” 

Your walls clench and you mewl around him, dragging your tongue flat on the underside of him as you draw back, swirling the muscle around the tip of him as you grip him. You use your saliva to stroke him, making him cage in his bottom lip between his teeth again. Eyes rolled back, his reddened lip springs back, and he gazes down at you, fingers trailing down until they meet your loose plait, acknowledging themselves with the newness. 

“I love your hair like this. You’re so pretty,” he comments, voice so terribly strained, and you hum, pleased to hear such a compliment. You hollow out your cheeks on his tip, sucking him, slowly, and he repeats those words you love so much, your noises of pleasure rising in pitch. “You really do love it when I say that, don’t you? God, I adore you. All of who you are.” 

You withdraw, completely, without losing your grip on him, panting. Can feel your eyes send waves of love towards him as you bore them, piercingly, into his. He groans, divulging to you that he received the message, and you could burst, you could fly—turn this water into fire as his godliness from his precum sweetens your throat once you swallow, the aftertaste of him transforming you into an unknown being of holiness. You’re not God, you’re not an angel, either. You’re something else, entirely. A figment of his creation on the cusp of awakening and living. A moving picture of stability, submission and feline softness. Something he adores. Something he’ll soon love. 

And it pleasures you, intensely. 

“Do you adore me, pup?” Hobi asks as he wraps his hand around your braid. One time, two times, three times—until your hair is pulled so tight that he inclines your chin up to him, waiting for your answer. And he doesn’t have to voice it out—the dark side of his desire, the bad things he wants to do to you. You perceive them clouding his pearlescent eyes, making them brighter. 

You wish the moon would turn its face towards you, so it could see the change that is occurring.  So it could see the way you’ll use its magnetism to blanket yourself with Hobi’s darkness. 

Now you’re able to. Now you’re prepared. 

“I adore you, Daddy,” you breathe out, stroking him faster, your chest mimicking the rhythm. “And I want to show you just how much. You said you wanted to make me forget. Let me do that for you.” 

His moan transmutes into a vulgarity, a tender shade of pink scattering along his cheeks and you could eat them. Your heart thumps, colorfully, your longing to help him forget the taste of the bane of your life growing and growing like a thick bush of raspberries. He deserves it—needs it, considering the infelicity of his that he poured over you when he held you, his lack of words shared with you. He deserves the fucking world and you’re willing to go above and beyond to give it to him. To give it to your boyfriend. Your husband. 

“How? Tell me how you’re gonna do it.” 

You draw your face to his cock, but he pulls you back by your braid, coaxing a dark mewl out of you. A drum begins to beat in your clit—the start of his song, incited by his darkness. 

“Did I not tell you to use your words?” Hobi scolds, so awfully sternly, and you flutter all over, the peaks of your nipples stiffening, the drum picking up its rhythm. Your eyes widen as that darkness of his overwhelms you and you want more of it. 

“Help me say it,” you say, your heart not letting you lie to him as the words, ‘I don’t know how to say it’ were on the tip of your tongue. 

Hobi smirks, tightening his grip on your braid. Pain shoots up your scalp and even though you hiss, you like it. He inches forward, his lips a mere centimeter away. The radiation of his pleasure hits you, drifting down to your core. You almost reach your hand down to it, so the ache disappears, but you yearn to focus on him, wholly. 

“If you want to suck on this cock and if you want me to praise you, then you’re gonna have to give me those pretty words that I know you’re capable of saying,” he murmurs, clicking his tongue at the halt of your hand around him and you resume, pressing play on the movie of his guttural moans—and you moan along with him, enjoying the sound. 

Is that a hint of his pent-up anger? You believe, wholeheartedly, that it’s somewhere hiding in him, that he’s keeping inside, adamant on not letting it out in your presence. You want to unlock that cage and beckon it out, meet it, learn its name and its desires. And you’ll do it—just so Hobi feels better. 

You can handle it. 

And to do it, you linger, intentionally, in your quietness, ceasing your movement on his cock. In fact, you withdraw altogether. Arch your spine when you sit back, your breasts bouncing a little. And he lets you, unbelief slackening his hold on your braid, mouth parted. Perhaps, he’s thinking you don’t want to go along with the foreplay, so he’s taking a step back, but what he doesn’t know is that what you’re doing is as much of a means of it as it is one of healing. 

There’s no way he isn’t angry at your ex-boyfriend for punishing you silently for whatever he thinks you did. There’s no way there isn’t the same fire in him that burned in you at the sight of him marking you with the palm of his hand. He saw the painting, you didn’t. There is simply no way he doesn’t want to explode. 

Hobi does lots of things for you. Stifling his emotions until they lash out in the form of his tremor is one of them. And you crave, with your whole being, to do the same for him. Let him feel like he let you feel. Make him come, vividly, like he made you come. 

Adore him like he adores you. 

“I’m such a bad girl, aren’t I?” you purr, lifting your fingers to your breasts and swirling them around your hardened nubs. His eyes flick to them and enlarge. You spread your legs and let him see all of you, bolts of pleasure swaying your body like the water lapping at your stomach. “Withholding my words on purpose when you’re so hard, when you need me. Hm, don’t I deserve to be punished? Don’t I deserve to be punished so hard that I willingly give you my words?” 

Hobi pants and his nostrils flare, chest heaving and slightly shuddering in tandem with the drum in your clit. Sweat coats the antique structure of his body, darkening it as if rain fell upon it, staining it for a little while. You want to stain it with his ivory arousal—make a magnificent sculpture out of him to remember this important moment. 

His anger will change everything. His anger will be a step to breaking the curse—to settling the process of the bane, Jungkook’s intrusion. You may have decided to do this alone, but it was wrong of you. He should be the one to make order like the father he is while you stand behind him, clutching the material of his pants. 

You will get him there. 

“I want you to spank me.” 

He doesn’t let a second pass. Doesn’t blink. “I can’t.” 

Your heart cracks, but you will strength of the raspberries into it. “Yes, you can. You can make me red and you can show him. You can show him who’s the boss. Who owns me. Who has his handprint on me. It’s you and it’s always going to be you. You have every right to do what I know you want to do, Hoseok.” 

He raises his brows, mouth agape. Clenches his fists. “You want me to spank you and send a picture of it to him?” 

You nod, dipping your hands into water. 

“Why would I stoop to his level?” he asks, scoffing, and your throat dries, struck with shock. You didn’t anticipate this kind of answer from him and you don’t know what to say, his fatherliness and dominance enveloping you in a milky blue aura of smallness. What does he want to do, then?

Hobi steps closer. Doesn’t bend at the waist. Doesn’t crouch. Doesn’t get on his knees. He lets you look up at him in your smallness. Lets you feel his control, the manliness of his stature and energy and you gulp. Turned on and intrigued at the same time. 

“I’m not a boy, pup,” he says and you wish he would touch you, touch your pebbled nipples, soothingly, feeling yourself needing it as he reprimands you. “I don’t need to play games. I’m too old for this shit. This is what pubescent boys do when they feel threatened, when they feel jealous. If I were to play his game for you, I’d only encourage him. I wouldn’t be stopping it, I’d be kicking the ball over to him. Do you really think I want to do that?” 

You let out a breath. Your muscles tense, ready to scream out the question that has been boiling in you all this time. 

“What do you want to do?” 

He sucks in a breath, baring his teeth. There it is—there is that anger, the whole resplendent, monumental rawness of it. 

“What do I want to do?” he asks as if he couldn’t believe you’re asking him that question, as if he couldn’t believe you’re allowing him to have a part in it. It thrills you—and as it thrills you, it moves forward your transformation. 

“Yes, tell me what you want to do. Tell me how you want to settle this.” You stand your ground, inviting him in, inviting him into your life, to have a say in it, to have a fatherly hand in it; letting the sunlight make it right, make it alive, real and serious. 

“Is that what you want? For me to step in?” he whispers, that disbelief still ringing—and you pout, touched by it. 

“Yes, Hobi,” you hush out, leaning over and grabbing his hands. He lets you hold them for a second before he untwines your hold and cradles your face, kneeling by the bathtub. 

The light in his eyes is too overwhelming and you melt into it, your breath hitching in your throat as you surrender. He presses his lips in a firm line, his thumbs brushing away your flyaways, and you lean into his touch, head tilted to the side. 

As he tastes the newness of the conjunction to your life and his, you ask again. “What do you want to do?” 

He sighs and takes in heavy breaths right after, seething, pressing his forehead against yours. And as you and him close your eyes simultaneously, he finally answers. “I want to break his fucking face.” 

Dots of gooseflesh chill your skin and you don’t stop yourself from humming out your pleasure of hearing that. “Yes, Hoseok.” 

You feel his gaze on you as he continues—and it might as well have been him who opened your eyes. “I want to break his hands for creating that degrading, shitty painting of you. And I want to break it. Destroy it. So it never sees the light of the day again.” 

You choke out a moan, your whole body set on fire—a different one, this time. A blue fire, milky blue like your aura of smallness. “Yes, Daddy.” 

Hobi groans, kissing you, nastily. Tongues and clashing of teeth, hunger and anger gratified as he pours it out into your mouth. Lets you taste it, swallow it. The same fire, but brighter, bigger, scorching hot, so alluring. 

You don’t have to fan the flames of his will. He’s already decided. 

“Once I’m done with you, you’re gonna send him a text,” he shares his plan with you between hard kisses; you can only whimper in your neediness in response. “You’re gonna tell him that you’re coming over to his place to talk, to look at the painting.” A sigh, a suction of lips, a moan. “Alone.” A swirl of tongues until the details of his plan spiral in the same dance in your brain. “I’ll come with you. And I’ll settle this once and for all.” 

He withdraws, letting you breathe. Your body tingles, your lips, especially, every nerve ending crying out in need, whimpering at the way he studies your form—eyes lifting and falling over your swells, curves and marks. And something about the way he ogles you like that makes you feral. 

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” he asks, that urgency flashing again in the light of his eyes, and you nod—a thousand times. “Repeat it back to me.” 

The drum in your clit becomes unbearable and you can hear its song in your brain. All thoughts fade to nothingness, memories, triggers, pains. All of it evanesces, but one thing remains.

His plan.  

“I’m gonna text him that I’m coming over to his place alone to talk and you’re gonna come with me and settle this like the Daddy you are,” you stream out, panting, focusing on the sudden numbness of your lips as his kiss still engulfs them as a new memory. 

Hobi grins, pleased, and it propels you so fucking quickly to lean over and lick up the underside of his now fully hard length. Even though you can’t see it, you know the grin breaks as he deeply moans, your tongue circling his sensitive, red tip. You begin to suck it, bobbing your head up and down in a short, curt motions, and he fists your braid in one hand while the other digs into your hair at the nape of your neck, holding you to him as you give him what he befittingly deserves. 

“Good girl. My good fucking girl. Oh, yeah. Like that, pup. Fuck, it feels so good. Just like that,” he praises and your whole body clenches and doesn’t let up, your nectar dripping into the water. “I’m gonna fix everything and then I’m gonna make you a Mommy, arasseo?” 

You growl around him, taking after him, his words intoxicating you enough to withdraw, yearning to have him inside you. But not in the place, where he engraved his enigma, the breaking of the curse. You burn to have him stretch out the hole, where no one has ever been—the one you teased him about on your first date. 

He blinks at you, hearing your sound, and his grin grows all over again, massaging the back of your scalp as if you were a puppy. You reciprocate it, devilish with your own plan. Feral, feline, and incessantly horny for him. 

The water reaches your belly button and you turn off the tap without breaking the contact. Then, you tug his hand, inviting him into the bathtub. 

“Let’s pretend,” you say, knowing beforehand that he’ll get the message, the meaning of your vague words, and Hobi curses, pleasing you, brushing his hair out of his forehead, exposing the undercut that makes you even wetter. 

Such a beautiful Father. 

You tug him again. Create space for him in your tiny bathtub and he loosens your breath when he gets in and manhandles you—pushing you flush to his body and over his lap, his hands coming over your bum, kneading it, his slender fingers sneaking to the little hole that craves him. The sunlit water sloshes and it’s so intimate—the way it ripples around your body and his, stilling as he looks deeply into your eyes, the two of his digits circling around that virgin part of you. 

He’s going to consume the little purity you have left and there’s nothing you want more at this moment. 

“You want me here?” he murmurs, growling as he feels you open for him there when he prods it, and you drip, drip, drip onto his thighs. 

You kiss him, chastely, in his fashion, willingly giving over your purity. “And from the back.” 

He chuckles, flashing his white teeth, and you want them all over your body. The effulgence of his blush, too. 

“Lie back. I’ll get you ready for it.” 

Preparation, such an important word in your relationship. 

You do as he says, giddy, leaning against the rounded wall of the bathtub. Yelp as he raises your hips above the surface of the water and right onto his mouth, delving onto your pussy without a second spared, licking over the entirety of her, mouth open, letting you see everything. 

“Fuck,” he moans, smacking his mouth, and your legs hanging in the air begin to tremble. “I can feel you throb for me. You wanna be Mommy so bad, don’t you?” 

You can’t stop it, the scream of agreement that emits out of your mouth; that goes on once he swirls his tongue around that drumming pulse, learning its song—because as soon as he does, he sucks it, possessing it. Your orgasm crests and his hands never shake, never waver, holding you up as if in Greek celebration. 

You can feel the stone burst forth from your legs, completing, little by little, your transformation. He’s creating a sculpture out of you. Not of Virgin Mary, not of Mary Magdalene, either. A sculpture, authentic, of you. And on the cusp of your orgasm, he takes his tongue to your other, tiny hole, fucking you there with a verve as if he sensed the work of his hands that resume the godly abuse on your clit after he tells you to place your feet on the rim of the tub. 

And when you come, you’re white, smooth, magnificent and whole. 

You’re you, in the simplest of words. 

Mind spinning, swimming in the delight of groundedness, authenticity and love, all your body asks for is to be taken. You go to turn around, but Hobi stops you with a hand on your waist. 

“I want to look at you when I fill you up,” he croaks out, shades of pinks adorning him. As he is the God of everything, you think at heart he must be the God of all pink flowers with the way they blossom underneath his skin. You believe the same flowers will sprout out of your stone as soon as you’re stuffed full and feignedly bred. “I want to see the look on your face when you feel our kids inside you.”

Our kids. You close your eyes at the wave of a profound emotion sprinkling over you and you feel like crying, feel like sobbing, begging him for it, wanting your old life to be finally ended, killed, destroyed, wanting to cling to him with your whole being and newness, to his godliness, his flowers, his masculine fatherliness. You want to live in him, and the notion, the craving is so intense in you that you exhale it out with every breath, with every pleading word you give him. 

“Please, breed me. Please, please, please.” 

He sucks in that breath, eyes large and dazzling, filled with so much tenderness and adoration. Pulls you flush to his body again, raising you just a little bit as he lines himself up at your little hole. Spits on his fingers while boring that gaze into yours, so terribly up close, his knuckles brushing against the flesh of your bum as he spreads that lubrication over his tip. Does it again, rubs it over your hole. And a perverse obsession with it overpowers you, seizes you in its grasp, and you crave it. 

You gaze your lips along his, sharing a breath that is perfumed with the scent of roses. “Spit in my mouth.” 

Those eyes of his narrow in dark, dark pleasure and he nods in a promise. Driving your fingers up his undercut, you let your body follow his guidance as he sinks you down on him, stealing your mouth in a deep, long kiss that showers your figure in those familiar tingles. Discomfort parts them while you stretch around his tip, though, and he doesn’t stop kissing you, even when you mewl. In fact, he steps into that realm of the painful sensation by thumbing your clit, by toying with your tongue, and whimpering into your mouth when you convulse around him. Gets rid of anything that prevents you from accommodating him. 

Your thighs burn at the slowness of your descent, but once he’s nestled, at home, and you feel so full that you could come from it alone, Hobi breaks the kiss; and using the height difference, he spits into your waiting mouth, growling. Even his saliva is filled with powerful godliness and when you swallow and show him, the same power becomes yours. 

And he smiles. It seems as though he can see it on you and his mouth widens in a lopsided grin. You clench around him. 

“You’re such a good pup,” he praises and you do it again, coaxing a growl out of him. He still remains motionless, waiting for you to get used to him, and your love for him grows owing to that. “That was your reward.” A sigh, a grin. “Now I’m gonna fuck you hard.” 

You latch onto his neck, trembling like him. “Yes, please, Daddy.” 

It’s not just your life and his that joined. It’s your soul and his that becomes one singular face of joy when he begins to pound you. He whispers to you to keep holding onto him like that as he drives in and out of your little hole with such rapidness and hardness that you lose your own knowledge of your name. All you know is his. 

Hobi. Hoseok. Daddy.

And you whisper it, you say it, you scream it. All while the water sloshes around you; all while you stretch and tighten around him and his praises for you are strained, choked out, giving you all of his strength while remaining full of it as if he never gave you an ounce of it. 

His eyes never leave you, never stray away from your emotions, your pleasure, the twists of your features, the opening and closing of your mouth. And you look right back, your feline energy dousing him in sweat and ardor, the force that furrows his brows, that tightens his lips in a firm line and loosens it in pleasure as he bares his all. 

And suddenly, you’re up in the air and your wet back soaks your bed sheets. Hobi rummages in your Nike box under your bed and you feel yourself stretched open, a gaping hole for him. You gasp when you drift your finger along it and you already miss him there. 

Hobi chuckles at your disbelief, your most favorite toy in his hand. A pink egg—a clit sucker and a vibrator at the same time, though the vibrations never did much for you. It’s the pressure, sucking waves that kept you company in your singleness before Jungkook and after, save for the waves of the sea. 

“You never thought you could stretch like that, huh?” 

The ‘huh’ pinches you, but you shake that feeling away, understanding Hobi’s dislike when you asked him to spank you. A momentary sensation before your horniness washes it away at the soft sound of the toy coming to life. 

“Do you have lube somewhere?” Hobi asks, but you can’t speak. You point to the bedside table and he’s quick to slide it open, fishing out your raspberry and strawberry scented lube. 

What a coincidence. 

And you laugh when he squirts it on you from a distance, its coldness refreshing like a lick of ice cream to your heated body. And Hobi laughs along, smearing it all over you, especially over your still gaping, red hole, fingering you there with two fingers, fleetingly, just to tease you, just to pull those sounds out of you that get his head back in the game. 

Then he’s inside, back home. You can’t keep your eyes open and Hobi can’t swallow down his noises, growling and humming as loud as his body asks, ramming into you until all you can hear is his pleasure and the music of skin slapping on skin. 

And when you least expect it, he places the pulsing toy on your swollen clit. 

Your muscles strain, tense and taut, your throat dead silent as you can’t speak, can’t compose any sort of song of the delight that paralyzes your body. You scratch your nails down his back in effort to declare to him the beauty of his artwork and Hobi whimpers, pounding you into the mattress while keeping the toy steady, your breasts bouncing up and down, gleaming in the sunlight, pebbled, aroused, begging for his tongue when he looks down at them, his blush deepening. 

“Look at me,” he commands, stopping, so you can focus, and you begin to inhale quick, staccato breaths as your orgasm nears, the pressure in your tummy coiling and coiling, threatening to rip. You open your eyes, just in time to catch his endeared coo—because he can see how close you are. His lungs mimic the same rhythm, abdominal muscles prominent and defined as he, again, gives you his all. “There, baby?” he asks, speaking of the placement of the toy, and you’re only able to nod. “Ready to become a Mommy? Daddy is right there with you, pup. You squeeze around me so well, you’re doing such a good job. We’re gonna come together, yeah? You want to come with Daddy?” Another nod—because you’re trying your hardest to stall your orgasm as he jackhammers your little hole. You thank him in your heart, like the God he is, that he’s keeping the toy steady because if he were to move it… you’d come on the spot. “Say ‘yes, Daddy’ or I’m not letting you come.” 

You hiccup, shuddering so awfully pitifully while your cat-like aura of power strengthens, giving you all that you need to say it. And your eyes narrow in that sultriness, mouth pouts and you dig your claws deeper into his back, making him fuck your ass harder in payback that feels more than fucking delicious. 

“Yes, Daddy. Fuck, fuck. Give it to me, please. Make me a Mommy, please, fuck. Daddy, Daddy, Daddy—”

And it’s a litany without end as Hobi moves the toy side to side and sweeps you off your feet, bringing you over the threshold of your shared home with you as his bride in his arms. You come, violently, its electric sparks shocking Hobi and he pumps you full of his cum, never stopping his hard motions, even as he twitches, growls—praising you, groaning the two words you like—and shudders just like you. He fucks you through your feigned impregnation, throwing the toy away when you squeak in overstimulation in the middle of your delirium, and he kisses you as if he hadn’t done so in a thousand years, sucking your lips so hard that they must bruise, his mound hitting your clit and stimulating it further. The warmth, the wetness—tears line your eyes and the same ones wet his eyelashes as he presses his elbows on either side of your head, panting against you, his nose brushing yours. He stares down at you, a look full of shadowed, yet pure love, the realization that you’ve done it, at last, but differently, bathing his face in light that blinds you—and blinds your tears, drying them as you smile up at him, running your fingers through his hair, through his undercut. 

“I got a big load for you, pup,” he croaks out, fucking you, slowly. “I can’t fucking stop coming. You feel so good. I’m weak for you, fuck.” 

You sob, finding your voice, made tender by his cock. “Give it to me, Hobi. I want it all. All your kids.” 

He moans and proves it to you how weak he is by emanating such a pathetic sound that forces you, most saccharinely, to clench around him all over again, milking him out of every drop you stirred but never drank. 

