#third fact will be how he flies.

[achillez-on-pawz]

Centipede fact 2

he's an inventor. And also uses his tail barb to echo-locate.

[helaintoloki]

Misunderstanding

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!reader

warnings/notes: angst, reader is described as timid/shy, fluff

a/n: this prompt was sent in as a request! hope you all enjoy <3

summary: you accept Bucky’s invitation to attend Tony’s charity gala as his date, but your night quickly turns sour when you find out about his bet with Natasha

Your hands tremble as you raise the gun towards your target and fixate your aim on the bullseye. You’ve never handled a weapon like this before, but your novice status in the shooting range isn’t what has you feeling so nervous.

“Relax your arms a bit,” Bucky suggests, his hands gently resting on your biceps as he positions them in the correct form. His chest is pressed against your back, strong arms encasing you against him while he uses his leg to gently nudge your own into the proper stance. His metal hand comes to rest on yours and adjust your aim so that it’s aligned with the target across the way from you both. You hope he can’t hear the rapid beating of your heart or feel the growing perspiration resulting from being so close to the man, and you hope he doesn’t take notice of the fact that your powers are slowly manifesting themselves around you in result of your emotions.

You’ve been an Avenger for a few months now, having joined the team after they’d been sent to investigate an environmental disturbance in a quiet California town. You had just developed your powers after becoming an unwilling test subject for your father’s experiments and had little to no control over your ability to manipulate the flora around you. The city had been turned into your own arboretum overrun with a multitude of different plants, some more dangerous than others, and it was only with their help had you been able to clean up the mess.

Your first months training had been spent solely focusing on controlling your powers, managing your emotions to prevent plants from popping up in places they didn’t belong, but this was easier said than done. Your abilities still had the tendency to activate even when you didn’t want them to, but you were doing much better now with practice. Your regime had slowly begun to include more practical elements like hand-to-hand combat, stealth, and weaponry. That’s how you ended up alone in the shooting range with Bucky who had been more than happy to help you learn.

“Now when you’re ready, pull the trigger,” his encouraging voice sounds in your ear.

You clicked with Bucky almost immediately after joining the team. As a victim of scientific experimentation himself, he understood the trepidation you held towards your abilities and the loss of autonomy you were experiencing. He was a calming presence that provided you with comfort every time you felt like your body was turning against you, and it wasn’t long before he decided to take you under his wing. You’d become fast friends in no time, and it was a rare occurrence at the tower to see one of you without the other.

Calming your nerves, you let out a slow exhale before pulling the trigger. You watch anxiously as the bullet flies out of the barrel and hits your target dead on.

“Right on the mark!” Bucky compliments proudly before removing himself from you. You find yourself already missing the closeness, but you play it cool by flashing him a bashful smile. Your joy has already begun to present itself as tiny daisies bloom at your feet, but the super soldier doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. “See, wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“I just got lucky,” you admit with a sheepish shrug. Bucky laughs before giving you an encouraging pat on the back.

“You just need some practice. I’m sure you’ll be able to start shooting at moving targets in no time.”

“She’s a natural, isn’t she?” A third voice chimes. You turn your heads to find Natasha standing in the doorway, a knowing smile on her face as she greets you two with a nod before settling her gaze on Bucky. “Steve’s asking for you. Wants to talk strategy for the mission you two were assigned.”

“Right,” Bucky sighs before turning to you. “I’m going to be gone for a few days. Will you be alright without me?”

“I’ll manage,” you joke with a halfhearted smile that Bucky is quick to match. Your heart nearly jumps out of your chest from the way his blue eyes stare down at you, and you hope neither he nor Natasha can pick up on your nerves.

“Don’t worry, Barnes,” Natasha quips as she comes to wrap an arm around your frame, “she’ll be in good hands while you’re gone.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he affirms with a nod, bidding you both a goodbye before making his way to Steve.

You’d been holding back your powers for as long as you could in Bucky’s presence, so once the man is gone you let out a sigh of relief and finally release the tension within you. Red carnations bloom in a circle around you before quickly wilting once you will them away with a wave of your hand. You wish your abilities weren’t so intertwined with your thoughts, and you wish you weren’t so infatuated with your teammate.

“Rough day of training?” Natasha prompts with a raised brow.

“Just overwhelmed, I guess,” you offer with a weak shrug before gesturing to your surroundings, “and a bit intimidated by all of this.”