And for it, Hobi marks you in the middle of your breasts. A big, red hickey, redolent of your raspberries. You hold him to your chest, like the Mommy he made you into, as he sucks onto your skin, nibbling, licking, the noises akin to blowing those raspberries while he makes sure the bruise lingers for as long as possible. Then, he travels to the peak of your left nipple, trailing his tongue flat over the curve on his way up, and you’re wet, bespeckled with his children that trickle out of you as another wave of sopping arousal comes over you, because he begins to make love to that stiffened pebble. You cry out, tug his ruined hair, try to tell him you can’t anymore and Hobi hears you, takes care of you. 

Drags his teeth along your nub. Flicks his eyes up to you as he sucks. “Milkie, please, Mommy.” 

You burst into a roaring laughter, your shoulders shaking, arousal erased, and Hobi chuckles, lifting himself onto his hands and kissing your forehead. He moves you to your side of the bed, your skin dry and scented by him, soothed by his natural scent and the residue of his patchouli fragrance. And you revel in it, as he leaves you for a moment to fetch some wet wipes, with which he, mirthlessly, cleans you off his stickiness. His aversion to it makes an indentation in his face as his brows curl downward, features solemn and terribly serious. 

Such an abrupt, speedy change of energy. Laughter dies out and fades into nothingness that spreads across your private atmosphere shared with him. Your mouth emulates the form of his dourness, cheerlessness blotching your now clean skin with invisible, downcast glitter that scarcely shines in the sunlight—and even that lessens, a cloud expanding over it, dimming it. 

You touch his face and he looks up. 

“Just a little more time and it’ll be here,” you say, seeping that hope, that promise into his pores by swiping your thumb along his warm cheek. “And then my belly will be big and full. And you’ll be Daddy Hobi.” 

He smiles, sadly, eyes glistening, and he kisses your nose, folding into your chest. You caress him, his hair, his back—discover plump, thick marks of your fingernails and you lighten your touch, barely grazing his skin with the tips of your fingers. When he resurfaces, another, different dents embellish his face—the fresh memory of the way he’s accepted hope on your bosom and you kiss him, sealing it. Kiss that downturned smile. That red nose, those brisk cheeks. And his eyelids, wetted by his eyelashes. 

“How do you like your coffee in the morning?” Hobi asks, turning over a new leaf, moving past. 

You brush his hair back, enjoying the silky feel of his strands slipping through your fingers. “With you.” 

He blushes, profusely, and you’re struck by the impression that he’s falling for you. There’s no fight this time, no war, only housewarming, submission and stability. You grip his hair, thank him with the silent gesture that also expresses how much it means to you because you, too, have fallen for him. With your heart, with your soul—with your entire being that has undergone so many transformations. 

Now you’re climbing a mountain with him and on its peak, your children, your home, your future await you. You’re almost there. You’ve become who you were meant to become and Hobi has received the promise of his deepest longing. 

One more thing, one more lift of the knee and you’re there, hand in hand with him—your husband, your God. 

He kisses you one last time, tells you to rest while he makes you coffee and breakfast. Hands you your phone. Helps you think of a short message that you immediately, without a thought spared, send. And while you lightly slumber, you dream of the promise, of the hope. Dream of your swollen belly, the ethereal picture revealing you looking at yourself in a floor-length mirror as Hobi stands behind you, assuaging you of the weight of your child by holding it with both of his hands, his imaginary wings, fully rosy, carrying half of it, folded over his knuckles, your fingers sunk between his and the feathers, silky, soft like his hair. It melts into another scene, in which you both hold the child, hip to hip, gazing at the mountain you climbed together once upon a time and the child, bearing a heavenly, delectable concoction of your and his features, cannot pull away their eyes from the peak. Their hair blows in the wind, rippling like their Father’s wings, and you and Hobi break their hypnotion by kissing each of their cheek. 

Hobi wakes you up with the same kiss—as if he was kissing you and not his child. And something about it heals you, gravely. 

You tell him about it over coffee and breakfast and he weeps. And while you weep with him, your tears fall for another, secret reason. For the period that you slept, Hobi baked vanilla pastries with raspberries and you would tell him about it, too, but you’d sit at the table all day. He has a curse to break and you don’t wish to prolong the time, not when you sense that it’s burdening him. 

Because his shirt is blood-splattered, he takes you to his house. And what you’ve never expected to happen—you meet his roommate. 

A munchkin cat with the littlest legs you’ve ever seen. Black and white coat blankets her chunky body and you sink onto your knees, extending your fingers to her tiny pink snout, just like her Daddy’s, and you die as the fur baby sniffs you and doesn’t run away in fear. It keeps smelling you in curiosity and you think it’s due to the fact she can recognize Hobi’s scent all over you. You’re so absorbed by the furry animal that you don’t even care to look around the vastness of its home and, like your child, you get broken out of the spell when Hobi chuckles. 

“Pet her. She likes you,” he says and you hear the familiar clanging of keys being set on the table, the leather of his wallet sliding along the wood and the thud of his phone as he empties out his pockets. 

Giddiness seizes you. 

You stroke down the baby’s fur on its head, cooing at its softness, at the way the wisps whirl in the air the more you pet it. And you squeal when she leans in into your touch as Hobi did not that long ago. Now you know who he gets it from. 

You take it into your arms, scratching its neck. It purrs and your heart springs, eager to embrace it. 

“Is it a boy or a girl?” you ask, enthralled by it, nuzzling your face into her fur. 

Hobi pets your head and you feel as small as the baby. You look up at him, knowing you radiate, visibly, the energy. He smiles down at you, shines down his love and joy clutches you so hard that you can’t breathe. 

“A girl,” he says, his smile widening, and before you can ask about her name, he already tells you. “Her name is Luna.” 

Luna. She’s your new best friend, your little baby, and you begin to entertain the idea of bringing her along to your misfit visit to your ex-boyfriend’s apartment because you can’t let go of her. Not when she purrs most homely, most happily. Not when she likes you so much that she’s not afraid of you. 

You haven’t grown up with animals, so when the opportunity comes and you get into contact with them, it’s difficult for you to unattach yourself from them.

Luna is yours now. 

Hobi pivots on his feet and you’re quick to scurry onto yours, following him into his bedroom. As you carry her, you take a moment to look around his living room. The color beige lines every detail of its spaciousness. From the walls, to the pigmentation of the stones that decorate the side, where a huge flatscreen hangs up, to the smooth floors that glow in the light. Beige, whites and grays, with the tiniest hints of browns, greens and yellows. Small plants and bigger palms sit in the corners, by the windows, and they give the room those colors—as well as his collection, which comes as the biggest surprise of all, of his modern art. You can see a rainbow of Bearbricks everywhere you look, especially in the brown kingdom of his bedroom. 

Those pretty one-eyed fuckers stare at you there. Along with their KAWS brothers. And they’re colossal. 

Hobi’s back faces you as he rummages in his closet. You kiss Luna on her empty head before you set her on the bed, walking over to Hobi amidst the dimmed light. His curtains are pulled in tight and you think about how he must’ve been getting ready for bed when he called you last night, only to sleep in your light-filled bed. You wrap your arms around him, too hasty with your need to give him your affection—you smear your foundation on his blue shirt, staining it further. And you kiss his back, planting a red lipstick mark right in the middle. It’s going in the laundry bin, anyway. 

Hobi reaches his hands back, fingers tapping along the open back of your white top, drumming there and you smile, finding it cute. 

“You really like those figurines,” you murmur, propping your chin on his spine, drumming your fingers on his abdomen in similar fashion. 

He laughs, softly, as if embarrassed, and you dig your claws, faintly, into his skin. No embarrassment for him—you’re not letting that in within him. 

“Don’t you fear they watch you while you sleep?” 

Now he laughs through his nose, swiveling his head halfway. “They’re my dream catchers.” 

You hum, endearingly, in high pitch, liking the sound of that. Wonder if he knows that he’s such a poet. “Everything you say is so poetic.” 

He massages your waist, deepening your hum. “Something tells me that’s your doing.” You punctuate the sound with a vulgar word and he squeezes the place he holds. No laughter, only alluring, affectionate seriousness. You sigh, blissfully. “I actually have a book of poetry here.” 

Your brows rise. “What?” 

Hobi clasps your hand, dragging you to his small library that is organized with his dream catchers. He pulls out a thick book with a white cover and hands it to you. 

Birthday letters by Ted Hughes. The husband of Sylvia Plath, the reason behind her suicide. The female poet who loved E. E. Cummings, the female poet, whom you loved, too, in your lonely girlhood. Who always inspired your longing to die as the curse over your life went on. 

It’s surreal to be holding a link to her when you’re standing at the end of the chapter of this curse. 

You didn’t die. 

You didn’t die. 

“I stole it from my school library,” Hobi explains with that lopsided smile of his, so fond, so full of old memories that you’re learning at this moment. Time stands still and you strain your ears, wanting to hear every syllable of it. “Everytime I would go hide there, mess around or just study, I’d always see this book. It would always be right in front of me. I thought, and I still do, that it has some kind of meaning. That it somehow needs to be in my life. So I took it. And it’s been here for more than a decade. I’ve never even read it.” 

You pout, touched by the symbolism, by the fact he never opened it. “Never?” 

Hobi shakes his head, shortly. “Never.” 

You look down at it, caress its cover. “Maybe it’s a dream catcher, too.” 

His mouth ends curl. “Open it. Read me something.” 

His fingers begin to undo the buttons of his shirt and you sense the magnetism of the symbolism attached to the book closing over you. You watch the work of his hands as you slip your digit into the middle of the book. Page one hundred and forty two. Portraits, the title of the unknown poem. But you don’t read it until he bares his chest and sits down on the edge of the bed. 

You stand between his outstretched legs. He rubs the back of your knees, waiting.

You skim your eyes over the page and break, prematurely. 

Licking your lips, you begin. 

“What happened to Howard’s portrait of you? / I wanted that painting.” 

You lose a breath, your throat constricting, and you gaze down at Hobi to see him lost in a thought that you can’t discern. 

Can he perceive the link? Does he realize who Howard is as you bring that poem into reality with your recitation? 

You continue, biting your lip, momentarily.

“Spirits helped Howard, ‘Sometimes / When I’m panting, I hear a voice, a / woman’s, / calling Howard, Howard — faint, / far-off, / fading.” 

Your phone dings in the front pocket of your ivory mini skirt—Howard has texted you back. The book droops out of your grasp as you fish out the device, your screen enveloping the room in a small twirl of brightness. 

Jungkook: my door is always open for you 

You pocket it back, the light snuffed out. The book quivers and you steady it with your other hand. “Jungkook texted me back.” 

Hobi is deathly still, in an uncanny way. “What did he say?” 

You lick your lips, but it’s not enough moisture. “That his door is always open for me.” 

He props an elbow on his knee, his teeth nibbling on a fleck of skin upon his thumb. “Keep reading.” 

Your breath shakes. You risk the question swathing your heart, needing to know whether you’re on the same page before you can go on. “Can you see the correlation?” 

He blinks, rapidly, as if awoken. “To what? You mean to the painting of you that I’m about to break?” 

You nod, relieved that he sees it, but the heaviness loiters. Slightly, you fear the next lines. “Jungkook is Howard.” 

His eyes stray, his being crestfallen, his mouth biting into his cuticle. He doesn’t say anything and you’re not sure if you should read on, but he taps the back of your knee that he still holds, propelling you to do so. 

In fact, he tugs on it, guiding you to sit on his thigh—like you did in your favorite reading armchair when you cleaned his wound. You flutter a kiss on the healing bruise that has the colors of his home and with a wet thumb, Hobi angles the book so he can read along with you, staining the page with his humanity, imprinting his presence, the gravity of the moment into it. 

It took a decade for the time to be right. Enough for him to read this. 

With you. 

You push away the panic regarding him not reacting to your affection, figuring the importance of this moment is held in higher regard. Clearing your throat, you continue. 

“He got carried away / When he started feeding his colors / into your image,” you stop, the words affecting your vocal cords with emotions. Hobi is the only one who knows what colors Jungkook used in the painting. How can a random page in a random book describe the flavor of the bane of the curse upon your life? How is it possible? You take a moment to regain your composure, willing smoothness into your voice. Hobi rubs your thigh with his hand, thumb tracing patterns, a help in need. “He glowed / At his crucible, on its tripod. / How many sessions? / Yaddo fall. Woodstoves. Rain, / Rain, rain in the conifers.” The rain that fell upon Hobi when you exited the museum after you talked to Jungkook. The rain that brought you closer to him as he shrouded you and himself in your trenchcoat. The memory is sweet, another help in need. 

“Tribal / conflict / Of crows and their echoes. You deepened. / Molten, luminous, looking at us / From that window of Howard’s vision of you.” 

Your scream in the middle of the night after that morning at the museum; the physical violence that followed after. The painting that was created in the same hours. 

“Yourself lifted out of yourself / in a flaming of oils, your lips exact.” 

The flaming of your reddened bum within Jungkook’s made-up world of the painting; the punishment that you broke out of his clutches and became your own person. 

You suddenly understand it, the painting. 

You feel sick. 

The poem is a maze, but Hobi looks as though he has the sixth sense that enables him to navigate through it. You’re burdened by your emotions, dragging your feet as you follow him, looking at him. He burns his sight into the scattered words, not breathing, not blinking, his thumb stuck in his mouth. He’s connecting the dots, the wheels turning in his brain. 

Luna crawls onto the other side of his lap, the third help in need. 

You take a deep breath. 

“Suddenly — ‘What’s that? Who’s that?’ / out of the gloomy neglected chamber behind you / Somebody had emerged, hunched, gloating at you, / Just behind your shoulder — a cowled / Humanoid of raggy shadows. Who?” 

The squeaks of breaks behind you, Jungkook stepping out of his car and joining the demon of shame looming at you, waiting for you to end your phone call with Hobi. 

“Howard was surprised. He smiled at it. / “If I see it there, I paint it. I like it / When things like that happen. He just came.’ / Came from where? Mystery smudge extra, / Stalking the glaze wetness / Of your new-fired idol brilliance. / I saw it with horrible premonition. / You were alone there, pregnant, and unprotected.” 

You snap the book shut, the lump in your throat so enormous in size that it alone begs you not to read on. Your chin quivers, but no tears come out, mind barren as the words alone, pregnant and unprotected echo within there. On an ungodly, immoral loop. 

Hobi takes the book from you and flings it into a corner of his room, hitting a lonesome gray figurine that topples over. Your eyes witness the movement, but you don’t grasp it. Numbness seizes you, the paralyzation of bizarreness that causes bile to push through the lump in your throat. 

You gag. 

“Where’s your bathroom?” 

Hobi is quick on his feet, but you don’t make it. The vomit spills through the cup of your palm over your mouth, staining your white top. Hobi carries you to his toilet, stained just the same. Holds your hair as you retch your guts out—the letters of the poem, the realization of its meaning, the symbolism, the raspberry pastries. Presses his lips against the nape of your neck, holding you together. 

Wipes your chin with toilet paper. Puts his plastic cup with cold water to your mouth to wash it clean with. 

Rips the three pages of the poem out of the spine of the book in taciturn fury, its ending never to be known.  

You watch him do it, with the same speechlessness, and you’re not sorry for the prosaic lawlessness—it strengthens you and it relieves you. Watch the tremor of his hands, after, as he constringes the poisonous papers in his fists. The book abandoned back in the corner with the figurine, vanquished. 

He paces the room, fleetingly, stopping in front of you. Gets on both of his knees. Grips your hands, with the crumpled papers. Kisses them. Over and over. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers onto them. The noise of the papers is like the shaking of leaves and you want to leave. You want this wretched thing settled. The smell of your puke hits your nostrils and it’s what prevents you from folding into him in the way he did this morning. 

“Nothing to be sorry for, baby. It’s fate,” you reassure, tearing the papers from his hold and throwing them away from his sight. Yours, too. It’s not his fault that the curse sneaked into something intimate he desired to share with you. But your heart aches that it did it before he knew you all those years ago, planted in its mind false beauty, only to cause ruination. You need it gone. “Help me take this off. Let’s go.” 

He sighs and the sadness of the sound deepens your ache, though all you can do is accept it and fight. The will is enough—if the conscious will is there, things will change, things will move forward and all will settle into place. 

Tomorrow will look different. 

Hobi dressed you in his clothing. A white linen shirt, to match your skirt. One would say it’s oversized, the way the fabric puffs and slides off your shoulder, not an item of masculine affection. You left your bra hanging by its strap on the handle of his closet. Left the buttons undone. Left the bruise between your breasts unconcealed, proudly, for every eye to see. He tied it in the middle, a tiny sliver of your midriff exposing tanned skin, because the hem would only bunch up the waistband of your skirt as it reached way down below. It could’ve been a dress alone, meant for loungewear, but you weren’t going to do much lounging. 

Hobi dressed you for war. 

He himself matched you. A white polo, beige pants, a vivid green beanie to hide the sweat coating his tousled hair. A king, ready to march. 

The king is dead, long live the king. 

You know the ending. You trust Hobi, you believe in him. So did Luna when he grabbed his keys, phone and wallet. She meowed so much encouragement that it curled a smile on yours and Hobi’s face. You nuzzled her, considering saying goodbye to her harder than facing Jungkook, the dead king, but her purring made it better. It was a promise that she would be here with another set of fluff balls of encouragement once you come back from the war. 

You thought the ride to Jungkook’s apartment would be silent, but no. Hobi put on his The Weeknd playlist, the dark, ambient songs from The Trilogy album saturating the shifting atmosphere. Placed his hand on your thigh while he drove. Things seemed normal as they did before shit hit the fan. Your body submitted to that impression and so you pretended it was so. Relived, quietly, in your mind the way you rubbed your clothed pussy on that very seat, steering him into insanity, which he controlled so well. 

A coping mechanism, that lustfulness. As you know it. But oddly, it didn’t turn you on. No, it composed you—tranquilized your emotions, so they wouldn’t be burdensome in the battle. 

“What are you thinking about?” Hobi asked, knowing he was five minutes away from Jungkook’s apartment. He didn’t live far away from him. 

Bizarreness.

He probably noticed your lack of visible reaction to your favorite singer. 

“I’m having flashbacks.” 

A beat of pause. “About?”

“About the way I drove you insane when I stuck my hand in my panties.” 

He hummed, softly, the noise barely audible. “You got so wet just from me praising you.” 

You sighed, delighted. “I did.” 

“I’ll never forget the fact that I ate you out first before I kissed you.” 

You smiled, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. “It comforts me,” you admitted, baring your private soul. “Sex. Lust. It’s not always dirty to me and it doesn’t always make me horny. It makes me feel safe.” 

He thought about your words, thumb searching for yours, waggling. You closed your palm over the back of his hand on the shift stick, hooking your thumb over his. 

“How did that painting make you feel?” 

You didn’t feel much. Just one singular emotion. “Furious.” 

“Why?” 

“It makes me angry that he thinks he still has a right to control my life. That he took what I consider to be safe and made it unsafe.”

He ruined the act of spanking for Hobi, which ultimately ruined it for you. It scarred him enough that he wasn’t able to do it to you when you asked him. And for that, you’ll never be able to forgive Jungkook.  

Hobi clenched his jaw. “When we get inside, I want you to think twice before you look at that painting. You’ve gone through a lot these past twenty-four hours. Put your well-being first, okay?” 

Your veins pump warmth into your heavy heart due to his care and you kiss his knuckles, leaning your cheek into them. “Okay.” 

“Good. I’ll break it anyways.”

The deal rings in the hallway as you walk towards his door, Hobi two steps behind you, obfuscating his presence. You rack your knuckles on the wood, your stomach rolling, your blood curdling into bits of frozen cranberries, and your lungs lack air. You don’t know if you can do this, if you can be posturing stoicness when the threat is right in front of you. You wish Luna were here with you, her fluffy wisps a reminder of her encouragement. You can’t even find her on the material of your skirt, for she’s as much clothed in white as you. 

The door opens, revealing a distressed, wrinkly Jungkook with the stars in his eyes tear-stained. The lines of his sleep shoot across his bare chest, down to his abdomen that he sucks in at the sight of you. And you don’t hate him for the way his eyes skip to the bruise in the middle of your breasts—because it were your eyes first that skimmed that low on him first. 

Shame stops your blood flow, which restores your forgotten memory of how further aroused your body became when you saw his excited manhood in the picture he sent you. It floods back at full speed, in tandem with the bile in your throat. 

“I didn’t expect you to come over so soon,” he says, confusion rasping his tone, and his wide eyes narrow once they whisk to a taller head behind you. He doesn’t say anything to acknowledge his presence, despite the fact you expected that much from him. A rude remark, the closing of doors. Anything but him opening the door wider and turning around, wordlessly inviting you in. 

And Hobi. 

The bile lowers. You exchange a worried look with him, but he runs a hand down the length of your hair upon your back. 

Bloodthirst flashes in his eyes. 

And you’re no longer sure if his plan is the right one to unravel. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist | READ part one | READ part two | READ part three | READ part four

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Sweeter Than Revenge Part 6

Fandom: Twisters, Tyler Owens, f!reader, Scott's Sister!reader Summary: Today is the day! You are riding with Tyler and Boone directly into a tornado. Get ready for an experience you'll never forget. Word Count: 3303 TW: Flirting, Kissing, Developing Feelings, Storm Danger, Scott Sucks, Language Notes: A massive thank you to @blue-aconite and @green-socks for reading this over for me and for all the constant support! And to @mayhem24-7forever for always answering my late-night panicked messages

Series Masterlist

After breakfast, you helped Dexter and Lily clean up and prepare to leave for the first chase of the day. You gathered up the trash bags, jogged the short distance to the dumpsters, and tossed them in. When you turned around, you jumped as you found Tyler standing in front of you.

Clutching your chest, you swore, “Damn it! Why does everyone have to keep popping up and scaring me!”

He grinned, swaggering forward as he said, “I saw that little show you put on with Boone. It seems like you might not be over that revengeful streak of yours after all.” He stopped a few feet from you.

You lifted one shoulder as you tilted your head down so you could look up at him from under your lashes. “What can I say, some habits are hard to break.” Stepping closer until your chest almost grazed his, you lifted your head and stared unwaveringly into his eyes. “And sometimes people need to be reminded they aren’t the only ones who can tease or play games. Or that maybe they aren’t as smooth as they think they are and others can see through their bullshit deflections.”

Tilting his head, almost in a sign of deference, he murmured, “Good to know. Maybe you should take your own advice.” 

He leaned his head closer to yours…then pivoted and walked back towards his truck, once again leaving you flustered and your cheeks burning. As you silently cursed him, he yelled over his shoulder, “Oh, you might wanna have a talk with Boone about that little act before he shows up at your room with flowers and a box of chocolates.” 

You rolled your eyes and trudged after him.

It turned out, Tyler may not have been exaggerating. When you made it back to the camper van, Boone was there waiting for you, asking if you needed any help or if he could carry something for you or if you wanted something to drink or—

You couldn’t see Tyler, but you swore you heard him snickering somewhere nearby. 

As politely as possible, you explained to Boone that while you appreciated his offers, you were fine and that you hoped he didn’t get the wrong impression from your hug earlier. Boone’s face flushed as he stammered out a few “‘course not”s and “we’re cool”s before excusing himself and slinking away. You felt really bad at essentially using him, especially after he had been nothing but kind to you. Once again, you kicked yourself for allowing the old you to come to the surface and not having the self-control to stop playing games. 

Luckily, everything seemed to be forgotten by the time you joined Tyler and Boone at the red pickup a few minutes later. Boone was back to his usual excitable self as he prepared his camera and showed you how everything worked. Between his handheld with the live stream and the several other cameras mounted in the truck capturing video to be edited later, it was actually more complex than you had imagined. It seemed as if you really had underestimated Boone, and that made you feel even worse for involving him in your scheme earlier.

Then suddenly, it was time to roll out. You had been so focused on your behavior that morning that you hadn’t thought about what was about to happen next. As the last of the bags were stowed away in one of the vans and Dexter did one last run down of the current weather patterns, a knot began to form in the pit of your stomach. Telling yourself you would be driving into the middle of a tornado today had been one thing. Now facing the very real fact it was about to happen, you wondered if you should have skipped breakfast. 

On trembling legs, you walked over to Tyler’s truck and reached to open the back door. But just as your fingers closed around the handle, an arm draped itself across your shoulders. “Nuh uh, sweetheart. You’ve got shotgun.” 

You turned to face Tyler, the knot that had been forming in your stomach tightening. “But I thought Boone—”

“Boone can get plenty of footage from the back. But this being your first time wrangling a storm, we want to make sure you have a front-row seat to the action.” Tyler opened the passenger door for you. When you hesitated, he raised an eyebrow. “Unless you’re having second thoughts about riding with us? There’s always room for you in one of the other vans.”

Swallowing hard, you said, “No. I-I can do this.” 

You started to climb in, but Tyler grabbed your arm. Positioning himself so no one else could see you between his body and his truck, he softly murmured, “Listen, it’s okay if you don’t want to. You don’t have to do this to try and prove something to anyone, even to yourself. Just coming with us after the storm like you did yesterday already puts you on the list of the bravest people I’ve ever met. And no one—not me, not your brother—no one can ever take that away from you. But—” he leaned over so the brim of his hat brushed against the top of your head and his thumb caressed your arm “—if you do want to go, I promise I won’t let anything happen to you. It’s your choice.”

The sincerity in his tone left no doubt that he meant what he said. If you decided to ride with Lily or Dani and Dexter instead, there would be no judgment. Tyler wouldn’t look down on you or think less of you for it, and that was all you needed to make up your mind.

Shooting him a grateful smile, you said, “Thanks, but I really do want to do this. And I always feel safe with you, Tyler, so I know this time won’t be any different.”

He grinned. “Alright then. Let’s go wrangle us a tornado.” 

He squeezed your arm one last time before helping you climb into the truck. Then he shut your door and hurried over to the driver’s side. Boone hopped in the back seat with an excited whoop just as Tyler’s door slammed shut.

You quickly buckled your seatbelt—trying to not think about the thick harness you hadn’t noticed the last time you rode up here—and settled back into your seat. But you froze as you looked out the windshield and saw Javi and Scott standing the Storm PAR vehicles still parked next to the main office. They were both staring right at you: Javi’s expression somewhat concerned yet accepting while Scott’s was nothing but pure apathy. 

You wondered if Javi told Scott the two of you had talked last night, though you hoped he kept it to himself. Not for your sake (you doubted it would have changed Scott’s opinion of you) but you didn’t want Javi to put himself into an uncomfortable position playing mediator for his business partner and said business partner’s sister. 

Tyler noticed who you were staring at and asked, “We good to go?”

You sighed. “Let’s do this.”

He nodded and started the engine. Easing the truck forward slowly, he rolled down his window and when he pulled alongside the group from Storm PAR, Tyler shouted, “Hey, Scotty! Make sure you watch the stream today so you don’t miss out on your sister’s first time driving headfirst into a tornado!”

You maintained eye contact with Scott, waiting for him to demand you get out of the truck or refuse to let you do something this dangerous. But instead, he just scoffed as he folded his arms across his chest. “Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it. She was scared of thunder until she was a teenager. Trust me, she’ll be begging you to turn the truck around before you get a hundred feet from a storm.”

Lowering your eyes, you sunk further into your seat. Not only had he shaken the little confidence Tyler had helped build up in you, but Scott had just revealed something utterly embarrassing to your new friends. It was true that you had cowered under your covers or hidden from all windows in the middle of bad thunderstorms well into your teenage years, but you had gotten past it. However, you didn’t want the people who faced some of nature’s most dangerous weather on a daily basis to know that!

For a long moment, Tyler just stared at your brother. Then, shaking his head, he asked, “What is wrong with you?” before pulling out onto the road. 

Once the motel had disappeared in the rearview mirror, Tyler reached over and rested his hand on your knee. “Hey, don’t listen to him, okay? He’s just trying to get under your skin. You got this.”

You nodded and tried to smile at him, but you could tell it didn’t look as confident as you hoped. 

From behind you, Boone let out a low whistle. “That dude’s really your brother?” You nodded. “Dang, no wonder you decided to hang out with us instead. He sucks.”

The unexpectedness of that assessment caused a burst of laughter to escape your lips. Tyler glanced over, grinning and squeezing your knee. Your smile widened, feeling less forced and more genuine. Looking at the other storm chaser in the visor mirror, you chuckled. “Yeah, Boone. He really does suck.”

Tyler had mentioned he was looking for a smaller EF1 or EF2 for your first time out. However, the storm the Wranglers ame across looked much bigger than that. It was at least twice as wide as the tornado you saw yesterday, yet Tyler and Boone didn’t seem the least bit concerned. If anything, they seemed more excited than you had ever seen them before.

As the sky grew darker and the truck began to sway slightly in the increasing winds, you dug your fingers into the interior of the truck so tightly that your knuckles cracked. Scott was right. You weren’t brave enough for this. What the hell were you thinking wanting to go on a chase? It wasn’t a game. Thousands of people were injured or killed in tornados every year and now you were going to just drive up next to one? Possibly even into one? This was insane!

Seemingly sensing your mounting fear, Boone leaned forward, his head poking between you and Tyler, as he looked at his friend. “You sure she’s ready for this, T? I mean, no offense, but this one might be a little much for someone who's never done this before.”

But Tyler just grinned. “Nah, she’ll be fine. Won’t you, sweetheart?”

You nodded, your eyes wide in terror as you stared at the approaching storm. “Y-yeah. I’ll be fine.” 

Your voice betrayed the anxiety that was flooding every cell of your body, but Tyler reached over and took your hand, prying it carefully off the center console and giving it a tight squeeze. The small gesture instantly caused the panic rising within you to mellow slightly. The idea of what you were about to do still terrified you, but knowing Tyler was behind the wheel made it somewhat bearable. 

He nodded to the harness hanging limply on the sides of the seat. “We won’t need those for a bit, but you might feel a little more comfortable if you strap in now. You know, just in case.”

Immediately, you slipped your hand from his and began fumbling with the harness. It seemed pretty straightforward but seeing how your hands were shaking, it’s more difficult than you initially thought. Without taking his eyes off the road, Tyler reached over and straightened the strap that was twisted across your chest. Then he helped you click it into place before taking your hand once more. However, this time, he raised it to his lips and placed a soft kiss on the back. It was more demure than the kiss he had placed there last night, but it still sent the same thrill through you all the way down to your toes. You quickly glanced in the visor mirror, but luckily it seemed Boone was too preoccupied with getting his camera set up to see what had just occurred. 

Tyler continued holding your hand until rain began pelting the windshield, the storm now looming so large in front of the truck that it seemed to block out everything else. You heard Boone starting his video introduction in the backseat but you didn’t register anything he said as you sat frozen in your seat staring at the approaching storm. It wasn’t until Boone nudged your shoulder rather forcefully that you realized he had been speaking to you. 

Shaking your head, you asked, “What?”

Boone chuckled nervously, glancing from the camera to you. “I said introduce yourself to the chat.”

“Oh, sorry.” You quickly said your name then continued to stare into the lens like a deer caught in the headlights as Boone left it focused on you, unsure of what else he wanted.

Luckily, Tyler came to your rescue. Grabbing Boone’s hand and swinging the camera to focus on him, he said, “Y’all probably remember me mentioning our newest Wrangler in yesterday’s stream. Well, she handled that storm like the pro she is so we thought we’d give her a shot at the main attraction today. Ain’t that right, sweetheart?” 

Tyler winked at you before turning the lens back in your direction. You smiled and nodded. “Yep! We’re gonna…wrangle us a tornado!”

It felt a bit stilted, but the pride and warmth radiating from Tyler as he looked at you made you feel like you had just given an Oscar Award-winning performance. You bit your lip and looked away as you felt the heat rushing to your cheeks. But then you remember what Tyler had said about you hiding your face when someone compliments you so you turn back and look him dead in the eye. The warm look on his face only intensified before he turned his attention back to the road ahead.

A few minutes later as he pulled the truck into the path of the storm, Tyler slowed to a stop. He flipped a few switches on the center console and pressed the red button on top of the joystick positioned there. You heard a whirring sound and the truck seemed to sink into the ground slightly. Tyler must have deployed the augers to lock the truck in place. Dani mentioned yesterday that they had never failed since they were installed and you prayed today wasn’t the day that changed.

But as the edge of the storm grew closer and closer, you felt a fresh wave of terror grip you. Placing both of your feet on your seat, you wrapped your arms around your knees, curling into yourself as much as the safety harness would allow. You focused all of your energy on your breathing, trying your hardest not to start hyperventilating. But as the tornado finally hit the front of the truck, you let out a small squeal and buried your head in your knees.

However…nothing happened. The truck didn’t flip wildly out of control. The windows didn’t shatter into a million pieces. The augers didn’t give out. 

Slowly, you raised your head. The entire truck shook and vibrated around you, the sensation sending tremors throughout your body. Outside, random bits of debris struck the truck but nothing seemed to be able to break through its upgraded structure. As the initial wall of wind passed by the truck and you found yourself deeper into the storm, you actually found yourself relaxing slightly, unfurling yourself where you had tucked into a tight ball. If something bad was going to happen, it would have been when the tornado first hit the truck. Right?

Tyler leaned over until his lips brushed the curve of your ear and he whispered. “Look up.”

You could just make out the words over the howl of the storm but you did what he said. Tilting forward, trembling as your face neared the windshield, you squinted up into the wind. For a moment, all you saw was dirt and debris swirling around. But then you noticed a smaller, tighter vortex dancing through the center almost as if there was a tornado within the tornado. And as you followed this swirl up, you gasped as you caught just a glimpse of the sky peaking through the opening of the funnel. It was one of the brightest blues you had ever seen and it was utterly magical. 

You looked over at Tyler. His face was beaming as he watched you and, in that moment, he was even more breathtaking than the storm. Time seemed to stop and nothing else existed besides the two of you. Not the storm, not Boone, not the camera, nothing.

Your eyes met…then so did your lips. You weren't even really sure who initiated it and you didn’t care. His lips molded against yours perfectly, his tongue dancing across the entrance of your mouth as he tested his boundaries. But when you parted your lips further, he slipped inside as he wrapped his hand around the back of your neck and drew you closer. He tasted like coffee with just the hint of peppermint. And as his stubble scraped across your skin, you hummed at the shiver it sent racing down your spine. 

The kiss was everything you had been imagining and so much more. 

Needing more, you tried crawling across the center console to straddle his lap but something hugging you tightly across your chest stopped you. It was only then that you remembered the harness holding you into your seat. Your fingers scrambled against the buckle, finally unhooking it—

“And they say there ain’t no love in Oklahoma! Well, if that ain’t love, I don’t know what is!”

You and Tyler both jumped apart, startled by Boone’s joyful exclamation from the backseat. Horrified, you realized he had just filmed your kiss and broadcasted it live on the Wranglers’ YouTube channel. You buried your face in your hands, only peeking through the smallest crack to see Tyler’s reaction. 

He ran his fingers through his hair, brushing the fallen strands off his face as he muttered, “Boone–”

But his fellow storm chaser paid him no mind. “You saw it here first! The tornado wrangler himself has been wrangled by a new beau.”

“Boone.”

“And if any of you out there has ever wondered if two people could kiss in the middle of a tornado, I guess we have our answer!”

“Boone!” Tyler shot you an exasperated look and you lowered your hands, chuckling softly at the silliness of the whole situation. It was only then that you also noticed the storm had passed and everything outside the truck was now calm. Too bad the same couldn’t be said for inside the truck.

Tyler reached into the backseat and wrestled the camera out of Boone’s hands. Then, he took a breath and aimed the camera at himself as he plastered on a smile. “Well, I guess that’s it for today, folks. Things took a bit of an unexpected turn but in the middle of a storm, you never know what might happen! Thanks for watching and as always, if you feel it—” he leaned across the center console until his face was next to yours in the shot “—chase it.” And he pressed his lips against yours once again.

You could feel Tyler grinning against your mouth as you returned his kiss. Without pulling away, you reached out and covered the lens of the camera with your hand. The world had seen enough of you and Tyler for one day. However, if you had your way, the two of you were just getting started. 

Part 7 coming 9/23!

[cannellee]

TOKYO REVENGERS OMEGAVERSE ★

୨୧ alpha! tokyo revengers x omega! reader (pairing: mikey, draken, baji, chifuyu, mitsuya, kokonoi, kakucho, taiju)

— how they act around their pregnant s/o.

tw : mention of sex in chifuyu's, possessive behaviour.

my masterlist : ☆

(this one is probably not the best I did, that's a 2nd version here😭 I actually finished it the day before and went to sleep, turns out I didn't save it so I had to rewrite everything from the start! I was less motivated, hope you don't mind the quality😭)

MIKEY

mikey is constantly on edge, you'll need to calm him down yourself because he sometimes can't control his reactions.

he's just anxious something might happen to you or your baby, he wants to be at your side all the time.

he is a bit nervous about being a dad but wants to support you with his whole being and show you that he can will take care of you and your future pup.

he is always trying to make you stay in bed : you don't need to do anything when your alpha can think and do things for you!

all you have to do is rest and stay safe inside the nest he scented for you.

rarely goes out too, and if for some reasons he does, he's spreading his pheromones like crazy outside of your home.

now that you're pregnant, your smell is even sweeter, he can't let anyone know there's a vulnerable omega without her alpha in this house while he's gone.

but everyone who even catches the smell of mikey knows not to mess with him. his scent is enough to send other alphas trembling.

if you thought mikey was clingy before, just imagine him when you're pregnant... absolute violation of privacy, this man is not letting you breath you have to blackmail him to make him wait outside of the bathroom.

he's sulky when he explains that he's just worried about you, so you make compromises and set rules.

but mikey is overall 10x softer now that you're pregnant, his scent has changed to fit your needs. it's more calming and he's constantly burying his nose at your scent glands.

DRAKEN

so so careful with you :(

if you think draken was sweet before, just imagine him during your pregnancy.

he is the perfect alpha and has every quality you would expect in an alpha, it's only natural he looks after you the best way someone can.

spoon feeds you!

now those 9 months are just more time for you to bond with your alpha ; you do everything together and draken assures you a healthy and stress free environment.

he's a really good listener and extremely attentive to your needs, he knows you so well he'll comfort you exactly how you need it.

and when your hormones are tormenting you and you take it out on a loving draken, you can't help but feel bad about your actions. so you leave the nest where you both were resting and put yourself in timeout.

as funny as it might sound, draken doesn't like it one bit and wastes no time going after you. he will scent you and reassure you that everything's fine, your alpha's here and he understands so don't worry <3

he will gently tuck you back inside your nest and prevent you from leaving once again by positioning you in a way that makes it impossible for you to get up on your own (especially with your big stomach).

wakes up first so he can make breakfast for you everyday and doesn't let you overwork yourself : he takes your health very seriously.

CHIFUYU

his pregant omega is probably the most well catered for omega ever.

chifuyu is just anxious about doing anything wrong that he studied every videos, magazines and books he could get his hands on.

now there's absolutely nothing that can go wrong.

always brings you new nest items, the softest and cutest plushies, comfortable pillows along with warm blankets.

everything has been scented of course. chifuyu loves your pregant smell, it's even sweeter than usual, but he can't stop himself from spreading and covering you with his pheromones.

he just doesn't want anyone coming too close to you, he has to put some sort of warning.

chifuyu keeps track of your meal and what you had for dinner. he's not the best but he tries and cook for you. he wants you to rest.

he makes the healthiest lunches, saying you and your baby need veggies to stay healthy and prepare yourself for the d-day.

chifuyu is in total bliss, he's always scenting you and cuddling with you inside your nest.

his alpha makes it his duty to have you satisfied. if you're feeling stressed chifuyu is quick enough to make the source of your anxiety disappear.

he's fast to catch on stuff like that.

if you want sweets or any snacks, he will bring them to you unless you don't have it at home. then he will run to the nearest store and come back with more than you asked.

if you ever feel horny, chifuyu is burying his nose in your pussy and won't let you rest until you're passed out from pleasure.

he's always gently reminding you of how proud of you he is. chifuyu's just so in love like that <3

alpha chifuyu is all about making his omega happy and showing how well he can provide. his omega didn't make a bad decision mating with him!

BAJI

if you thought mikey was on edge, baji is 10x worse.

baji's overprotective and doubting everybody's intentions, you could say he's a bit delusional at times.

and you can say whatever to make him chill out, he won't.

he is now your shadow and follows you everywhere. he doesn't understand why you would want some alone time when he only wants to protect you and make you feel safe.

absolutely forbids you from using perfume or any foreign fragrance : he will be scenting you every minute. that's just his instincts talking.

will try and do some cooking or cleaning to lessen your work but is honestly not that great in those fields.

this is why you softly tell him to give up and that you're happy to make both of your lunches<3

won't insist and instead you'll have guard dog baji sitting not far from you and watching you close just in case you need him to do something or to prevent you from accidentally hurting yourself.

he will also tone down his usual teasing. he doesn't fully grasp what pregnancy does to you, but he notices that you get tired more easily and that you're quickly carried away by your emotions.

he doesn't want to become an external source of stress for his already sensitive omega.

belly kisses!! baji is in love with your round tummy and can't help but fall to his knees and place gentle wet kisses all over your skin.

loves seeing you waddle around with you belly round of his pup. he's full of pride and you swear you can see stars in his eyes when he looks at you...

KOKONOI

another reliable alpha.

everything is on standby after you announced your pregnancy.

you're his #1 priority (not that you weren't already).

kokonoi and you are now attached to the hip.

he is a bit anxious about doing anything wrong but he doesn't let it show, he can't let his emotions contaminate you or the baby.

he is very strict with himself and doesn't allow himself to display a single sign of weakness: he wants to be strong and reassuring during your pregnancy. kokonoi knows it's not easy and wants you to rely on him as much as possible.

also, anything you want is yours in a minute. be it a massage, food, nest supplies and anything you ask.

kokonoi can't let his perfect omega needy, as her alpha he has to fulfill every one of her wishes.

understands if you want to go out for a bit, you can't stay inside for 9 months... but kokonoi is watching everyone walking past you with a death stare.

only lets his guard down when you're back inside, the only place he deems safe enough for you to be.

he is so dedicated to you, nothing's too much when it comes to you.

he's spending without counting and wishes to make the both of you the happiest people on earth.

now kokonoi will have to protect and care for 2 persons, his past makes him extra aware of the unfairness of the world, this is why he'll work even more. he doesn't want any of you to lack anything.

thus you could say he's a bit more overprotective than usual.

his hand is always on your belly, would let his hand fusion with your stomach if he could.

he just loves your round belly so much! and you scent... kokonoi isn't sure when he has smelled something that good, he's constantly burying his nose in the crook of your neck.