“You’ll get the hang of it,” she assures you with a faint smile. “It just takes time.”

You settle into a comfortable silence as you begin to clean up the mess left behind from your training session. Natasha simply watches on in silence, but you can tell by the look on her face that she’s heavily contemplating her next words.

“So you and Barnes?” She finally prompts, acting as inconspicuously as possible. You stiffen slightly at the question but immediately regain your composure as you unload your gun.

“What about me and Barnes?” You retort as nonchalantly as possible, though the mere mention of the man has your heart skipping a beat.

“You guys have gotten awfully close these last few months.”

“He’s a good friend,” you retort defensively, but it’s clear that Natasha isn’t buying your story. Her gaze suddenly becomes fixated on your head, and you watch with uncertainty as she reaches forward and lightly plucks something out of your hair. You blanch at the sight of the rosebud in her hand and try to avoid her knowing stare.

“You like him, don’t you?” She says with a coy smile.

“God, please don’t tell anyone,” you beg her in earnest while snatching the flower away, eyes full of panic and desperation. You thought you were doing well at hiding your little crush on Bucky, but you should have known better than to think an amateur like you could fool a top agent like Natasha.

“My lips are sealed, but even if I wanted to tell I think these flowers would end up blowing your cover before I could.”

“I can’t help it!” You exclaim in exasperation. “Wanda has been helping me learn to control my thoughts, but it’s like that all goes out the window whenever I’m with him.”

“Have you ever considered telling him?” She asks with a raised brow as if it’s the most obvious solution.

“Are you crazy? I think I’d rather die.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” she scoffs with an amused roll of her eyes. “What’s the harm in playing the field?”

“I doubt there’s any part of him that sees me as more than the new teammate he has to babysit,” you denote woefully, clearly having already accepted defeat in your predicament. “Why risk making things horribly awkward for everyone?”

“It’ll only be horribly awkward if he actually rejects you,” Natasha reminds you thoughtfully, “and he won’t. But, Bucky also won’t make the first move either, so you have to.”

“Fat chance,” you murmur under your breath before turning to the armory to return your gun. You miss the look of determination that flashes across her features as she mulls over your conversation. It’s clear to her that your feelings for Bucky aren’t something that can just be swept under the rug, and she’s well aware of the fact that you won’t be able to muster up the courage to voice your feelings.