KAKUCHO

can something even go wrong when kakucho is your alpha?

he's so thoughtful you thank god every day he's your alpha. will bring you everything you need before you even ask for it.

if you need fresh air, kakucho is immediately wrapping you up and checking on his phone which places are the calmest and most pleasant. he knows the importance of your mental health during those months and won't prevent you from doing anything.

those dirty alphas eyeing you up during you daily walks better beware! alpha kakucho is the definition of "don't worry love, I can fight".

will take down anybody who tries to spoil your stroll. his omega should be able to do anything without being disturbed.

kakucho is the best at dealing with your mood swings : never complains and never brings it up again once it's over. he won't make fun of you ever and will instead try his best to appease you.

often does it by showering you with his pheromones. otherwise he has you tucked in his arms, pressing your head to his scent gland at the crook of his neck.

he knows his smell calms you down and you're so grateful to your alpha for being so understanding <3

kisses everywhere and anywhere!

grabs you by the waist and makes you turn, makes you laugh and brings you flowers and others gifts everytime he comes home : his only goal is to see you smile.

seeing you pregant reminds him of just how much he loves you and how happy he is to have his own little family with you.

MITSUYA

mitsuya is ready.

nothing can go wrong when mitsuya is your alpha.

probably has the biggest breeding kink out of all the list here. he loved seeing you take care of his sisters like a good omega would, so your pregnancy was a dream come true.

goes to parenting lessons with you and reads ton of magazines about the subject.

mitsuya can't and won't fail as a father.

you can rest assured when mitsuya is here, he's not leaving anytime soon.

has temporarily changed his work place, he's now doing everything at home and won't hesitate to drop everything if you call for him.

he wanted to be able to satisfy any of your cravings without delay. plus, his instincts have been going crazy since you got pregnant and he can't focus at all if he isn't sure you're doing perfectly well.

he has to keep an eye on you.

you can't go out, mitsuya is here for that. he can't put you in any danger, that's why he will quickly do any errands or buy anything you ask.

everything is homemade with mitsuya. the massages, the delicious and healthy meal he cooks for you along with the clothes he's been sewing are all from your lovely alpha mitsuya.

that's his way of showing you he can and will take care of the both of you without any doubt.

alpha mitsuya with a pregant mate is more possessive than usual.

he is currently working on plushies that he can scent and put in your nest.

he knows your nest is even more of a sacred place now, that's why he takes great care of it and vows to make it the most comfortable and familiar nest for you and your future pup.

constantly tells you how proud he is that you're carrying his pup and that you're doing so well.

will start purring a bit as well as scenting your scent glands any time you're cuddling, he knows how stressed you can get :(

TAIJU

if you thought taiju was a menace to society before, your pregnancy triggered something in him.

he's now a danger for anyone whom you crosses path with.

that's why you'd rather stay inside with him, he just sees everyone as a potential threat that you both can't go out like a normal couple.

but that's fine though, taiju considerably softened and is at your beck and call. all of black dragon is yours to use, whatever the reason.

kokonoi & inupi were ordered to keep and eye on you and secure the area around your house so that nobody suspicious can even come close.

it's not that taiju can't defend you himself, he just doesn't want to put you through unnecessary stress.

that would mean he has to leave your side for a bit and he can't do that in your state. you need proper care at all time.

taiju feels a great sense of pride and accomplishment watching you walk around full of his pup.

he's always dreamed about growing his family, nothing matters more in his eyes.

you are what has the most importance for him, and now that his cute little omega is pregant he's in complete bliss.

his behaviour has considerably changed to fit your needs. he can't let any negative emotions go past your radar, he knows how emotional pregnancy is making you and he doesn't want to make you anxious.

isn't a fan of pda but it's the only thing he's been doing since you announced your pregnancy.

lets you do anything to him. he's like a gentle bear who is threatening only to others.

taiju is just so in love. his omega is so perfect, all sweet and docile. your pregnant body seals the deal and you won't ever leave him now. this thought alone puts his mind at ease.

[vienssunshine]

You Taste Sweeter Than Revenge

pairing: Josh Washington x fem reader nsfw word count: 4.2k content warning: non-con elements (voyeurism) author's note: I think Josh having a love interest would get in the way of his "prank"

Finally, finally, you get a moment to yourself. You lean your head back against the wooden door of the guest room, basking in your long-awaited solitude.

The process of getting everyone up and settled at the Washingtons’ lodge was draining: Chris wouldn’t shut up about how he caught Sam snooping on his phone, Emily and Jess were at each other's throats over Mike, and Mike and Matt kept competing to be the alpha of the group. 

And then there was Josh. Though not as much of a headache as the others, he stirred up some feelings in you that are…more intense than you expected. 

Compared to the strong personalities of your friend group, Josh is someone you can relax around; he’s a little peculiar, but sweet and charming in his own way. You two have a strong friendship, however, due to his tendency to be a flirt, you sometimes question the nature of your bond. His teasing affects you more than you’re willing to admit, especially since you find him easy to look at. Thankfully, the comforting knowledge that he says that kind of stuff to everyone allows you to maintain the friendship and keep your attraction as low-key as possible. 

Except, you’re having a difficult time with that right now. You can only blame yourself, you’ve been suppressing your feelings towards Josh for so long that it makes sense they’d bubble back up at some point. You just didn’t expect it to be tonight, or to be this bad—every cell in your body is pulsing with desire. 

You make your way over to the bed, lying down on it and staring at the ceiling.

Fuck, how does he do this to you?

It started simple, totally harmless. Sam wanted hot water to take a bath, so Josh brought you down to the basement to help him out.

"Hey, it worked!" you exclaimed after hearing the low rumble of the boiler firing up.

“Attagirl,” Josh said, giving you a high-five.

His praise caused a shy smile to break out across your face before you could stop it, making you pray he didn't notice. He did.

"Seems like you're really into high-fives," Josh remarked, "Or, is it the person you're high-fiving?"

He's like this with everyone, you reminded yourself, any flirty banter was nothing special.

"Just love a good high-five," you said, avoiding his eyes by looking down to the basement’s cracked cement.

“Floor that interesting?” he teased, taking a step forward.

His movement prompted you to step back, but you stumbled when your heel hit the shelving unit full of boxes behind you.

Josh’s hands landed on your shoulders, steadying you, but even after you recovered, they stayed there, unmoving. With your eyes now adjusted to the dim basement light, you could note that he had moved much closer than what was necessary to help you. One small lean forward would press his chest to yours. 

“Josh?” you said, searching for an explanation for the sudden but—though it makes you feel guilty thinking it—welcome closeness. 

A mischievous grin lit up his face and he returned your question with one of his own: “Scared?”

You let your hand fall down onto his chest, fingers fiddling with a button on his flannel. “Not at all,” you responded. You attempted to make eye contact with him after answering, but it felt too intimate with him so close, so you turned your gaze away, yet no matter where you cast it, you’d still see him, his body was enveloping yours.

“Ah, I see, so you’re scared and a liar,” Josh retorts with a smirk. His hand came up to your jaw, holding your face still so you couldn’t avoid looking at him anymore, “What’re you so afraid of, little kitten?” 

“Don’t call me that,” you deflected, rolling your eyes. Even though you were trying to come off as unaffected, little sparks flickered and fizzed in your body like summertime fireworks. Was this how a friend should make you feel?

“Oh? Is there something better I should call you instead?” Josh said, tracing his thumb along your jaw. “I can come up with something. Let’s see…honey?” He shook his head, “Nah, too marital. Hmmm, baby? That’s pretty basic, isn’t it?” 

“You done yet?” you huffed, shifting your weight and continuing to pretend that hearing him call you pet names wasn’t making your stomach flip. He was being more persistent than usual, it made you wonder what was going on with him tonight.

“I guess I’m not good at this whole romantic nickname thing.” He released your jaw from his hold so his fingers could travel up and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, “What if I just told you how pretty you are instead?” 

Usually you could fend off his flirty comments by retorting with a somewhat decent response, but you were entirely at a loss for what to say. It didn’t help that your body was working against you, fully responding to Josh’s advances in a distractingly enthusiastic way. It’s hard to figure out why he’s being so aggressive with his flirting when your heart is thundering in your ears.

You try to move back, only to be reminded of the shelves of storage keeping you in place, sandwiching you between them and Josh’s large frame. Since retreat wasn’t an option, you tried to diffuse the situation as best you could. 

“Slow down there,” you said with a nervous laugh, “A girl could get the wrong idea.” 

With your palm on his chest, you felt his heart begin to pound. Josh’s hands moved down to your waist, traveling more hesitantly than his brusque teasing suggested they would. You forced yourself to keep your expression unchanging when they rested on the curve of your torso, sending scattered bolts of electricity up your sides. There was anxious authenticity in his tone as Josh said, “Maybe I’ve been wanting you to get that idea for some time now.”

You weren’t sure what to think, was he trying to say he was into you? But, that couldn’t be it, he flirts with everyone, not just you. A conversation he had with Chris that was particularly homoerotic came to mind. It was clear you weren’t special. However, there have been multiple times his attention towards you felt heavy-handed, though you tried to not overthink it, not wanting to be wrong about his intentions. Regardless, as he spoke to you, there was an undeniable charge in the air, the anticipation of what his possible confession meant buzzing around the two of you. If he was saying what you thought he was, this could be your chance to tell him how you’ve felt all this time.

His eyes flicked over your face and just as you opened your mouth to respond, a loud noise made both of you jump.

It was a metallic, dull sound filling the basement with its unsettlingly rhythmic beat. Both of you turned your heads to one of the hallways in the basement where the sound was coming from. 

“Uh, sorry to interrupt this, but, and I really don’t want to, I think we should check that out,” you told Josh.

He blinked, reorienting himself, and then said, “Yeah, uh…sure, let’s go.”

You both began to walk deeper into the basement, closing in on the origin of the unnatural noise. It bellowed through the basement’s cement walls, consuming the hallway with its ominous tone. You followed a few paces behind Josh, but as you got further down the hall, you brought your hand forward and wrapped your fingers around his forearm. Being able to feel him made you feel safer. He paused for a second, but didn’t say anything, so you kept your hand on him as you advanced.

You were about to turn the corner and follow the noise further down into the basement when a shadowy figure jumped out at you. Your heart stopped beating for a second, only resuming its rapid pounding after you had turned and begun to run from the intruder. 

Sprinting down the hallway, you yelled for Josh to run, the next and only thought in your brain being the escape that was the basement door. The masked figure followed in hot pursuit, just a few strides behind you. 

You jumped up the basement stairs three at a time until you reached and nearly collided with the door, needing to step back before trying to pull it open. You yanked and you pulled, but the door was unyielding. You were screaming nonsense at Josh, and he was responding to you as best he could, telling you that everything was going to be okay. His arm hovered around you protectively, separating you from the approaching intruder. 

The masked figure reached the top of the stairs and Josh stepped toward him, taking on a defensive stance. Then, the man draped in black held his arms up above his head and let out a ghostly wail that sounded…stupid. 

Your eyebrows pressed together, and you choked out a “Huh?”, looking over to Josh, who had cracked a smile. 

Your eyes darted between the two men, trying to work out what was going on. The intruder pulled off his mask, revealing Chris underneath, cracking up at the ingenious of his own prank. 

“You’re fucking kidding me,” you said, face burning up. 

“Good one, Cochise,” Josh congratulated.

You punched Chris in the shoulder, huffing how his prank wasn’t as funny as he thought it was, which only made him laugh harder.

“Were you in on this?” You turned to Josh, trying to mask your feeling of betrayal.

“Nope,” Josh chuckled, patting Chris on the back, “But I wish I had been.” 

“Whatever, you two,” you said, grabbing the basement’s key from Chris and storming out of there.

“Hey, wait up!” Josh called after you.

“Let her go, Josh,” Chris said, “C’mon, I finally found the Ouija board.” 

“Yeah, I’ll be right there,” Josh responded, hurrying to follow you into the guest room hallway. 

You had your hand on the doorknob of your room when you felt his fingers around your other wrist, tugging you back. 

“Not in the mood, Josh,” you said, pulling your hand away. Though, you didn’t attempt to open the wooden door again, instead turning to face him. 

“Hey, it was just a prank, right? You know Chris, he was just kidding around. No harm, no foul,” Josh said. If he were intending to make you feel better, it would be helpful if he said that like he fully believed it.

You sighed, exasperated. “Yeah, it’s not a big deal. I just-I probably looked so stupid.”

Josh stepped closer. “You were scared, I was too,” he said, his hand landing on the side of your arm, squeezing it, “No shame in that.” He let out a small chuckle, “I’m taking notes, Chris did a damn good job.”

“I guess,” you shrugged. 

Josh stared back at you, puzzled, before breaking out into a small grin, “I know there was one part that I really liked.” 

You looked away, appearing to find the sight of the doors lining the shadowy hall more interesting than him, but still took the bait, “And what part was that?”

Josh’s hand traveled down your arm, not once separating from it, to encircle your wrist. You shifted your gaze back to watch him place your hand on his forearm, the rolled-up sleeves of his flannel allowing direct contact with his warm skin. “I like that, when you’re scared, you hold onto me,” he confessed. 

The air of indifference is hard to maintain now, but you still try. “I didn’t know you were so observant, Josh.” 

He rested his hand on top of yours. “Just with you.”

You cursed yourself for how easy it was for him to win you over with a stupid, corny comment. Any embarrassment from the prank was superseded by the new tingly sensation in your stomach. Though, the adrenaline must have remained because you want to do something about the fact that, for all the time you’ve known Josh, you’ve never once tried flirting back.

Your fingers tightened around his forearm, noting the musculature present underneath his tan skin. You hadn’t realized how strong he had gotten. “Y’know, Josh,” you started.

“Yeah?” he breathed. He can feel your hand flex underneath his palm as you stroke your thumb along his arm with gentle swipes.

It was scary to even hint at how much you were feeling him right then, but you pushed through. “Maybe, I just like touching you,” you offered, “Scared or not.”

He exhaled unevenly, seemingly going to great lengths to keep himself still. It was new, to feel like your words had weight, for them to be the reason his gaze felt so heavy as he raked it over your body. The interaction felt dangerous but exciting; you didn’t want to shy away anymore.

“Josh!” Chris’ voice reverberated through the lodge.

“I really am gonna kill him,” you muttered. Josh let his arm drop back to its place by his side. 

“Get in line,” he said, which earned a giggle from you.

Another call from Chris, “Where are you, bro? Ashley’s here. C’mon, it’s Ouija board time!”

Josh shook his head, “I…I should go, I can’t leave them hanging.”

“You sure you don't want to stay?” you asked, looking up at him through your eyelashes. It’s funny, how you were just running away from him and were now trying to keep him from leaving.

He stiffened, seemingly weighing his options in his mind. His hesitation made you smile, you liked having an influence over him. 

But it was not enough, because he relaxed into his typical playful energy, saying, “Unfortunately, I’m already tied up. I’ve got big plans for those two tonight.” 

You frown, “Yeah, I bet the Ouija board madness will be one for the books.”

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” he replied. Then he continued more earnestly, “But maybe we can hang out later? Finish our conversation?” 

You pressed your lips together; you didn’t want to wait. However, it was probably for the better, if you were to have Josh, you would want it without interruptions.

“Okay, let’s talk later,” you agreed. He nodded, stepping back to go join Chris, but, before he could, you grabbed his shoulder and pushed yourself up on your toes, pressing a kiss to his cheek. It was quick and impulsive, but for some reason, you felt that if you hadn’t done it then, you wouldn’t get the chance in the future. 

“Later, then,” he said, a soft smile spreading across his face. He turned and walked back to find Chris, leaving you standing all alone in the long hallway, longing for more.

So now you lie spread out on a quilt atop the guest room bed, head spinning as you relive your conversations with Josh. You should’ve invited him in; the want pulsing through the veins in your body wouldn’t be so hard to manage if you did. But to deal with Chris and the teasing that would have ensued from your ruthless friend group wouldn’t be much fun either.

Your arms wrap around your sides, hugging yourself as you think about being down in the basement with him, how his voice lowered when he spoke more seriously about his feelings, how you could feel the waves of heat radiating off his body despite the area’s chilled atmosphere. You’ve never had him that close to you before; the closest you’ve ever been was when he dared you to go on the Ferris wheel at a local fair with him, claiming you were too chicken to do it, and the small cart forced you to sit hip-to-hip as he laughed and you bit back your terror.

The memory makes you realize how long you’ve wanted this for. How long you’ve stifled your feelings, your attraction, your desire. Now that it’s happening, knowing that he feels the same way, it’s hard to hold back. 

The cold winter storm outside does little to hinder the warmth dripping down your stomach like honey as, for the first time, you let yourself wonder what would have happened if it went further, wish it went further. 

Your hands travel down to the waistband of your jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them. You’re aching right now; you just want to feel better.

Only, though you don’t know it, there’s a camera in your room. And through its lens, there’s someone who’s watching.

Josh removes his skull-like mask so he can get a better look at the footage in front of him. He had come down to his hide-out in the basement, intending to electronically lock the gates around the lodge so he can continue enacting his revenge, but something on one of the multiple television screens stacked atop his desk drew his attention.

Even if the recording is black and white and somewhat obscured by pixelation, there’s no doubt that it’s you, sprawled out over one of the guest beds, pulling off your pants and bringing your hands down between your thighs. 

Josh looks behind him, feeling like he shouldn’t be seeing this, but returns his gaze to the screen anyway, eyes widening as you begin to touch yourself, running your fingertips atop the soaked gusset of your underwear. Your head falls back onto one of the pillows lined up along the bed’s wooden headboard, eyes shut in bliss at long-awaited contact. 

Josh steps forward, locks whatever gate he no longer really cares for, and turns his full attention to the glowing screen. He had the strength to refuse you earlier, though not without difficulty, especially after you kissed him, but that resource has since been depleted as he’s unable tear himself away from the tv, completely entranced. He has other things he should be doing, things he’s been planning for a year now, but he just can’t. 

Your eyebrows are pressed together and your mouth slightly ajar as you begin to enjoy the feeling of your fingers, falling into a sensual, pleasurable rhythm. A slight rush of air escapes Josh’s lips as his body heats up, reminiscent of when he was pushed up against you in the basement. He found it hard to focus on his words with the way your body felt so soft underneath his hands. He can only imagine what it would be like if he were with you now, feeling your hot skin against his. He wonders if you’re imagining the same, wonders if that’s what’s getting you off, the fantasy of it being his fingers stroking the wet fabric of your underwear, making you jolt and twitch under his touch.

Josh isn’t sure when he got hard, maybe he has been this whole time, but what he knows now is that his erection is starting to ache. His gaze doesn’t falter from your body and its movements as his gloved hand travels downwards so he can palm himself through his overalls, desperate to relieve even just a fraction of the desire thrumming through his body.

He groans when you tug off your underwear, exposing yourself fully. You bring your hands to your soaked folds, touch now unobstructed by cloth, and start to draw slow circles on your clit.

Oh, you really like that. Josh drinks in every detail, intent on knowing how you like to be touched so he can burn into his memory. It’s an intimate moment, that you and Josh are both pleasuring yourselves together, even if you don’t know you’re sharing it. 

You twist and turn on the bed, your free hand gripping the sheets beneath you as your fingers pick up in speed, applying more pressure to your sensitive clit. Though, that hand only stays tangled in the sheets for a moment, finding a better use pressed against your open mouth in a half-hearted attempt to muffle your sweet pants and moans. 

Josh wonders if you’re hoping he’ll hear you and come in to catch you in the act; the thought has his hips bucking into the surface of his gloved hand, finding just friction to be unsatisfactory. 

Then you break him, because as you’re running your fingertips along your glistening folds, you mouth his name. Josh. It’s undeniable now, you’re touching yourself while thinking of him.

He should be focusing on the prank, his revenge, everything he’s worked so hard to do, but all he can feel is the urge to fuck his fist at the sight of you purring his name. 

He peels off his overalls, letting them fall by his boots, and unzips his dark jeans so he can pull out his dick, wrapping his hand around it. It’s hot to the touch and leaking pre-cum, no doubt a product of the strenuous sexual tension underlying your conversations. He begins to run his hand along his length, the extent of his own arousal making him shudder from the movement. 

His forearm is covered in veins that travel underneath his skin like lightning, and as he pumps his needy cock, they stretch and bulge with his movements. Not so long ago, your hand rested on the same forearm that flexes as Josh fucks himself. He can feel it now, phantom grazes of your delicate fingers tracing his veins as he drives his dick through the tight grasp of his hand. Oh, how he wants you to be there, for you to be the one touching him.

He crumples forward, a single arm pressed against the table’s edge as his only means of support. God, the desire is eating him alive.

He should have just taken you when you were down in the basement. Pulled you into him and pressed his lips to yours, creepy sound be damned.

You’d be flustered of course, and probably try to act like you didn’t know what happened, all despite the fact that he knows you’d kiss him back with equal passion. You try to act tough, but he can tell that his little comments get you hot. Josh knew you were going to crack at some point, and the way you’re writhing around on a bed in his lodge proves him right.

If only you weren’t so damn stubborn about hiding your feelings. It’s been so obvious that you’re into him, with your bashful smiles or secret glances you don’t think he catches, but, at every opportunity he’s tried to give you, you shy away.

He should teach you a lesson for your coy attitude, you need to learn that being direct with him is what’s best. He contemplates going to find you in the guest room and fucking your brains out, it would show you how much you’ve been missing by being shy. 

Though, Josh likes the idea of punishing you more. He’d like to get his revenge on you for prolonging his frustrating and tortuous weeks of pining after you, trying to get it into your head how much he liked you. 