It seems it’ll be up to her to make the first move on your behalf.

~~~

“Y/n, just the person I wanted to see!” Tony’s voice calls, prompting you to halt in your tracks and remove your headphones. You’d just finished a workout session with Thor and were dying to let your aching muscles relax under a hot shower, but it seems your teammate had other plans.

“What is it?” You press gently while slowing your brisk pace so that Tony can walk alongside you in the hall. You watch with piqued interest as he pulls an envelope out of his pocket and hands it over to you.

“This, my dear, is an invitation to your very first charity gala,” he replies proudly. “I’ve already taken the liberty of RSVPing for you, so consider this as more of a formality than anything.”

“Charity gala?” You retort with a raised brow.

“Stark Industries throws one every year to raise money for good causes around the world, and it’s customary that every Avenger attends.”

“I don’t know,” you drawl nervously, already anxious at the thought of a huge party full of random strangers who know you as the girl that almost turned the state of California into an uninhabitable forest.

“You’re an Avenger now, sweetheart,” Tony reminds you thoughtfully, “and this will be a great way to introduce our newest member to the public and let them get to know you more. You wouldn’t say no to charity, would you?”

“No,” you sigh in defeat, clearly bested by Tony’s guilt tripping. You will yourself to open the envelope and take in the extravagant detailing on the card listing the time and date for the event. You’re not exactly the most extroverted person on the team, but you figure if you can fight world ending threats with no problem then you should be able to stomach one night of being paraded around like a show pony. “I guess I better find something to wear.”

“There’s the spirit,” Tony grins cheekily, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wallet before producing his credit card. “You know what, since this is your first event why don’t you take my card and buy something new. Sky’s the limit.”

You look at him stunned before hesitantly pocketing the card and thanking the man for his generosity. You never imagined that one day you’d be able to have access to Tony Stark’s credit card, but then again, you also never imagined you’d be living under the same roof as Captain America and Black Widow.

After your conversation with Tony, you finally make your way back to your own room and step into the shower to freshen up. You spend most of it anxiously mulling over the upcoming gala and worrying about how you’re going to present yourself. You hate being perceived by strangers, but you suppose that’s what happens when you become a public figure.

Once you make yourself presentable again, you roam the tower in search of Wanda to seek out some guidance for your attire. You make your way through the hallways hoping to run into her after finding her bedroom empty, but you instead stumble upon a hushed conversation taking place in the kitchen. You falter slightly at the sound of Natasha’s voice, and though you can’t make out what she says you’re curious to know what she could be speaking so secretively about. Not wanting to eavesdrop, you make your presence known by rounding the corner only to be met with the startled faces of Nat and Bucky.

“Bucky?” You retort in surprise, stomach already twisting with nerveous knots the moment you meet his eyes. “I didn’t know you were back.”

“Just got back an hour ago,” he explains with a tired smile, but you don’t miss the way he subtly shoots a glance at Natasha before returning his gaze to you. The two look suspicious, almost as if you’d caught them in the middle of something you weren’t mean to be privy of, and though you tried to ignore it you felt unnerved. You didn’t think your teammates capable of keeping secrets from you, especially not Bucky or Natasha, but it seemed apparent that they knew something you didn’t and intended to keep it that way.

“I’m glad you made it back safe,” you offer with a timid smile, swallowing down your nerves to keep your powers at bay. You can feel the itchiness on your palms resulting from a flower attempting to bloom and decide it’s best to make your exit as quickly as possible. “I, uh… I guess I’ll leave you two alone now.”

“You don’t have to go,” Bucky assures you with a frown, but you quickly shake your head and already begin making your exit before he can argue further.

“I have to find Wanda,” you answer almost breathlessly. You quicken your pace before either of them can stop you, your heart pounding in your chest and thorn covered vines trailing in your wake at the sudden emotional discomfort you’re experiencing.

You can’t help but to think you’d accidentally walked in on an intimate moment between the two and perhaps discovered a secret bond they shared. Your stomach flipped violently at the thought. Surely Bucky and Natasha weren’t involved romantically, were they? You knew she could be harsh, but you don’t think she’d be cruel enough to fill your head with encouragement to pursue Bucky just to end up pursing him herself.

You give up on your plans to find Wanda and instead shut yourself into your room for the remainder of the evening to wallow in your ruminative overthinking. You’re left to your own devices for a good hour before a knock sounds at your bedroom door.

“Come in,” you call out quietly. You watch on in interest as your door slowly creeps open so Bucky can peek his head inside.

“You got a minute?” He asks with a bashful smile that makes it impossible to deny him. You give him a small nod and watch as the man makes his way into your room before timidly seating himself on the edge of your bed. “I wanted to talk to you earlier but you sort of just bolted out of there.”

“Sorry,” you reply with a meek smile, eyes glancing away towards the floor. “I was feeling a little overwhelmed about Tony’s charity gala. Plus, it looked like you and Natasha were having a pretty intense conversation…”

“Right, that,” Bucky says with a sigh.

You muster up the courage to peek over at him and ask, “Are you two…?”

“What? No, of course not,” he quickly interjects, and despite the subtle guilt that arises within you, you feel relieved to hear him say this. “I know it might have looked suspect, but I was actually talking to her about you.”

“Me?” You repeat in surprise, shifting closer to the soldier and hanging onto his every word. A fond smile washes over him as he sets his eyes upon you and carefully reaches for your hand.

“I wanted to know if I’d have a shot at being your date to Tony’s charity gala,” Bucky admits with a charming grin. Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest, and you can’t help the sudden triggering of your powers as bushes of roses plant themselves around your bed. Your face heats with embarrassment at the display, but the giddy smile on your face says otherwise as you look to Bucky with wide eyes.

“You want to be my date?” You repeat in disbelief, nearly swooning when Bucky carefully picks a rose from beside him and hands it to you.

“I’d be honored if you’ll have me,” he utters sincerely, voice gentle and eyes full of admiration as he gazes upon your flushed face.

“Of course I’ll have you!” You exclaim, all inhibitions thrown out the window as you fling yourself into his arms and tightly embrace the super soldier. He lets out a soft laugh before gently wrapping his arms around your figure and encasing you against him. You never would have dreamed that Bucky would be hugging you so tightly in your room, that you’d ever be going to a charity gala as his date, or that he’d ever return your affections so sweetly as he was now. You’re overjoyed, a multitude of colorful flowers blooming around you much to Bucky’s amusement.

You suddenly find that you’re not so nervous now about Tony’s party.