If he were to have his way, he would edge you, get you so close that you’re whining his name, pleading for your release, and then watch your expression turn when he withholds it from you. Maybe he’d earn a cute pout, or even better, you’d beg for him to continue. Josh curls into himself, his movements faster and sloppier, desire running rampant through his body.

He watches you sink a finger into your soaked entrance, seeking to relieve the painful emptiness of your canal. Josh wonders if it’s enough. The desperate roll of your hips as you try to push your finger deeper tells him it’s not, that you need more—that you need him. He watches you pause for a second, a cute frown on your lips, as you come to the same realization he has: it’ll never be enough if it’s not him. Josh exhales sharply, exalted.

You still try your hardest, though you can’t be blamed for the fruitless effort with your head so dizzy from lust. You push your finger in and out of your wet vagina as your other hand stimulates your clit, though awkwardly. It would be so much easier—feel so much better—if he were with you.

Josh sees no need to punish you for the heartache you put him through anymore, you’re doing it yourself right now, working so hard despite the fact that you’re unable to get yourself over the edge. He likes that you’re probably longing for him right now, wishing he were there to make you feel good.

It might be his sadistic side, or the fact that he feels needed, that does it for him, but your struggle gets Josh to his limit, his hand gripping onto the side of the table as he bucks his hips into his dripping hand. With a sloppy pump, he comes, white ropes shooting out as he presses his eyes shut in utter bliss. He seriously considers that you could turn into an obsession of his, if you haven’t already. 

Josh takes a deep breath, trying to calm his uneven breathing, and realizes you’ve given up on getting yourself off, redressing yourself while dissatisfaction mars your pretty face. He feels bad for a second, wanting to make you feel better, but his eyes flick to another screen to realize Chris is waking up from the sleeping gas, meaning Josh is short on time if he wants to fake his own death. 

He cleans himself off, redresses, and after one last look at the screen, he leaves.

He’ll deal with you later. 

[yearning-for-autumn]

I liked the other request so much, it was amazing so fluffy!

That I shall make another one,

Maybe Eris x gn reader tickle fight fluff both on the receiving end, sfw nothing explicit. I imagine Eris to have a very ticklish stomach and deep laughter.

Under Your Skin

A/N: Thank you for the request! This isn't my usual style so I found it a bit hard to write, but I hope you enjoy it!

Word Count: 538

Pairing: Eris x gn!Reader

Warnings: None

“Ouch Eris.”

“That barely touched you.” Eris grumbled.

For days now it had been Eris’ sole mission to bring you up to speed on the art of swordfighting. You already knew the basics of self-defence, but that just wasn’t going to cut it in Eris’ worried mind.

You were only using wooden swords, but you had been finding it harder than Eris had anticipated. He looked over at your frustrated expression, his own softening. He needed a new plan of action if he was to teach you anything.

Stalking towards you, he dropped his training sword. It clattered to the ground with a hollow sound. You looked up, confused, and barely had time to draw your weapon before he was upon you. His fingers dug into your sides, tickling right where he knew you were the most sensitive. You let out a gasp, then a giggle, cringing in on yourself, trying to escape from his touch.

“Eris, Eris!” You said between fits of laughter. He smiled, but his voice was still stern when he ordered,

“Draw your weapon, Y/n. If you want it to stop, you’ll have to make me.”

You giggled, and squirmed. He knew it wouldn’t be easy for you to draw your sword like this, but then he was giving you the perfect opportunity to finally get a hit in. He was open and defenceless, with only his hands as his weapon, he moved up to under your arms, grinning as you squealed.

“I-I can’t!” You protested, trying to get away from him, but every step back was followed by his quick feet. He watched as you finally started using some of his training, your stance widening and your steps more balanced. You darted away, finally free for a moment, and he smiled proudly before making to pounce on you again. This time you were prepared. You drew your sword, you readied your stance, and you thrust the weapon out. Eris stopped, the blunt tip of your wooden weapon tapping the centre of his chest. He grinned.

“Good.” He said. You straightened up, looking momentarily shocked that you had managed to get a hit on him, then broke out into a bright smile. You jumped up and down.

“I did it!” You cried. He laughed, a deep warm sound that had you stopping to look at him. He looked at you with pure pride.

“You did, my love.” He stepped into your space, but this time those dastardly hands simply curled around your back, pulling you into a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

Warmth spread through your chest. You rest your head on his shoulder, letting him rock you slightly side to side. An idea sprung into your mind, and you slowly moved your hands down from his back, a smile slowly growing on your lips. He looked at you, brows furrowing for a second before he caught on and his eyes widened. He was trapped in your embrace, and as he tried to pull away, you caught him tighter in your arms. Your hands found their target on his waist, and he yelped. You laughed wildly as he tried to squirm away.

Winning may have been fun. But revenge was sweeter.

[metranart]

Mikey x Reader x Draken (Tokyo Revengers)(Part 9)

Being a gang leader doesn’t leave a lot of free time and having hit the critical age of the hormonal teenager, Draken and Mikey are beginning to feel the raging urge of having some needs meet.

You end up ordering hot cakes and mint tea, Mikey orders a milkshake and waffles and Draken takes eggs, bacon and black coffee.

Silence follows when you all start to eat, only munching sounds and your loud thoughts can be heard. The three of you actually so hungry that your plates are empty in less than five minutes. 

These are the best hot cakes you have ever had! Or maybe you were that hungry, but whatever it was, you sigh satisfied and grin at feeling comfortable at least by the food.

Searching for the scarce remains of that comforting feeling, your finger slides across the porcelain plate to get the remains of honey you can.

You're usually not that messy but it's a little inevitable when these flavors are the only thing at the moment giving you certain kind of peace of mind.

A golden, honeyed drop rolls from your fingertip to your lips and then down your chin. Your tongue darts out to stop its journey down but it’s a second too slow.

Your gasp catches inside your lungs, and unrequested goosebumps raid your whole body when both blonds mercilessly attack you. 

Mikey's lips are the first thing you feel, in a chaste, gentle peck next to your lips, as if asking permission, even so, he doesn't wait as he always does and the next thing you feel is his velvety tongue, wet and warm, following the rebellious path of the honey drop, down your chin.

While Draken, for his part, yanks your wrist in the gentlest of pulls, like re-teaching your body to stretch. The tall gang member merely grins when your stares cross and even when your shocked expression screams of how unsettled you feel for what he is about to do, he still does it.

His mouth opens and your honey-coated index finger finds its way inside it. Those glossy lips close around the stoic digit and his tongue dances slowly, almost sensually lazy around the skin. Devouring the honey but mostly feeding on your blushing, nervous disposition, since his gaze never falters from yours. 

You gulp hard, having both blondes stick to a part of your body in public isn’t exactly what you ordered for breakfast and once clean, both reluctantly abandon their task.

Mikey gives one last smooch to your cheek as Draken pecks tenderly the pad of your finger, and soon both are using the sleeves of their uniforms to wipe off the rests of saliva from you. 

“—My milkshake was good…. But damn! How do you always manage to taste sweeter, darlin’?” 

Mikey’s cheeks are red, chest heaving, all the sign you don’t wanna see. 

“It-…. It isn’t me, Sano.” You reply swiftly as if trying to dissuade whatever thought might be inside that hormonal head of his, “… it was the honey what you tasted—” 

“Nah~” Draken butts in, “sure the honey was sweet, but nothing compared to your pussy...”

“Draken, shut it—” 

“Your pussy is…” Draken openly ignores you and keeps daydreaming, “fuck! Is my favorite flavor.”

“Stop, Draken!”

“I mean, if I could have as every meal, a full plate of your sweet, shaven—” 

Both your palms slap at his mouth to stop his next words, and you can hear Mikey burst out laughing. 

“Knock it off, Ken Ryuguji.” You scold him like a little child, and he merrily shrugs, nonchalant. 

Your face is beat red and your heartbeat a mess, a wild mix of emotions painting your whole face: embarrassment, anger, shock, uneasiness with a pinch of honeyed excitement…. You are not sure where the excitement comes from, but it surprises you to even feel it. 

You can feel Draken smirk under your hands and then his lips start kissing your palms making you recoil back, fast. 

The sub-commander chuckles. “Do that again.” He asks suddenly.

And putting your hands under the table on top of your thighs, you shake your negative. 

Mikey snickers at your sheepishness. “—I bet you thought I was the worst of the two,” the short blonde grins, “…. I’m a walk in the park compared to this one.”

He motions to his bestie and the tall teen stares back smugly, before repeat. 

“Do that again.”

You squint your eyes at him, “… it was a spurt of the moment—” 

“Nevertheless, do it again.”

You shake your head stubbornly and Draken narrows his eyes mischievously. 

“You have the sweetest PUSS—” 

His loud statement is cut short by your hands pressing again against his mouth, and Mikey can’t help but laugh, clutching his stomach while he amusedly enjoys Draken’s misbehaving. 

“God, it’s like dealing with a child in steroids!”

You complain a little fed up, but your outburst only makes Mikey laugh harder. Draken starts to say something, yet his words come out muffled, and he ends up licking your palm in order for you to let go. 

“Gross, Draken—” 

“Not Draken,” he points out, “Ken-… Ken Ryuguji.” He asks, and his heartfelt request slowly fades Mikey’s laughter into a curious grin. 

“Say my name, my real name…. Do it again.”

That’s what he meant before. His name, he wanted you to say his name. 

“I loved the sound of it,” Draken admits, “in your voice,” he continues, “tagging me as taken and owned since no one else is allowed to use that name apart from MY boy—” 

You raise an eyebrow and quickly Mikey lifts a finger to claim your attention, “I’m HIS boy.”

“… His boy.” You repeat more to yourself and a thousand memories of them flood your brain, from them eating each other’s mouths, to them jacking off, to them sucking, groping, kissing, fucki—

“Are you a couple?” you can't help but ask, “I mean…. since when are you a couple? I mean…does anyone know? .... Probably not, since no tough, gang member from Japan” you point out, “…would faithfully follow a homosexual couple-…sometimes we are such a closed-minded culture—” 

“We don't like men,” Mikey interrupts you, “…we like and are crazy about women.” The Toman leader states and soon adds, “—we have never and will never be with another man.”

You pout, doubts and questions reflecting in your features. 

Draken chuckles lightly, to then reach out to you and draw his knuckles gently over your creased forehead until it smoothens. 

“We don’t fancy cock,” the tall blond explains, “we fancy pus-…”

Your hand raises in warning and Draken giggles, ending up just mouthing the word without sound. So, you lower your hand.

“But I saw you-…” you remind them, “I saw you, kissing, touching and doing stuff to each other—” 

“Sure, Draken is mine and I’m his.” Mikey claims without shame. “We are each other’s exception.”

“-Then I’m just your plaything…” 

“NO.” They stress in unison. 

“You are OURS.” Draken is the one to speak first, “our girl, our soulmate, the missing part on our triangle…”

“Our future wife.” Mikey adds, swiftly. His black gaze set on you, to watch your reaction firsthand. 

You do your best to keep the shock down and under a serene facade of numb detachment, to then say as cold and indifferent as you can.

“I’m your actual cumdump and future sex slave—” 

“NO!” they say in unison one more time. Their voices sound strained as an angry beg.

“We love you-”

“DON’T say something you don’t mean,” you say in a fit, “it’s kind of a dick move, you don’t have to pretend,” your words stop them cold. “I already slept with you, I already did everything with you-…. you can cut the crap!”

There’s a solid awkward silence which would have linger there if it wouldn’t be interrupted by the waitress asking you if you needed anything else. You ask for the check and the silence permeates the booth until the check arrives. 

“—Like I promised yesterday, this one is on me… you know, for take me to the hospital and pay for it,” you take some bills out of a hidden pocket in your pants and place it on top of the table, “… and this-” you take another couple of bills, “is for the scarring sex, that way we can stop calling it rape,” you add in an icy, full of contempt tone, “… I won’t call the police on you and you won’t look for me again, we are even.”

Your voice is final, yet silence is the only response you get.

You sigh, unable to look them in the face, that way you can keep the tough act at float. 

“Excuse me, Sano.” You say to the immobile blond next to you, and to your utter surprise, he does move.

Standing up, Mikey offers you his hand to get out of the booth, yet you don’t take it but do thank for his chivalry to which he faintly nods.

Not a single word has come out of their mouths and somehow that uneased you, but whatever this strike of luck is, you are sure to take advantage of it. 

Sporting the same utter silence, the three stand still for a minute before starting to walk to the exit, when a better idea grazes your brain. 

“I’m going to pass to the restroom before go, wait for me here?” 

Both gang members merely stare at you in response. Those sharp gazes devoid of any recognizable emotions make you look away and at your feet instead, and a little more than shaken, you spin on your hills to go to the bathroom.

Once inside you check the door to confirm that they won't burst inside and once more at ease. You splash some cold water to your face to then look for a window.

“There.” You mutter mutedly when you finally find a way out of the nightmare. A small, yet big enough, window greets you from the last stall, and using the toilet as leverage, you glance back through your shoulder one last time to then sneak out.

Your little legs are the first thing to stick out the window, using your hands to support your weight before letting you fall to the floor of the alley hidden between the streets. Sound of people reach your ear, yet you ignore them.

Before your feet touch the hard ground a wave of happiness begins to invade you, God! You did it! You escaped from them…. You are so excited that your face feels numb and when you feel the soles of your boots touch the ground, you almost jump with excitement.

Crouched down, you close your eyes to enjoy the moment of victory, a victory that threatens to turn to ashes in your mouth when the sun bouncing off the walls of the alley is blocked by something large.

“Look guys, don't we know this cute little thing?”

You hear someone say in a familiar voice and turning around suddenly, your eyes widen in worry, as you encounter a faction of the gang, you defeated the night before.

The beaten and putrid face of the person who betrayed your gang and the Toman and unleashed all the conflict between gangs, smiles macabrely down at you while licking his lips. 

“You, little bitch,” the gang member spells slowly, “I’ve been looking for you. Yesterday I lost to you, but today I'm going to get even.”

The traitor's henchmen make a half circle, cornering you against the wall and blocking any escape route, your main enemy takes the center to be able to see you from the front and to delight in the terror your eyes show when he begins to unbutton his pants belt.

“First you are going to pay me for the beating,” his belt opens wide and now his fingers continue with the buttons of his pants, “then you are going to compensate me for my effort,” he lowers the zipper, “and once that you have that annoying mouth full of my cock and my cum slides down your beautiful esophagus, all of we are going to teach you that in gangs there is a rule that should never be broken," he takes out his vulgar cock, erect and swollen, and strokes it a couple of times, smearing drops of precum from the head all over the shaft, “No Girls Allow!”

This is your fucking luck! 

From your crouching position you scan the horizon and seeing a small space, you lunge towards it hoping to get away, but one of the boys catches you and pulls you back towards the center of the circle, scratching and kicking to no avail.

With no options left, you throw a punch, and a scream of pain paints the silence of the pleasant morning when the bandage wrapping your closed fist begins to turn red.

Even when that painful punch managed to take down one of the boys, and if it weren't for the incapacitating wound throbbing in your hand, you might have defeated the rest, you now that you are doom. You're so tired and exhausted, the little strength in you slowly fades as you fall to your knees hugging your hand to your chest.

“You fucking stuck-up bitch!” one of the henchmen shouts, kicking you in the stomach, “we are going to teach you how to behave!!”

Yanking you from the hair, he stands behind you and presents you to his leader once he has you subdued. “Go on, shove it all the way in, that's what this slut is good for.”

The insults and laughter do not wait, and you almost block your jaw by closing it so tightly.

“Open your mouth, so I can give you your breakfast.” The traitor mocks, swanking his junk in front of your face before slapping you with it. You almost open your mouth in gag reflection, at the disgust of feeling his warm, wet skin against your cheek. 

“Open your fucking mouth, scum.” Large, rough hands fixate on your jaw, trying to open it with violent and rough movements but you refuse, the pain is getting higher and higher, but you prefer it to swallowing what awaits you. “Come on, otherwise we're going to have to use another, tighter hole.”

Everyone laughs, some watching animatedly while others holding your hands to prevent you from hitting them. 

“Dibs on her ass.” You hear one say. 

“Oh man, I wanted her ass, well I’ll settle for her pussy.”

“Fuck that, I want to fuck her tits, look at those! So freaking big and plush!” 

All the stares fall on your breast, and you can almost hear them lick their lips, terror fills you to the point of desperation when one of them finally uses his brain. 

“Pinch her nose,” one suggests, “my mom used to do that to force me to eat when I didn't want to.” 

“Ten points for Gryffindor,” the traitor says, and one of his henchmen pinches your nose painfully tight. Air stops flooding your system, and everyone waits with bated breath, enjoying the way your face is starting to change color. 

“She has to open her mouth eventually, don't she?” one wonders, worry looming just a little, unable to wrap his head at how much you have lasted without air. 

“She's stubborn but she's not stupid,” the leader reaches out to smear the tip of his cock against your trembling lips. “Ready to suck me off?”

The air finally runs out and your lungs scream for oxygen, your mouth opens and tears of frustration fall down your cheeks when a loud crash is heard and you suddenly fall to the ground, gasping.

Your tear-filled eyes can't focus properly and you're too busy sucking in air to pay attention to anything else, but you definitely see what looks like a mass of black and gold, delivering out punches.

“Fuckin’ bastard, I’m going to kill ya!” 

Someone roars while entering running from the entrance of the alley, someone tall and big, and you can sense with half-numb ears and glassy eyes how all the boys attacking you are now a throbbing, bloody mass on the floor.

Thus, that enemy faction lies unconscious, pulverized and catatonic against the hard and dirty cement of the alley teased by some shy sun rays.

Mikey and Draken don't stop at that, they continue demolishing them with blows until the inert bodies are barely breathing. 

The gasps you hear from the two blondes are more of fury than real effort, they both heard your scream and entering the bathroom, they didn't find you.

Panic set in when Mikey, the only other one who was able to slide out the little window into the alley, saw that you were about to be assaulted.

Falling from the sky in front of you, like your angel of salvation, the blonde went crazy with anger, not even waiting for his lover, who had to go around the restaurant to get there.

Once the anger subsided a little, they were able to think again, and both ran to your side. Crouching next to your battered body, covered in bruises and a bleeding hand. 

“Damn it, her wound opened again.” Draken exclaimed, removing the shirt under his jacket to stop the bleeding.

“Let's take her to the hospital—” 

“And what money are we supposed to pay with, Mikey? Or we let them patch up her again and then sneak out using a bathroom window….” Draken's annoyed gaze falls prejudicially on you and your recent actions, and Mikey immediately tries to calm him down.

“No need for the sarcasm, man.” Mikey disapproves, “later we can discuss how to reprimand this disobedient kitten. I know! Let's take her to Mitsuya and Hakkai.”

The leader of the Toman suggests. "He’s good with this kind of wounds, plus Mitsuya is excellent at sewing-"

“Sweaters and dresses, not people!” Draken chimes, applying more pressure to your wound.

“Take me… home.” You suggest weakly, and they both look down at you.

“My older sister is a nurse,” you inform them, “she will help me for free, she is very good.”

The blondes don't seem convinced and soon the questions everyone harvest in their minds, pops out from Mikey’s mouth.

“Why didn't we take you to her yesterday?”

The blonde motions his head at the wound on your hand, which started it all, and you frown.

"She works in the private sector in Kyoto, just this morning she arrived home to-... just take me to her.”

Draken and Mikey share a look and it's like they're having an internal conversation. You see it in the way they look at each other, and finally reaching a secret agreement, they both nod.

The tall blonde rubs the back of his neck and the short one cracks his knuckles before saying.

“Fine, kitten.” Mikey shares, a sullen grimace on his face is soon replaced by a playful grin, “…let's meet the sister-in-law.”

COMING SOON PART 10....

⭕️ In my PATREON you will find NSFW art of this story and lots of NSFW content from Tokyo Rev and other popular anime, exclusive smut fanfiction and more.

[justwinginglife]

'Til Death Do Us Part

Okay I never trigger warning cuz I don't like spoiling plot, but this one is about abusive relationships, this one is depressing, and this one does not end well. I wanted to write a fic based off of the song "Lie to Girls" in honor of Sabrina Carpenter's new album, but the song hit too hard, and the depression kicked in too hard hence depressing fic. And of course, I did not think anyone in Kaiju would be destructive and unhealthy enough for this fic so I'm writing about Manjiro Sano from Tokyo Revengers when he's older (in the future). That's all, proceed with caution.

You knew Mikey was a mess. 

If anyone asked, you’d deny it over and over. You’d keep denying it until your throat bled, the sting of those same, acidic words clawing their way back up like they’d triggered your gag reflex. You denied it so much, like you hoped it would become the truth, hoped your reality would morph into the falsities that you spewed.

You also knew that loving him was a decision, a conscious choice, an ongoing commitment you’d devoted yourself to time and time again. Yet, when pressed, you still claimed that loving him was unavoidable, that you were simply unable to unlove him, unable to resist. 

So, when he’d come home fucked up from his latest fight, blood smeared on his hands, the devil lurking in his eyes, you’d simply welcome him inside, arms spread wide, a warm smile at the ready. You didn’t know whose blood you were cleaning off his knuckles, or if that person was lying dead in some back alley somewhere, but you hummed to yourself and tended to him anyway, swallowing the unpleasant thoughts down. 

“How was your day today, baby?” You’d coo to him as though he had just come back from his 9 to 5, just another day in the office. 

He’d mumble something incoherent and pull himself off of you, trudging to the kitchen, eager to drown his demons. If your liquor cabinet ever found itself empty, he’d probably down the rubbing alcohol next, just to have something, to have anything to numb his humanity. 

You made your best attempts to coax his softer side out, reminiscing about the older days, the sweeter days, the gentler days. But those were days he’d rather not remember. Your greatest treasures, your most cherished memories, they did nothing more than remind him of a time when he was happy, of a time when he was more than the monster he’d become. 

You made his favorite meals, put on his favorite shows for him to watch, tried to make him feel comfortable, to make him feel loved. But he didn’t know how to love you anymore. He’d long forgotten emotions like love. He’d rejected emotions like love. And you knew that. But still, you’d convince yourself that your husband would come home one day, that the man who’d smiled so wide when you agreed to marry him that you worried his cheeks might burst, would walk through the doors at any moment, hands clean, eyes lit up, as he said to you, “Sorry for keeping you waiting, love.”

So you told yourself the most sickeningly sweet lies. Drowned yourself in delicious deceit. Got drunk on a version of him that no longer existed. 

Sometimes, the delusion was strong enough that you could convince yourself that you even loved the beast that he’d become. That you didn’t mind the steel in his gaze, didn’t mind the ice in his demeanor, didn’t mind the venom in his voice. He pushed you away to protect you. He pushed you away because he loved you. He pushed you away because he couldn’t control the sheer depths of feelings for you. That was it. 

He’d never forget your birthday. He’d never forget your anniversary. He was just late. He was just picking up a gift somewhere. It was going to be the most magnificent gift you’d ever seen. He was just stuck in traffic. 

The cops that frequented your doorstep didn’t know what they were talking about. Your friends didn’t know what they were talking about. Mikey’s friends didn’t know what they were talking about. No one knew him but you. You knew he was a good guy. You knew he wouldn’t do the things they said he did. You knew he was coming home any minute, just waiting for you to welcome him, just needing you to believe him, just needing you to love him. He’d saved your life so many times, this was the one thing you could do to repay him. You could love him through anything. You would love him through anything. Whatever this was, this was a phase. This was a rough patch. All marriages had them. Yeah. This was normal. 

And when he’d forget your name, hurl insults at you, get so drunk he threatened you with a broken glass bottle to get out of his house, you still ignored the aching in your chest. Your heart wasn’t broken, it wasn’t empty, it wasn’t lonely, it was simply on sabbatical. Even as the tears burst from your eyes, even as the bruises on your wrists deepened in color, you swore you loved him. You swore you’d love him until the day you died. 

And when the day came sooner than you thought, when the bodies of your friends, of his friends, filled the morgue, the stench of betrayal and rotting flesh ripe in the air, when his cold eyes, his distant eyes, finally found your gaze, finally looked straight at you, for the first time in months, his gun digging itself deep into your forehead, you still swore to yourself that he loved you, swore to yourself that you loved him. And when he hesitated, you swore you saw a glimpse of the old Mikey. You swore you were looking into your husband’s eyes. 

Then he pulled the trigger.

[dope-trope-105]

cregan stark x rhaenyra’s daughter. she flies to winterfell to gather support for rhaneyra but she falls head over heels for cregan as well. could you add that she had a past relationship with aemond ( you don’t have to though)

Like Stormy Seas, Like Rough Clouds

Cregan Stark x Velaryon! (Strong) reader

A/N: The reader is still not completely over Aemond, but she realises he was not what she wanted, or she was not what he wanted. She has the typical Strong brown hair-brown eyes appearance.

Warnings: Strong language, abusive relationship, mentions of death, some angst.

Word count: 2.7k

The cold wind felt like daggers of dragonglass on your face as you gazed at the rough seas that surrounded your home. Dragonstone was not a cheerful place, the war had made it more glum. Your mother had locked herself up in her chambers the day Daemon came with the news of Lucerys’ death. You didn’t understand her pain, but your own crushed you inside. It broke your soul, took your joy, and rendered you unstable. The pain of losing a brother was great, but the pain of losing him to someone you once loved more than life itself tore at your entire being. You felt like a shell, your memories with him ran through your mind like a play. 

You had your eyes closed as you breathed in the scent of a flower you hadn’t seen in the gardens before, it smelled sweet, but different from the others. “My lady seems to be enjoying herself,” came the smooth voice of your uncle. “Tis’ not every day mother nature visits one with a new treat, uncle,” you said, holding the flower up to his slender face. “Letting your guard down like this for all to see? The stranger may send you one as well,” he said, mocking you but taking the flower from your hands nonetheless. “It’s sweet, isn’t it?” you asked. “I’ve known sweeter things,” he said, his eyes looking down upon you as he relished in the fact you knew what, or rather, who, he meant.

You remembered how you had craved his attention at the keep. You had been friends with Aemond when you were children, and you had felt yourself dangled in a noose between your love for him and your love for your family the day Lucerys butchered him. Aemond refused contact with you after that. You found yourself at the keep again as you turned ten and seven, your mother had wished for you to celebrate you becoming a mature woman with your grandsire. You chased Aemond like a lost pup for your entire month-long stay in the castle. Aemond played along. And his play became a reality as he found himself taking your maidenhead in his chambers one night. He had begun to love you. As much as a damaged man could.

“We cannot do this any longer,” you cried. “Do you not love me?” asked Aemond, his voice cold as his back was turned to you. The whole family had supper that day together. You sat beside Helaena next to the head of the table where Aemond sat. Jace had set his eyes upon you the entire time, sneaking you off to the side to ask you if something had occurred between you and your uncle. It had scared the soul out of you, and you had gone to the one person you admired so much you hoped he'd show you the way. Unfortunately for you, Aemond was set on doing anything but. “If my mother finds out-” “What of it?” he spoke over you. “I have claimed you,” he said. “No Lord would want a whore who’s been bedded by her uncle, no one will love you as I,” he said. Tears streamed down your face as each word he said came as a jab to your heart. “You do not mean that,” you said, wiping your tears as he turned. He opened his arms to you as you reluctantly found yourself in his embrace. “I mean every word I say, you are mine,” he whispered to you. “No one but I will love you,” he held you tight.

A heated discussion had been tearing the rocks of Dragonstone as Daemon wished for nothing but revenge. Who stood for the Queen, and who against? It was not clear. You had begged and begged to have your mother let you fight for her. She had ushered you to your chambers, you speaking for your rights as she refused over and over again. You only stopped asking at the shock of her harsh palm on your cheek. You held your face, looking at her with great confusion. “I will not lose another child, my only daughter to this war,” she had said, leaving you with a burning reminder on your face that you would never be allowed to fight for her. Your stomach churned at being called her only daughter, your mind reminding you of the little Visenya you would have loved, a little girl you would teach womanly things to, braid her hair, tell her she is no less than a man, teach her the histories and philosophies that made your world. Memories of all sorts ran haphazardly through your head, your sweet moments with Aemond, your tears for Lucerys, your step-father's anger towards your mother, and nothing seemed to calm your racing mind. The rough waves flowed on par with your thoughts. The ground rumbled beneath you as you turned around. “Sagon gīda, gēlenka,”  be calm, silver. You had claimed the magnificent Silverwing when you were only ten and three. She had been your everything since then. She was your anger, your wrath, your joy, and your fire. She was your dragon. And you mounted her in the dying light of the Sun taking off for the North. Your mother had said no, but after incessant begging from both you and Daemon, she had reluctantly agreed. 

You felt your fingers numb despite the layers of clothing you wore as you flew higher up North. You were a dragon, you were fire, and you weren’t made for the cold. Silverwing made her landing near the castle of Winterfell, the Northmen gazing at your dragon in awe as all men did. You wore a black dress, its sleeves up to your wrists and its neckline up to your jaw. Golden embroidery spread across the expanse of your chest. You wore a few layers under it, but it seemed to not save you from the biting winter one bit. Your dark hair was tied halfway up behind you, wild from your flight, gold resting amongst the dark strands. Your palms and fingers were raw and bleeding. You never wore riding gloves, and you suffered the consequences. You’d rather have raw palms than lose the sensorial bond between your dragon and yourself. 

SIlverwing had given your identity away as the guards opened the gates for you, offering you a slight bow. You nodded at them. You were escorted to where the Lord of the North sat. Your presence was announced as you entered the darkly lit hall. Cregan Stark was sitting on a high chair as he watched you walk to the centre of the room. 

“Good morrow, Princess, we are delighted to have you at Winterfell,” he said to you. “Good morrow to you as well, Lord Stark, I thank you for your graciousness,” you said. You knew power when you saw it. You saw it in your mother, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. You saw it in your stepfather Daemon, the Rogue Prince, and a sliver of it in your past lover, Aemond. And now, you saw it in the wolfish man that sat in front of you. He was a large man, with skin like the snow and hair like onyx, matching stubble on his face. His eyes were grey like the storms you often saw at Dragonstone. 

“What brings you to the North, princess?” he asked. His voice was deep, holding the air of authority that made the young girl hidden under your burdened heart giddy. You cleared your throat, quieting your own thoughts, lifting a scroll in your hand as one of the guards came to collect it from you. 

“Lord Stark, as you are aware, your father, the late Lord Rickon Stark, had pledged fealty to my mother, the Queen. With the unfortunate passing of my Grandsire, my half-uncle has usurped the throne from my mother and claims to be King of the seven kingdoms. I’ve only come here to assure you remember your father’s oath,” you said. Your voice held confidence. Cregan had been watching you intently as you spoke, his eyes flicking to the scroll in his hands only once as he quickly scanned over the words. 

“Of course Princess, I will honour the oath my father pledged to your mother, House Stark is loyal to Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen. We will provide you with what you need at Raven’s ask, be it men or refuge, or be it our undying loyalty,” he said to you, with clarity in his voice like he didn’t need to go over this in his head for even a moment. 

“Thank you, for your support my Lord. I shall report this to my mother immediately,” you said, making a turn, readying yourself mentally for another long flight. “If you do not mind Princess, it is a harsh Night, why don’t you stay here at the Castle, you may fly on the morrow,” said the Lord. You thought it over. He was not wrong, the temperature would only get colder with the night. You did not wish to die from the cold before the war even concluded. “Then I will gladly make my stay here,” you said. 

The guards had led you to a room for the night. You sat near the fire, so close to the flames you believed the hair on your head would be scorched, and you almost thought you saw your fingers darkening with ash. Your head whipped to the door at a harsh knock. “Princess? May I come in?” came a voice. You knew it was Lord Stark. “Yes of course,” you said, smiling sheepishly when the door cracked open and his eyes landed on your crouched figure near the fire.

He chuckled, nodding to a woman behind him. The maid approached you, a blanket of fur lay in her hands. “Tis’ a coat for you, I had assumed the cold must be too trying of you,” he said, entering the chamber. You smiled at the maid, who quickly put the coat around you. “Not that I wish to seem meek, my Lord, you had assumed right. I fear I would’ve ended up falling into the hearth had you not brought me this surprisingly soft coat,” you said, eyes widening at the sheer delicate touch of the blanket of warmth on you. You took your place on a chair in front of him, though still remaining close to the fire. 

“I understand, cold like this does not suit all, especially those who are used to being around fire,” he said, a glint in his eye as he said it. You smiled at him. “I assume you’ve met Silverwing from afar,” you said. “She is a beautiful creature, although I fear I’m not one to see her for much beyond her ability to leave me nothing but a scorched corpse,” he said. “She will not hurt you, my lord, at least not in my presence,” you laughed, taking the glass of wine he poured you. “If you wish, I can arrange for supper here, it is only I in the castle,” he said. “If it isn’t too much trouble,” you requested. “Of course,” he said, calling out to one of the guards.

Moments later, some maids brought trays full of delicious bread and different meats and vegetables. The both of you ate in comfortable silence, occasionally exchanging words. There was something so simple in this moment, a comfort between the both of you that you hadn’t experienced in a while. “If you do not mind, may I ask you something?” he said. “Of course,” you replied, intrigued eyes looking up at him. “I’ve heard dragons have a close bond with their riders, it is said they can feel what their riders do, has anything as such been indicated to you by your own?” he asked. You thought it over for a moment.

Silverwing was very protective of you, but she would get more protective if you were on your bleed, she would get more aggressive when you were agitated, and she would make those purring sounds when you felt comfortable. And she despised Aemond. She hated him near herself, and near you. She never attempted to harm him, but she made her distaste of him quite obvious, same for most of your enemies. “In some ways, I believe it is true, her protectiveness and agitation in some situations do indicate what you say, but I do not believe this holds true for all dragons, only for some,” you said, and he nodded thoughtfully.

You gazed into his grey eyes, they were beautiful, not beautiful like the violet in your silver-haired family members, not prideful like Aemond’s, his eyes told stories of ships lost at stormy seas, of the rough clouds you flew through. His eyes showed curiosity and warmth, you felt like if you were to crawl into his arms, all would be well. You did not wish to sound like a silly girl one would view as nothing but a brood-mare of high status, but you wanted him to hold you and make you feel safe. You wanted him to tell you all would be right in the world, he would make it so. You wished to touch the soft hair on his face, to rest your head on his strong chest, to have him wrap his arms around you, to have him take your hands in his own. You felt so juvenile.

“What does flying feel like, princess?” he asked. “I could not say. It is the sheer terror of falling to death, freedom, and pleasure in solidarity, it makes me feel like a god, watching everything rendered so little from atop the sky. The sky looks so distinct above the clouds. It gets colder, the air lighter, breathing becomes more challenging, but the sky is so captivating, it is unlike anything you’ve seen,” you said. Lord Stark did not reply. He seemed to enjoy questioning you and thinking your answers over. All simple questions, but truly innocent. He did not have an evil sense behind his words. It was simple, like a warm fire licking at your skin in the snow-struck lands. There was no snark to decipher like the words of your stepfather, no mocking like your siblings, and no cunning like the words of the greens, no cunning like the words of Aemond. It was just curiosity, simple as that.

As he stood up to make his exit, you stood up as well. You looked up at him when he said, “You know princess, I would love to show the North to you, it is quite exquisite, though nothing compared to the sky above the clouds as you describe if you are willing to make your stay here longer,” he said. You smiled at him shyly. “I will think it over my lord,” you said.

You watched him leave, realising that since the moment you’d been in his presence, there was a calmness in your head. You did not feel the impending doom of war on you when you were busy staring into his eyes. A few maids came to remove the multiple layers of clothing from you, but you put on the coat again, curling yourself up in the blanket as well before you let sleep take you, and for once in a long time, you found yourself easily drifting to sleep in the comfort of the furs and your empty head. There was a warmth in your heart, and it almost made you want to stay in the North forever and forget about your duties, and your family. Maybe one day, when all of that was over, you could return to the North, to Lord Stark and ask for his hand in marriage. You would love to stay in the North, in a land white as clouds, in the warm arms of the warden of the North as you’d gaze upon his kingdom.

One day, you could learn what love truly meant, not obsession, not sly need, not a cunning need for control, love.

・．━━━━━━━━━━━━ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━．・

Hey guys, I've just started writing for some of these, I hope you like this one. I'd really appreciate it if you could comment on what I could do to make my writing better, but as of now, I hope you enjoy this, I'll try to post as soon as I can.

[jaykorianddickkoriforlife]

I don't think anyone can understand how obsessed I am with the idea of reading Snow's point of view of The Hunger Games. I used to want Peeta's version, but after reading The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, there is nothing more that I want than to read Snow's complete obsession with destroying Katniss. All the memories of Lucy, the rage he must've felt when he heard Katniss sing that song, the hatred he must've felt for Cinna when Katniss's dress changed into the form of a mockingjay. I want to read his reaction when he realized that Plutarch had betrayed him, the fury that followed at the reminder that the Mockingjay, that Lucy's greatest revenge, was managing to beat him more, and more. This mere girl from District 12 was destroying his entire foundation both literally and mentally.

Weirdly enough, I do believe he saw a lot of similarities between Katniss and him as well, especially involving Peeta, and I genuinely want to know his thoughts on that because Lucy was more warm-hearted, and naive, but Katniss was more cold, and logical like him.

I also want to read his descent into power and how many people he continued on poisoning. I want to see what finally caused the relationship between Tigress and him to end to the point where she'd wish Katniss good fortune on her plan to kill him, the ruin of their relationship. I want to see her reaction when she found out that Snow was selling off the victors into prostitution when he knew damn well that she had to do it to be able to feed them all when they were starving and poor, knowing how much pain it caused her, and still forcing that fate onto others without a care which was most likely the tipping point of their severed connection, but still, I want to see the denial, and all the signs she must've seen before having to face reality. I want to read what happened between the timeline after The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes and before The Hunger Games. I want to read about his cruelty as messed up as that is only because it'll make reading his downfall only sweeter.

I'll use my imagination for now, but still, hopefully it happens cuz damn, what a book that will be.

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

Sweeter Than Revenge Part 7

Fandom: Twisters, Tyler Owens, f!reader, Scott's Sister!reader Summary: After you kissed Tyler on his livestream, things between the two of you only continue to develop. Word Count: 3169 TW: Flirting, Kissing, Developing Feelings, Language Notes: A massive thank you to @blue-aconite and @green-socks for reading this over for me and for all the constant support! And to @mayhem24-7forever for always answering my late-night panicked messages

Divider created by me (please ask/credit before using)

Series Masterlist

You weren’t sure how long you and Tyler remained seated in the front of his truck with your lips pressed against each other, but far sooner than you would have liked, you heard Boone shouting from outside, “Hey, love birds! You’ll wanna see this!”

Reluctantly, you broke away from Tyler, both of you panting slightly as you gazed at each other. Then he winked before undoing his harness and climbing out of the truck. You took a deep breath, unhooked your own harness (after a momentary struggle), and opened the truck door.

The winds still rustled gently over the field as you eased out of the truck, your feet standing on the running board as you leaned against the door. About 100 yards in front of you, the tornado continued to twist and twirl through the grass as it made its way away from the truck. Now that your initial fear of driving into it had passed, you were really able to appreciate the magnificence and raw power of the towering wall of wind. It truly was a wonder of nature and you understood why people came from all over just to experience this moment.

You, Tyler, and Boone continued to watch the storm until it began to collapse several minutes later. The death of the tornado was in some ways just as beautiful as the raging storm itself. And as the last of the funnel disappeared, leaving nothing but dark clouds and a band of rain where it had once stood, it felt like a spell was broken as the world around you exhaled.

Looking at you from the other side of the truck, Tyler grinned. “Well, sweetheart, what did you think?”

“That was fucking amazing!” you cried as you jumped down from the truck. “It was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced in my life! Oh my god, Tyler, thank you!” 

As you reached him, you threw yourself into his arms, squeezing him tightly and burying your face in his neck. He laughed as he twirled you around and you could feel his heart racing in his chest, fueled by the same adrenaline that was flooding your system. 

When he stopped, you lifted your head. He was staring right at you, his green eyes sparkling like the stars he had shown you the night you met, his smile so wide that his dimples were on full display. You had never seen someone so breathtaking and full of life before. It was intoxicating.

He must have been thinking the same thing about you.

Tracing his fingers down the side of your face, he murmured, “What are you thanking me for? Chasing the storm…or the kiss?”

You licked your lips as you stared at his and whispered, “Both.”

“Good.” Tyler bent his head down until his mouth just barely hovered over yours. “As long as there’s no regrets.”

“Just that we waited so long to do this.” And you pressed your lips against his. 

You were still kissing when you heard several vehicles pull up beside you. You looked up to see Dani, Dexter, and Lily leaning out their windows, cheering and catcalling as they watched you and Tyler. 

Tyler took a step towards them, his hands raised, “All right, all right. Y’all had your fun.”

“Looks like you two did too,” Dani smirked as she held up a tablet and hopped out of her van. 

“I’m sorry we kind of ruined your video,” you said, sinking sheepishly into yourself.

“Ruined it?” Dexter chuckled. “We already have more views after twenty minutes than most of our videos get after being posted for a month.”

“Really?” You reached out to take the tablet from Dani so you could look, but she drew it into her chest.

“Um…you might not want to look at the comments.”

Your smile evaporated as you looked around at each of the Wranglers. “Oh. But I thought you said…”

Lily hesitated, fiddling with the goggles she just pulled off her head. “They liked the video but some people are just a little…” She hesitated as she struggled to find the right word.

Dani snorted, “They’re jealous. Tyler’s fangirls weren’t too happy seeing him swapping spit with the pretty new girl while they had to just sit there and watch.”

“Oh,” you blinked. That was not the answer you had been expecting.

Tyler placed his hand gently on the back of your arm. “We can go through and delete those comments and make sure everyone knows we don’t stand for that kind of stuff on our page.”

You shrugged. “Let ‘em talk.”

“Really?” Tyler asked, his brow furrowing under the brim of his cowboy hat. 

“Yeah,” you grinned. “If the cost of me getting to do this is a little online hate, I’ll gladly pay that price.” Then you planted another big kiss on his lips. 

Tyler wrapped himself around your waist and the next thing you knew, he dipped you backward, his muscular arms the only thing keeping you from crashing to the ground. It felt like a scene straight out of a romance novel. The Cowboy and the College Girl. 

Yet this was better than any romance novel because it was real. Tyler was real and he was kissing you and it was everything you had wanted since he drew you into his chest as you cried under the stars in the back of his truck the night you met. And you never wanted it to end.

Everyone was hungry after the morning of excitement so Dexter ducked into the camper van and reappeared several minutes later with a plate of sandwiches and individual bags of chips. Everyone else grabbed folding chairs from their vehicles, but Tyler lowered the tailgate of his truck, sat on the edge, and pulled you into his lap. You were a little uncomfortable at first, being so brazen in front of the rest of the crew, but you quickly settled back against his chest as you ate. Already, you felt like you just fit perfectly in his arms and you couldn’t stop the smile from stretching across your face as you chewed.