~~~

“Hold still,” Wanda scolds lightly as she carefully swipes the makeup brush across your eyelids.

“I can’t help it, it tickles!” You retort defensively only for the witch to roll her eyes in amusement.

The night of the gala had finally arrived, and you were grateful for the fact that Wanda had been more than thrilled to handle your makeup for you. You worried your nerves would prevent you from creating a flawless look, and you entrusted her steady hands much more than your own trembling ones. You had purchased the perfect dress and jewelry to match, and all you were missing was a pair of heels to go along with it.

“I found them,” Natasha’s voice announces as she enters the room with the shoes she’d offered to lend you. “These should fit perfect for you.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” you gush in earnest, earning a pleased smile from her in response.

“Barnes is going to lose his mind when he sees you tonight,” she compliments with a wink.

“I had a feeling about you two,” Wanda adds teasingly as she puts the finishing touches on your makeup. “I’ve caught him thinking about you when you’re not around. He’s smitten.”

You smile bashfully at the floor in response to their comments and nervously rub your arm as you think about Bucky. You’ve been waiting for this night for weeks, and now that it’s here you couldn’t be more excited. You were finally going to spend a romantic evening with the man you’d harbored feelings for since joining the team, and you had high hopes that the night would end with your friendship becoming something more.

After Wanda finishes your makeup and Natasha helps you learn how to balance in the heels, you make your way downstairs where Bucky waits patiently in his best suit and tie. His eyes brighten when they land on you, and you let out an embarrassed laugh when he releases a long whistle at the sight of you.

“You look absolutely gorgeous,” he compliments in earnest before taking your hand in his own and prompting you to twirl. “Come on, give me a little spin.”

You do as requested and giggle in delight at the attention you’re receiving. You always thought yourself to be fairly pretty, but Bucky makes you feel like you’re the most gorgeous woman on the planet. His eyes rake over your figure and admire every detail of your ensemble while still managing to be respectful of your person. You never thought the man who always appeared so solemn and reserved on the outside could be so romantically sweet.

“You don’t think it’s too much?” You ask meekly, somewhat apprehensive about your look. This isn’t how you’d typically style yourself, and though you enjoy the glamour and excitement that come with attending the gala you’re worried about how the public will perceive your image as the newest Avenger.

“I think you look perfect,” Bucky assures you before opening your door and helping you into the car. The drive is filled with quiet conversation as he informs you on what to expect at a Stark party and how to expertly avoid nosy reporters. You’re absolutely enamored by the Winter Soldier, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt as secure as you do now alongside Bucky.

Just as Bucky had warned you, a gaggle of journalists surround your car as you arrive at the party. You feel the nerves beginning to overtake you, but Bucky’s gentle touch against your arm brings you back down to earth as he assures you he’s got your back. He helps you out of the car and allows you to take his arm before guiding you up the stairs into the building. You’re blinded by the flash of cameras and overwhelmed by the multitude of voices that try to get your attention, something Bucky can sense by the way your grip on his arm tightens.

“Don’t worry,” he assures you, leaning in close enough for you to feel his breath fan against your ear as he whispers, “I’ve got you.”

You feel your heart nearly burst from the gentleness of the words and the way he lovingly gaze down at you. Everything around you seems to melt away when your eyes meet his own blue ones, and all your mind can comprehend is Bucky- the smell of his cologne, the way the corners of his eyes crinkle with his smile, the softness of his touch. You’re completely enamored, and you hope he feels as strongly as you do.

Despite your initial apprehension towards the charity gala, the night almost seems to go seamlessly for you and the Avengers. Tony is able to secure generous donations from his richest guests, your teammates are able to relax for a rare night of festivities, and since gaining your powers you’re finally able to feel comfortable in your own skin.

Halfway through the party you end up on the dance floor with Bucky, your head resting against his shoulder as he holds you close and gently sways you in time to the slow song being played by the band. Despite the excitement you feel, you’ve been able to keep your powers at bay the entire night.

“You having a good time?” Bucky asks after twirling you on the dance floor. You smile as he immediately pulls you back into his arms, finding solace in him as you drape your arms around his neck.