The other Wranglers exchanged a few looks and soft snickers, but they didn’t say anything. It was only as everyone was finishing up, that Boone addressed the elephant in the field. 

“So, is this gonna be a thing now?”

“Boone—” Tyler’s voice had a slight warning edge.

His friend held up his hands. “I don’t mean nothing by it, I’m just wondering.”

Before Tyler could answer, you leaned back so you could look at him directly. “You know, I’d like to know the answer to that too.”

There were a few ‘ooo’s’ from Dani and Lily, but Tyler ignored them. Holding your gaze, his green eyes shining with open sincerity, he said, “How about I like you a lot and am excited to get to see where this goes?”

“Yeah, I’m good with that.” He leaned down and gently kissed you on the lips. When he sat back up, you smiled. “You know, I’ve never been with a Southern cowboy before. It’s already been such a big change having a guy come pick me up each morning or walk me to my room every night.” Nudging his side, you added, “You might regret that because I’m starting to expect it.”

He grinned, his dimples on full display, and dipped his head. “Yes, ma’am.”

You settled back, snuggling into him as his arms tightened around you. 

“Aww!” Lily said. “You two are so cute together!”

“Yeah, just be careful you don't invite him in when he walks you to your room,” Dani teased.

Tyler rolled his eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

Everyone else started laughing but you had clearly missed something. “Um, why shouldn't I do that?”

Tyler sighed. “It’s nothing. They're all just idiots.”

Boone grinned at his friend’s annoyance. “Tyler said back in his rodeo days, the whole circuit traveled all over the country for competitions, staying in cheap motels like we do now.”

Dani leaned on Boone’s shoulder and picked up his story. “And whenever they’d hire a new girl to travel with ‘em, they’d warn her ‘don’t invite one of the cowboys into your room unless you plan on him spending the night’.”

“I never should have told y’all about that,” Tyler grumbled under his breath. Louder, he said, “It’s been a running joke since then. Even though it’s not true—” he shot Boone and Dani a sharp glare, and they held up their hands “—they never let me forget it. But I’m perfectly capable of going into a person’s room at night and leaving before the next morning.”

“Oh, so you’re love-’em-and-leave-’em kind of guy,” Dani said, nodding. “Nice.”

“Fuck you,” Tyler growled, tensing beneath you. It was obvious Dani was just teasing, but you had gotten to know Tyler well enough to know respect and courtesy meant a lot to him. And even just the insinuation that he might not treat you the way you ought to be treated hit a nerve. 

Placing one hand on his thigh, you gave it a tight squeeze. His face had lost all of the happiness it had just a moment ago, but you gave him a warm smile, hopefully reassuring him you knew the kind of man he was. 

Then, you turned back to the rest of the Wranglers. Popping a chip into your mouth, you asked, “So…any of you ever invite Tyler in just to test out that theory?”

Everyone was quiet for a moment. Then Lily spoke up. “No…but he does share a room with Boone.”

Boone’s head shot up at the sound of his name. He had started fiddling with his camera when things got tense between Dani and Tyler, so he blinked, clearly trying to figure out what he had missed. Then, with a huge smile, he exclaimed, “Oh yeah! Ty and I always share a room. Sleeping with a friend is much better than sleeping alone.”

There was a pause before everyone burst out laughing. Boone looked around, not quite understanding the joke. As the conversation shifted into poking fun at Boone and the other Wranglers’ sleeping arrangements, Tyler pressed his lips into your hair, just above your ear, and whispered, “Thank you.” 

You could already feel the tension easing out of him and you squeezed his leg again in acknowledgement. After all the times you had leaned on Tyler for support in the last few days, it felt nice to actually be able to do something for him for a change. 

The rest of the afternoon, you rode next to Tyler as the crew looked for another storm to chase. Boone had made some excuse about needing to talk to Lily about the quality of their live stream so he rode in her van. You weren't sure whether that was his idea or Tyler’s, but you weren’t complaining about having a bit of alone time with the lead Tornado Wrangler. 

It seemed now that the line had been crossed, neither of you could keep your hands to yourselves. The confined space of the truck cabin along with the restrictive nature of your seat belts limited your methods of contact but you still found ways around those obstacles: While Tyler told you about growing up in Texas, you nodded along as you trailed your fingers through his hair. While you explained what you were going to school for and what you wanted to do after graduation, he smiled and played with the strap of your tank top. While you both discussed your favorite movies and music, your hands were linked across the center console. 

By the time Tyler pulled into a motel for the night, your body was aching for more of him. At one point, you had to force yourself not to squeeze your legs together or let out a soft moan as he rested his hand on your bare thigh just below the frayed cutoff bottoms of your shorts. Yet you couldn’t stop your toes from curling in your boots as he began absentmindedly rubbing his thumb in circles over your skin. As soon as you got the key to your room, you were going to have to take a very lengthy cold shower.

But it wasn’t just the physical moments that had your heart racing as you climbed out of the truck. There was never a moment of awkward silence or uncomfortableness, just effortless, engaging conversation and laughter. You had learned so much more about the cowboy and every little new thing just made you like him all the more. 

After Tyler helped you out of the truck, he left to book the rooms for the night. You unloaded a few of the bags out of the back—including your own—and looked around. Strangely, you didn’t see the faintest trace of Storm PAR. None of their vehicles were in the parking lot and you couldn’t spot a single one of their signature polos mingling around in the crowd of people settling in after the day of chasing. 

Hopefully something hadn’t happened in the field today…

“Hey.” You turned to see Lily approaching, holding out a piece of paper folded into a small square. “I saw Javi when we stopped for gas. He asked me to give this to you. Said Storm PAR is staying on the other end of town tonight.”

Think of the devil… You took the paper from her. “Did he say why?”

“No, but I sort of got the impression he was in a hurry to get back to his truck so I didn’t ask.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

As Lily walked away, you opened the note. The handwriting was a bit sloppy and hard to decipher, almost as if it were scrawled in a hurry, but you read:

He’ll deny it, but Scott watched today. Might want to keep your distance for a while.

You smiled as you reread it. Yeah, Scott probably wasn’t too happy to see you locking lips with Tyler and you were sure to get an earful about that at some point, but Scott had watched the stream. Maybe it was just so he could say he told you so and rub it in everyone’s face if you chickened out, but you couldn’t help but think—hope—that he might have been watching because he was worried for your safety. Could it be that your big brother cared about you after all?

“What’s got you so smiley?” 

You looked up and held out the note for Tyler to see as he got closer. “You might want to avoid my brother for a few days. Seems he caught our little make-out session this morning and I have a feeling if he didn’t hate you before, he does now.”

“I’m not worried. I can handle Scotty.” He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in, twisting you so your back pressed against his chest. Then he rested his chin on your shoulder. “But how are you feeling about him seeing that?”

“I’m…good. When I first got here and came up with this stupid plan, I would have been thrilled that he saw us. I would have tracked him down and rubbed it in his face just to see his blood boil. But now—” you tilted your head and nuzzled it against Tyler’s “—I don’t care what he thinks or how he’s reacting. I don’t want to waste any more of my energy on him. I just want to focus on us.”

“Hmmm,” Tyler hummed, the sound vibrating through your body. “‘Us’. I like the sound of that.”

“Not too presumptuous?”

“Not at all,” he said, tightening his arms around your waist. “I’d be more than happy to be part of an us with you.” 

The two of you remained standing by Tyler’s truck, swaying gently wrapped in each other’s arms for several minutes. You would have stayed there all night if you could, but the adrenaline of the day began wearing off and you struggled to keep your eyes open. Reluctantly, you whispered, “I think I should be heading to my room.”

Tyler nodded against you. “Would you like an escort?”

“Always.”

He gave you one final squeeze before releasing you. Then he grabbed your backpack from where you had tossed it on the ground earlier, and he threw his other arm across your shoulders. Walking with your head resting on his chest, the two of you made your way across the parking lot and up the stairs to your room. It was becoming a familiar routine but this time the walk seemed too short and, in no time, you were standing in front of your door. 

You opened it and turned to face Tyler. “Thank you for everything today. The storm a-and us.”

He reached out and brushed his thumb across your cheekbone. “I’m just sorry I waited. I shoulda kissed you the first night after I walked you to your room or when we were lying in the back of my truck. I knew then that I wanted there to be an us.”

“Me too.” Pressing your forehead against his, your eyes fluttered closed as you whispered, “Why does it feel like I’ve known you for years when it’s only been three days?”

He hummed back, “I don’t know, but I feel it too. Like...you’ve always been here with me. Is that crazy?”

“No. It’s a bit sappy but also romantic as fuck.” 

Tyler snorted, the brief burst of air tickling your nose. Then he whispered, “I should go.”

You nodded, opening your eyes. You didn’t want him to leave but the intensity and speed at which your feelings for him were developing almost scared you and you knew inviting him to stay was not what was best for either of you right now.

Yet as he reached for your hand, you pulled it away. With a sly smile, you said, “Uh uh. Tonight, I want a real kiss goodnight.”

Tyler grinned, flashing his dimples. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.” 

Wrapping his hand around the back of your neck, he pulled you into his lips. Though the two of you had been kissing throughout the day, none of them had been like this. There was a heat, a fire burning under his skin that had never been there before. He pressed into you, his body flush against yours, and you couldn’t hold back as you moaned into his mouth. All of the need you had been feeling in his truck came rushing back, and you could feel the tension already building in your core. 

But just as you began maneuvering so you could grind against his thigh, Tyler pulled back. You gasped at the sudden loss and looked at him, mouth agape. He just smiled and whispered, “Think of me tonight, sweetheart. I know I’ll be thinking of you.” Then, he was gone.

For the third night in a row, you went to bed cursing that son of a bitch who was quickly stealing your heart.  

Part 8 coming 9/30!

Tag list: @green-socks, @mayhem24-7forever, @blue-aconite, @hederasgarden, @writercole,

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@loreng2622, @weebgirl21

[armandisdaddy]

Arrogance Pt 2. Modern!Au

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Content/ Warning ⚠️: 18+ only, teasing, tension, dry humping/grinding,fingering, revenge, romance, talk of sex, p in v penetration, oral male receiving, oral female receiving

Summary: “I could think of so many things that are much more sweeter than whatever dessert you made..”

Chapter Two

A few weeks had passed and the thought of Aemond being in the same room hadn’t bothered you much anymore. He only annoyed you now constantly asking you how you were doing and wondering what was going on with you and his uncle. “Not everyone is horny dip shit like you Aemond. He’s my boss nothing more nothing less. But if he was my “lover” what’s it to you exactly? You didn’t seem to care when you were fucking my bestfriend behind my back.” You spoke so nonchalantly it was something you learned to do well being under Daemon’s tutelage. You didn’t even bother to look at him while you printed off the papers Daemon requested. “If this is all you’ve come to harass me about today I’m sure you have more…productive things to do besides worry me like a school boy…perhaps Alys needs your attention or has your cock grown old to her as well?” You decided to take your eyes off what you were doing for a moment to cast your gaze upon him. If looks could kill he’d be unrecognizable. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. Finally! He was quiet. He stood there for only a moment more before leaving your office. “Thank the seven!” You exclaimed.

Daemon being your boss wasn’t at all what you expected. You recalled him being rather rude to you on many occasions before now. But with the two of you working so closely and even living together you realized he was actually a good man. Knocking on his door you had finished printing off the contract needed for the Velaryon Project and called you to come in. He was standing at the window of his office looking out into the city when he turned to look at you his slicked back tresses were beginning to fall from him constantly running his hands through it when he was stressed a quirk you often found yourself losing your self in while you stared. Snap out of it. “I-uh have the contracts you need for today’s meeting, Sir.” He chuckled softly at the word. “I already told you, Y/N. There’s no need to be so formal here, please call me Daemon.” You rolled your eyes at that gorgeous smile. “I would but your bitch of a nephew already questions if I suck your cock underneath your desk every day. I don’t need anyone else getting that idea in their head.” His brows furrowed and you saw something in his eyes while he looked over his shoulder at you.

It was uncomfortably quiet and you cleared your throat to break the silence. “Well, you said you had the papers that need to be signed just place them on my desk. I was going to let you know that you can leave early I have the meeting forget Velaryon Project and then that’s it for the day hopefully our cousins will make the deal with us.” You did as he asked and smiled at him before leaving. “You’ve been working really hard for this and you’ve made a good impression you’ve got this one the bag.” You softly rubbed his shoulder and he seemed to relax feeling your touch. “Thank you, Y/N. Also…I..wanted to know if you wished to stay longer. You’ve been a great help to me and the company and I know soon you’ll be able to afford a place of your own…you could stay at my place longer…maybe save up a little more money…” You listened attentively and tried to keep a straight face but inside you were smiling from ear to ear. “I would like that…by the way I have a surprise for you when you get back so I need to go if you don’t mind.” And with that you were leaving the office for the day.

While he was gone you had made proper use of your time you had made a 5 course meal and decorated his dining area. You bought a bottle of champagne and placed everything out just so. You thought this would be a great time to celebrate and also in away thank him for his kindness. It took you a few hours, but after everything was done you were getting ready and not too long after you heard him coming inside. Your hair was in lovely bombshell curls that flowed over your shoulder so beautifully and you were a black dress that hugged your curves just right and stopped mid thigh. You walked out to him with two glasses of champagne in your hand as you greeted him. “I see you started the party without me.” He chuckled to himself taking the glass in hand and tapped it against yours before taking a sip. “So how does it feel to nail one of the biggest deals for the company, sir.” You spoke playfully giggling into the glass as you took a sip. He didn’t have much to say his eyes were wandering over you and that dress. You were growing a bit nervous under his gaze and decided to change the subject. “Maybe we should go eat…it’s been a long day.”

He saw the dining room and gasped loud enough for you to hear. Everything looked and smelled delicious. He was in shock honestly having know idea just how talented you were at many things. Aemond was a fool he thought to himself. You both sat down and he had his fill of bubbly and food. After the two of you were pretty tipsy again. Something the both of you did often together drink and watch movies or gossip. The two of you were giggling and the newest hot topic Alys was fucking Aemond’s older brother now, Aegon. You were tickled at how fucked up and messy their family was but it seemed that even though they were chaotic they were great at building empires. “And to think I wanted to marry that prick and have his babies. Served him right the fucker.” Daemon watched you all but too closely almost like prey. “I could’ve told him it wouldn’t have worked out I’ve had my experience with the whore myself.” Hearing that you were all to intrigued to hear about this hot escapade. “Oh? And tell me was she a good lay?” He shrugged and rolled his eyes. “She wasn’t anything special to me, I didn’t even pursue her. Too easy…I like a challenge…it makes the victory even more…satisfying.” He spoke intensely slowly swirling the last bit of champagne in his glass before gulping it down a bit dropped down his chin and he instinctively licking the corner of his mouth making you turn uncomfortably in your seat. “You alright?” You jumped out of your thoughts and walked toward the kitchen. “I almost forgot dessert.” He spoke lowly watching the way your hips swayed. “Indeed.” He quietly followed behind you and saw you going into the fridge. He grabbed your arm and pulled you close to him. “I could think of so many things that are much more sweeter than whatever dessert you made..” He nestled his face into your neck and inhaled your perfume groaning. His hands holding onto your hips tight to keep you from moving.

“Daemon…I…don’t think…” He smiled you finally said his name. “Ah…there it is…it sounds so delicious coming from that pretty little mouth yours.” You shuddered involuntarily feeling the soft kisses on your neck and shoulder as he backing into the counter. He kissed his way up your neck until he found your lips. He’d wanted to do this for a while now….when he first met you actually. His tongue demanding entry and you let him instantly melting as his tongue twirled around yours. His hands hiking up your dress he used his thigh to spread you legs apart pressing his knee into your warm core. You gasped and sucked his tongue in slowly beginning to grind your hips forward. He smiled into the kiss moving his knees up into your thrusts. Your quiet moans got him so excited and he wanted more. He pulled one of your breasts from your dress and lazily licked and sucked your nipple biting and tugging at it softly while you made a mess on his Armani slacks.

His hands gripping your ass cheeks pulling them apart and back together he pulled your thong to the side and let two thick fingers rub over both of your holes. Daemon pulled was cheek apart and felt the pool of warmth which was your cunt and slowly pushed a finger inside. You moaned at the entry and groaned at how tight you squeezed just his finger. He bit his lip and eased it in and out slowly torturing you. “Please…Daemon…more…” you begged and how could he resist just a sweet request. He pushed the second finger inside and almost drooled at how you stretched around them. “Fuck…I can’t wait to feel you on my cock…” he cooed kissing her lips, neck and shoulder pumping his fingers into her while his other hand was filled with your ass cheek and you were helping yourself to his knee. His cock was severely constricted in these pants and he needed to free him. Pulling his fingers from you he unbuckled his belt and unbutton his pants let his cock free. He was thick and long…just right in your opinion…so much so that you were damn near drool at the sight of it.

“So…Y/N you were saying something about sucking my cock earlier…that’s been on my mind since if I’m being honest with you.” You smiled and got down into a low squat looking up at him as his cock hovered over your face. “Gorgeous…” he whispered rubbing your face before guiding his cock towards your lips. You opened up and sucked on the head cooing at the salty taste of his precum with the mixture of him and you were in heaven. Your head bobbing away and you sucked and licked him hungrily while he pumped into your mouth like an animal. That throat of yours…how could someone look so sweet but be so damned deadly. His head was tilted back and his mouth agape. Were you trying to suck him dry?…maybe…of course you were. “Fuck..babygirl if you keep this up I’ll be done before I’ve even gotten started…” he pulled away and propped you up on the counter kissing your sloppy lips before shoving his face in-between your legs. He pushed your knees to your chest and lapped at your clit like he was starving. He suckled your pearly so attentively and looked up at you occasionally reveling at those sexy ass faces you made…perfection. He sucked a few orgasms out of you and he was pleased with himself.

Now it was time to fill you up and he wasted no time “You ready…” you nodded and as he lined himself up with your entrance he slowly eased inside of you hissing all the way in feeling you opening up but quickly gripping him like a vice… ”That’s it…heaven..” he growled into your neck slowly pumping into you trying not to cum prematurely. Slowly he picked up his pace shuddering every now and then hearing how his cock were stirring you up…those sweet sticky sounds..and you could barely think just take his cock while he was losing his mind. At this moment he was yours mind, body, and soul. If this is what being with you was like all of you…he needed you all of you. “Please don’t ever leave me…Y/N.” He whispered into your ear practically begging. You couldn’t really get out word so you just pulled him in closer and he pushed himself deeper until he was stopped by your cervix.

“Baby…you’re gonna make Daddy… fucking cum…” he growled and bit into your shoulder letting you orgasm first before he pulled to spill his seed on the kitchen floor. You both were breathing heavily trying to catch your breath and you kissed him one more time. “You made a fucking mess.” You breathed out and he laughed lowly… “I’ll clean it up don’t worry.”

to be continued…

Taglist

@malfoycassimalfoy @wolflover252

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Sweeter Than Revenge Part 4

Fandom: Twisters, Tyler Owens, f!reader, Scott's Sister!reader Summary: The next morning, you get to learn a little more about Tyler's past and what makes him the way he is. But after he introduces you to his crew, you find out some things that have you second-guessing your connection with him... Word Count: 3847 TW: Fluff, Flirting, Doubt, Developing Feelings, Unrequited Feelings (or are they...), Description of Reader's Clothes Notes: A massive thank you to @blue-aconite and @green-socks for reading this over for me and for all the constant support! And to @mayhem24-7forever for always answering my late-night panicked messages

Divider created by me (please ask/credit before using)

Series Masterlist

The next morning, Tyler knocked on your door at exactly 7:30. You were actually pretty sure you heard him walk up a few minutes before, but you hadn’t peeked out because you wanted to see how long he would stand there before announcing himself. However, the second he knocked, you swung open the door with your bag slung over your shoulder and your sunglasses snuggly settled on your face. Tyler’s hand was still raised, leaning forward to knock again, and he was taken off guard. You bit your lip to hide your smile as he quickly caught himself and straightened up. 

He was wearing what appeared to be the same boots and jeans from the night before (you had noticed a small oil stain on his right thigh when he was driving), but he had exchanged his flannel shirt for a dark maroon long-sleeved denim button-down, his sunglasses tucked into the collar. And of course, his off-white cowboy hat was proudly perched on top of his head.

You, on the other hand, had opted for an outfit rather different from the one you wore the previous night. Gone was the plunging, sheer top and itty-bitty cut-offs. Instead, you chose a comfortably fitting faded band shirt and mid-thigh cargo shorts. You had spent way too long considering your attire for the day and what Tyler may think of each option, but you finally settled on something less impressive but more yourself. It still made you feel attractive, yet comfortable.

And based on the way his eyes roamed across your body, Tyler approved of this decision. “Good morning, sweetheart. You look as beautiful as ever.”

“Thank you,” you said, stepping out into the hall and using the fact you had to lock the door as a reason to hide your face for a moment. “I wasn’t sure what one was supposed to wear to go tornado wranglin’ but this seemed like a safe choice.”

“Unlike your brother’s team, we don’t do uniforms or dress codes so whatever you wanted to wear would have been fine. In fact, just for the hell of it, Boone and I have gone on a few chases wearing nothing at all. But you won’t see those videos on our YouTube channel.” He winked at you before sliding your backpack off your shoulder and placing it on his own. Then he added, “Don’t get me wrong, I loved what you were wearing last night too, but this just…it feels more you.”

The butterflies that had laid dormant since last night once again sprang to life in your stomach. “Seems you’ve got me figured out pretty quickly there, Mr. Owens. Anything else you’ve noticed about me?”

“Let’s see…” Placing his arm over your shoulder, he began to steer you towards the stairs as he thought. “You have a sarcastic, confident shell you hide behind so people don’t see how vulnerable you feel. You know how to use your looks to your advantage in certain situations, but otherwise seem to forget how breathtaking you are. And—” you had started to turn at his last comment, but he placed his finger under your chin and tilted your head towards him “—you like to hide your face when someone compliments you, though I’m not sure yet if it’s because you don’t want them to see how their words affect you or if you don’t think you deserve the praise. Maybe a bit of both.”

You shifted under the weight of his sage-green gaze. “You make me sound like I’m heading into a battle with my armor, my weapon, and my shield.” 

“Maybe you are. Is that how it feels to you?”

In fact, it sometimes was, though you weren’t going to admit that. You rolled your eyes instead, trying to hide how rattled you were by his spot-on assessment. “Geez, and here I thought you were a tornado wrangler, not a therapist.” Shifting the topic off of yourself, you asked, “When did you learn to read people so well?”

Now it was Tyler’s turn to become uncomfortable. His eyes flickered away for the first time and he muttered, “...I’d rather not say.”

If he had seemed hurt or sad or uneasy as the two of you made your way down to the first floor, you would have dropped it immediately. However, the way he avoided eye contact now after just staring at you so intently, plus the slight redness spreading up his neck and face, told you he was hiding it for a very different reason. And after all the times you had been embarrassed in front of him, you weren’t going to let this opportunity go. 

You slipped from under his arm and turned to face him as you reached the top of the stairs. “Well, now you have to tell me! You can’t just tease me with something like that and expect me to drop it! Besides, all we’ve done since we met is talk about me and my messed up life. Let me learn something about you for once.”

He sighed, chewing on the inside of his lip, then said, “Okay, you asked.” As the two of you began walking down to the ground floor, he said, “Back before I got into storm chasing, I used to compete in the rodeo circuit.”

“Really?” you asked. “I didn’t know that. Have you ever mentioned that on your channel?”

“Nah. It was another life. But, one of the things you learn when you’re left staring down a 2,000-pound bull is how to be observant. You gotta notice every little shift or twitch he makes to predict what he’s gonna do and how to stay outta his way. And after a while, it just becomes a habit you do with everyone you meet.”

You raised one eyebrow. “Oh, so you noticed all those things about me because you were examining me like a bull about to charge you?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” he chuckled. “Which is why I didn’t want to tell you. Most girls don’t tend to like it when you compare them to a cow.” 

“Well, I’m not most girls,” you said as you reached the bottom of the stairs and faced him once more.

He smiled, his eyes sparkling in the morning light. “I’ve noticed. You’re definitely keeping me on my toes.”

“Oh?” you asked, taking a step closer to him. “Afraid you won’t get out of my way in time?”

He leaned over until the brim of his hat just grazed the top of your head. “I haven’t decided if I want to yet.”

Staring into his eyes, you felt that same zap of electricity from the night before zooming through your body. You watched his tongue peek out, slowly wet his lips, and, without meaning to, you leaned in closer until—

Slam!

Jumping at the loud noise to your left, you and Tyler both turned to see Scott glaring at the two of you as the Storm PAR team swarmed around their vehicles, loading up their gear. Scott had just slammed the sliding door on the van marked “Wizard” and, after spitting his gum on the ground and popping in a new piece, eyes trained on you the entire time, he climbed into the front seat of Scarecrow and started the engine. You saw Javi approaching Lion and he lifted his hand, giving you a small, apologetic smile that you returned. Then he climbed into the truck and the Storm PAR team pulled out of the lot. 

Whatever spell you and Tyler had been under now broken, you resumed walking towards the cluster of Wranglers’ vehicles. There was an awkward tension in the air you had never felt around him before and, in an attempt to break it, you asked, “So, is that how you read tornados so well? You approach them the same way you approached a bull?”

He shrugged, seemingly as happy to get back to the earlier conversation as you were. “More or less. There’s more science that goes into it but you just have to make careful observations and then, ultimately, go with your gut. Even if that means ignoring what all the data is telling you.”

“And that works?”

“Most of the time.”

“And when it doesn’t?”

He grinned as he approached the side of an old, beat-up camper van. “Then you better hope you have a great team watching your back.” With that, he banged twice on the side of the van.

The doors flew open and four people jumped out. You recognized them all from their YouTube videos as the other members of Tyler’s crew, but you couldn’t remember any of their names except for Boone. He was the other man you had seen with Tyler in the diner parking lot when you first arrived and he always manned the handheld camera in the videos, making commentary and jokes as Tyler drove them into a storm.

Tyler quickly introduced you to everyone. He had already filled them in on who you were and that you would be riding with them for the next week or so. You had been slightly worried about how they would feel about you tagging along given how Scott had responded to the idea of you going on a chase. However, they swarmed around you excitedly and immediately began to chat about how much you were going to love your first storm as if you had known them for ages.

It was such a stark difference from your brother’s reaction. Where he was instantly dismissive and challenged your bravery, each and every one of the Wranglers welcomed you with open arms, giving you heads-ups about what it would be like out there and assuring you it was fine to react in different ways. They even shared their various first storm chases and how they had responded (it was comforting to know that even Boone, who seemed as reckless and wild—if not more so—as Tyler, had torn a vocal chord “screaming like a little girl” the first time Tyler had planted the truck in the middle of a storm).

Your head was on a constant swivel as each of your four new friends talked over one another, and as you moved to turn from Dexter explaining the different tracking equipment the crew used to monitor storms to Dani explaining the upgrades that had been made to Tyler’s truck, you caught sight of Tyler. He was several feet away from the mob surrounding you, leaning his shoulder against the van with his arms folded across his chest, amusement gleaming in his eyes as he watched the chaos around you. Seeing the slight panic in your eyes, he chuckled softly to himself before pushing off the side of the van and clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention.

“All right guys, give her room to breathe. She’ll be here for at least a week so no need to tell her your whole life stories in the first five minutes. She’s still getting used to things around here and we don’t wanna scare her off.” As they all apologized and backed away, you tried to assure them you were fine but Tyler came over and placed his hands on your shoulders. “It’s alright, sweetheart, we’re just all a little excited to have some fresh blood around here. Now, Dexter, is there any breakfast left? I’m starved and I doubt she’s eaten either.”

You tried to insist you were fine, but the words died in your throat as Dexter opened the door to the camper van and the sticky sweet smell of freshly syruped pancakes hit your nose, eliciting a loud growl from your stomach. Tyler must have heard it because he chuckled and began directing you towards the van, walking behind you as he steered you by your shoulders. 

As you ate, it was decided that today you would ride in the camper van with Dani and Dexter so you could get close to the storms, yet not have to immediately dive into one. At first, you wanted to object, thinking they meant that figuratively. But then you remembered the videos you had seen of Tyler and Boone driving straight into the center of a tornado, and, realizing they meant that literally, you agreed it was probably for the best. Part of you wanted to impress Tyler and jump into his truck anyway, but Scott’s comment that you would get too scared and force his team to end the chase early echoed in your mind. 

You were still a little disappointed Tyler’s “embarrassing secret” he had tried to keep hidden this morning was not embarrassing at all. Instead, you had just prodded him into sharing something that made him seem infinitely cooler than he already had. And, once again, you were reminded of the fact that since you two had met, you had spent the majority of the time either complaining about how much of a jerk your brother was, how shitty of a person you used to be, or crying into his shoulder. Meanwhile, here he was, this daredevil tornado wrangler who learned how to read people by staring down deadly bulls for a living and looked like most women’s cowboy wet dream come to life. 

You wanted to prove to him that you were more than what he had seen so far—that you were worthy of all the time and attention he was giving you. If you told Tyler you wanted to ride with him, you had no doubt he would let you. But what if Scott was right and you freaked out as soon as you neared a tornado? What if you had a panic attack or somehow caused the Wranglers to turn back instead of diving into the storm? They made their money—money they used to help others—from their videos. A video they would not be able to post if they couldn’t record a storm because you were having a complete meltdown. 

So, at least for today, you climbed into the back of the camper van as everyone got ready to chase their first storm of the day.

Dani and Dexter were an interesting pair. Dani was brash and loud, riding with her boots propped up on the dashboard as she slouched in her seat, all the while telling you jokes and poking fun at the other Wranglers. Dexter was more reserved at first, but the longer Dani talked, the more comfortable he seemed and he began joining in. You could tell by how they interacted, often speaking over the other or laughing at a joke before it got to the punchline, that they spent a lot of time together and had a close bond. It was really nice to see. You thought about how stiff and professional the members of Storm PAR seemed and you found yet another reason to be thankful Scott had turned you away. There was no way you would be having this much fun with his team.

As time went on and the clouds above you began to darken, Dexter began to explain how storms were formed, what kinds of conditions were necessary for them, the destruction they could cause, and how much scientists still didn’t know about them. Dani rested her head in her hand, looking half-asleep as she struggled to listen to information you were sure she had heard a million times before, but you were captivated.

Just as Dexter began telling you how the radar in the center console worked, the radio crackled to life and Tyler’s voice, distorted slightly through the ancient speaker, came through. “You okay back there, sweetheart?” Dani picked up the receiver and passed it back to you. “Dani and Dexter aren’t just bickering the whole time, are they?”

You laughed as both Dani and Dexter objected to that statement. “No, they’re great. Dexter’s been teaching me all about the science behind the storms. It’s been much more interesting than those dry reports Scotty left behind.” You saw Dexter beaming in the rearview mirror and you smiled back at him.

“Well, just don’t let him get started on funnel formation or you might change your mind.” Dexter shot a stern glance at the radio as Dani looked out the window, swallowing a laugh. Then, lowering his voice slightly so it felt like he was speaking to you and you alone, Tyler said, “I can’t wait to get you up here with me so I can show you the storm through my eyes.”

Clutching the radio closer to your face, you smiled softly. “That sounds amazing. I can’t wait. And Tyler, I—” You wanted to thank him again for everything he was doing for you. For welcoming you into his life without a second thought and introducing you to these other people who were already starting to feel more like family than your own flesh-in-blood. But, more than that, you wanted to thank him for the way he always made you feel as if he was actually excited you were there—that you were wanted. But just as you were trying to find the words to express those feelings, you remembered the rest of the team could hear you and you quickly cleared your throat. “Um, just be safe up there. You can’t show me anything tomorrow if you do something stupid today.”

“You heard the lady, Boone. Guess we’re taking it easy today.” You heard Boone muttering his objection and you could almost see his pout through the radio. “Cell should be coming up on our left. Y’all enjoy the show.”

The radio clicked off, but you continued staring at the receiver, cupping it close to your chest as you thought about all the things you wished you had been able to say to him.

Glancing back at you, Dani and Dexter exchanged a look before chuckling to themselves. Looking up, you asked, “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” Dani said, examining her nails. “Just seems that someone’s already fallen under the spell of the ol’ Owens charm.”

You raised an eyebrow. “‘The ol’ Owens charm’?”

“You know exactly what I mean. Believe it or not, he doesn’t do it on purpose, it’s just who he is and he can’t turn it off if he tried—not that he even realizes he’s doing it. He’s just naturally one smooth SOB that anyone could find hard to resist.”

A vice suddenly tightened around your heart making it hard to breathe. Was…was that all this was? Did Tyler treat everyone he met with the same kind of attention and kindness? Were you reading into his actions more than you should? 

Trying to maintain a blank expression, you shook your head. “Well, it’s not like that. He’s just letting me hang out with you guys to piss off my brother.”

“That’s what he said…but I’ve seen that look before,” Dani said smugly. 

“Dani…” Dexter muttered, giving her a pointed glance.

“What look?” you asked.

“The one you had when Tyler was talking to you. Like you were soaring on cloud nine and he was the only other person up there with you. Happens all the time.”

“Dani,” Dexter said a little louder.

But she either didn’t hear him or ignored him as she continued, “It doesn’t help that he’s so damn noble on top of everything. You should see the things he does when we stop by a town that has just been hit. He’s almost been crushed in more destroyed houses than I can count trying to go back for a kid’s teddy bear or a family’s photo album. The guy just can’t say no to someone in need.”

“Dani!”

“What?” She glanced at her friend then back to you and her smile faded. She must have noticed the way you had folded in on yourself, your arms wrapped tightly around your middle as you tried to process everything she had said. 

Stuttering slightly, Dani tried to backtrack. “Hey, listen, I didn’t mean…” She sighed and ran her hand through her dark hair. “I might be wrong. Tyler’s never invited someone to join the team outta nowhere like this. And he’s seemed different since he came back from your date yesterday.”

“It wasn’t a dat—” you mumbled, but she cut you off.

“Whatever it was. He’s had even more swagger in his step than usual and, this morning, he checked his watch like a million times to make sure he wasn’t late meeting you at your room. And Tyler never gets wound up like that for anyone. Right, Dexter?” The man nodded, and Dani smiled as if to say “see? I told you”. But then her smile dimmed slightly. “Just…just be careful. You seem like a really nice girl and none of us want to see you get hurt. So maybe know where you stand with him before you let yourself fall too hard.”

“Thanks,” you said, letting your arms unfold slightly. You were still questioning every interaction you had had with Tyler, but knowing you might have had some effect on him did make you feel a little better.

“Plus, you’ve been a lot of fun to have around and I’d hate for you to leave because Tyler can’t see what a catch he has in front of him.” Dani winked at you, and you gave her a small smile. 

You lean forward and hand her the radio. In an attempt to break some of the tension that has now filled the camper van, you asked Dexter to resume what he was saying when Tyler called. But as he happily returns to explaining the radar monitor, the excitement you had previously had listening to his lessons had evaporated. Instead, all you could think about was Tyler.

You thought about the way he held you close to his chest last night, his arms wrapped around you as you cried. You thought about the way he defended you to Scott, how he said you had found someone willing to give you their “attention and love”. You thought about that spark of electricity flowing between you as he pressed his lips to the back of your hand, and how that same spark seemed to gleam in his eyes before he left. You thought about this morning as you had leaned in to kiss Tyler, and how for just a brief moment before Scott’s slamming truck door ruined the moment, you swore you saw Tyler begin to lean in too.

Were you just seeing what your smitten heart wanted to see? 

The more you thought about it, the more you realized Dani was right. You needed to know for sure how Tyler felt before your feelings for him grew any stronger. If he was just being nice and that was all, that was fine. You were supposed to be here to get revenge on Scott, not to fall in love. So if that was the case, you would stuff down these developing feelings and try your best to forget them. But if Tyler really did feel this same magnetic pull that you did, well…that would be great to know too.

Part 5 coming 9/9!

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Sweeter Than Revenge

Steve sighed as Nancy and Jonathan walked into Scoops Ahoy, yet again. He was pretty sure they were coming in here to mock him.

"Your ex-girlfriend and her boyfriend are here again," Robin said.

"Yeah, I know that. Thanks for the update," Steve scoffed.

"Just trying to be helpful," Robin said.

"I don't think you are," Steve replied.

Nancy and Jonathan were in the back of the line. Every so often, they'd look at them and then turn to each other to laugh. Jesus. Could they drive the knife in even further? Wasn't it bad enough that she left him for Jonathan? Why did they have to go out of their way and rub it in? He could feel Robin watching him as he served another customer. They were one step closer to him.

"Pretty sure, they'd stop coming in here if you tried to flirt with Nancy again," Robin said.

"That's the worst revenge plan yet," Steve said.

"No, the worst revenge plan would be me pretending to be your girlfriend," Robin said as she took the next customer.

"Why?" He asked.

"Because I don't date jocks even if it's pretend," Robin said. "Nothing personal."

"Well, Nancy left me for Jonathan. Wouldn't it be funny if I tried to steal Jonathan away from her?" Steve asked. "Ultimate revenge."

"If you're into that sort of thing," she said, looking at him strangely.

"Please, you know that I am," Steve scoffed.

"Uh. . .no, I don't. Last time I checked, you were a notorious ladies' man. Or at least I thought you were. You seem pretty terrible at it," Robin said.

"Robin," Steve said, lowering his voice. "You caught me with that dude on my break out back the other day. You seemed cool with it.".

"Okay. . .I thought that had been a woman," she said, blinking at him, and she also lowered her voice. "So, you're. . .?"

"Bisexual," he whispered after he served another customer.

Nancy and Jonathan were even closer to the counter now. He sighed.

"What?"

"Babes and non babes alike, Robin," he explained.

"Oh. Thanks for telling me," she said softly.

She looked at him as if she wanted to tell him something, too. She got choked up, though, and couldn't seem to find the words.

"Are you okay?" He asked and then turned to the customers. "Give us a moment."

He dragged her to the break room, where she slid to the floor. Steve sat down next to her.

"Just the babes for me," she said.

"Yeah?" He said with a smile.

"Yeah. . .Tammy Thompson. . .Mrs. Click's class. She couldn't stop staring at you, and I wanted her to look at me," Robin said.

"Tammy Thompson. . .doesn't she sound like a muppet?" He asked.

"Shut up, she's got dreams!" She exclaimed. "At least, I'm not hung up on my ex and her boyfriend."

Robin and Steve both burst into laughter. They fell into comfortable silence, Steve smiled at her.

"Fair point," he replied. "I'm pretty sure they're coming in here to mock me and this outfit."

"Then all the more reason to steal Jonathan, and if that doesn't work, then it will definitely make him uncomfortable," Robin said. "They'd have no choice but to leave."

"Alright, let's do this," Steve said.

They walked out the door to find that it was only Nancy and Jonathan were at the counter.

"The others got impatient," Nancy said.

"I guess they really wanted that cream," Robin said, and Jonathan said.

"Welcome to Scoops Ahoy, I'm Steve Harrington, I'll be your captain. Would you like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me?" He asked as he leaned against the counter, winking at Jonathan.

"Uh. . .we know who you are," Jonathan said.

"It's company policy now," he said smiling. "Your hair looks different today. Did you do something?"

"I brushed it out of my eyes?" He asked in confusion.

"Well, it's a good look. . .I can definitely see your gorgeous eyes a little better now," Steve said, smiling.

"Steve?" Nancy asked in confusion.

"So. . .what do you want?" Steve asked Jonathan, ignoring Nancy. "You look like you know what tastes good in your mouth."

Jonathan choked, and he could hear Robin gagging in the background.

"I mean, I like the USS Butterscotch," Jonathan blushed. "I know everyone does. . ."

"It's a great choice. Personally, I like the mint," Steve said.

He scooped up a sample cup and grabbed a little spoon. Steve dug in and put the spoon in his mouth. He slowly ate the bite of ice cream, his tongue wrapped around the spoon and licking up every bite. Nancy and Jonathan both watched him. Steve put more ice cream on the spoon and held it out for Jonathan.

"What?" He asked in confusion.

"Go on, taste," he said.

Jonathan leaned forward and took the spoon in his mouth. He ate the ice cream, with confusion and also a little bit of darkness in his eyes. Steve smirked.

"It's good," Jonathan said.

"You know, my tongue had been on the spoon, and then you had the spoon in your mouth. . .almost as if my tongue had been in your mouth," Steve said. "Isn't that crazy?"

"It's not crazy at all," Jonathan said.

"Steve!" Nancy exclaimed, snapping out of her daze.

"What?" Steve asked. "Do you not like me flirting with your boyfriend?"

Nancy scowled at him before dragging Jonathan with her past the counter. Before he could tell Nancy off, she was dragging both him and Jonathan into the break room.

"He's taking a break!" Nancy yelled to Robin.

"You aren't the boss of us!" Robin yelled back.

Nancy dragged them into the storage closet. It was small, so it was a tight fit. Steve was surprised when they both shoved him up against the wall. He felt something hard of Jonathan's pressed up against him. Oh. He was more surprised when Nancy and Jonathan both pressed their lips to his neck. Steve let out a shocked, but not unpleasant, moan. Was this really happening?

"You have no idea what this outfit does to us," Nancy said, pulling away.

"I'm starting to have some idea," Steve gasped. "I thought you were teasing me."

"Oh, honey, you haven't seen us tease you quite just yet," Nancy said, cupping his face.

"But you will," Jonathan said as he also pulled away.

"You both want me?" Steve asked.

"Always have. . .we just didn't know how to tell you," Jonathan said.

"Sorry, it took so long," Nancy said.

Steve pulled Nancy into a familiar but, somehow, new kiss. She smiled against his lips. Steve pulled away and turned to kiss Jonathan. It was a good feeling to have their lips touch his. . .it felt like it was something that was always supposed to happen. When he broke the kiss, Jonathan was smiling at him in amusement.

"I definitely liked the taste of that in my mouth," Jonathan said and Steve laughed.

"Oh god, I don't want to ruin this," he said.

"What?" Nancy asked.

"When I thought you were coming in here to make fun of me, I got this idea in my head to steal Jonathan from you as revenge," Steve said. "I know, I'm better than that now. . .but I guess not really."

"You're an idiot, Steve Harrington," Nancy laughed. "I wish I could have seen that play out."

"You're beautiful, Nancy Wheeler," he said with a relieved sigh. ". . .and you're okay to look at, Jonathan Byers."

"Fuck off, asshole," Jonathan laughed.

Steve giggled and pulled them into a hug. Yeah, this was sweeter than revenge.