“It’s not as scary as I thought it would be,” you admit with a sheepish smile. “I was afraid I’d mess it all up, but Tony says the journalists loved me.”

“Why wouldn’t they?” Bucky says adamantly. “You’re sweet and funny and so strong.”

“You really mean that?”

“Course I do,” he assures you with a charming wink. You let out a quiet laugh and bashfully look away only for Bucky to gently grab your chin and redirect your gaze back to his own. “You’re the prettiest girl in this entire room, and I’m the luckiest guy to get to have you on my arm tonight.”

You swallow nervously as you meet his intense stare, unused to having him look upon you in such a way. Bucky had always been sweet on you, but you assumed his kindness was a result of platonic affection and understanding for the new girl on the team. You were vulnerable and alone when you first joined the Avengers, and you assumed the extra care he gave you was merely him trying to smoothen your transition into the life of a hero. But now, with eyes boring into your soul while his metal hand gently presses against the small of your back to bring you closer to him, it seems as if your hopes for his affection are finally coming true.

“Bucky?” You murmur softly, stomach twisting itself into nervous knots.

“Yeah, doll?”

“I’ve been wanting to tell you that I… well, I-“

“Mind if I cut in?” A voice interrupts, startling you both out of the moment as you turn to meet Natasha’s expectant gaze. She looks between you both with a raised before asking, “Did I interrupt something?”

“No, not at all,” you quickly interject before Bucky can answer. You look to the man with an apologetic smile in search of approval. “I’ll find you after this dance, okay?”

“Sure,” he relents with an understanding nod, “I’ll get us some drinks in the meantime.”

You watch his figure disappear into the crowd before allowing Natasha to pull you in for a dance. You shamelessly let her take the lead as she guides your steps to match with hers, and she wears a knowing smirk on her face as she looks to you. “I didn’t mean to interrupt the moment, but I wanted to see how things were going.”

“I’m kind of glad you did,” you offer with a despondent sigh. “I almost told him how I feel.”

“What? That’s great!” Natasha retorts, confusion clearly etched on her features. “I feel like you should be more upset with me than you are right now.”

“I’m just afraid of the possibility that I could be reading it all wrong. I mean, I know he asked me to be his date, but what if this is just a one-night only type of deal? Steve said Bucky was a charmer back in his day, so maybe he’s just trying to be nice and show me a good time.”

“Wow,” the redhead breathes out with a shake of her head. “You really are dense.”

“Natasha!” You exclaim in offense only to receive an eye roll in response.

“If you can’t see how completely enamored that man is with you then I can’t help you,” she states bluntly. In a gentler tone now, Natasha gives your hip an encouraging squeeze before continuing, “I have never seen you as sure or confident in yourself as you’ve been tonight, so don’t be so quick to revert back to doubting your worth. You deserve to get what you want.”

Despite the initial harshness of her words, you know that Natasha is right. You’ve worked hard these last few months to earn your spot on the team, to prove your capabilities, and to force yourself out of your protective shell. Gaining your powers and overrunning an entire city with plants had been terrifying but you’d gotten through it, so there was no reason to believe you couldn’t handle putting yourself out there and sharing with Bucky the feelings you’d been harboring for him. His actions tonight were clear indicators that the possibility of him viewing you in more than a platonic lens was real, and if a woman like Natasha who’d been trained to easily read others could clearly see his interest in you, then you shouldn’t have any ounce of doubt left within you.

“You’re right,” you utter undauntedly with a firm nod of your head. “I should just get over my fears and tell him how I feel.”

“There’s the spirit,” Natasha retorts with a proud smirk. She releases you once your dance is over and sends you off with a wink, watching on proudly as you leave to search for Bucky. “Good luck!”

You manage to push your way through the crowded banquet halls towards the bar, but Bucky isn’t there. Your eyes anxiously scan the room for any sign of your date, and you’re barely able to catch sight of him stepping out onto the patio with Steve and Sam. You smile in relief before briskly making your way over to him. You’re not as nervous as you thought you’d be, and your body feels as if it’s vibrating with the exhilaration you feel at finally taking charge in your life for once. You don’t want to be the shy or timid Avenger your teammates know you as any longer; you want to be seen as someone who knows what she wants and is sure in her ability to achieve it, and you hope that after tonight you’ll be able to prove that.

The cool night air sends immediate shivers across your bare arms as you reach the doorway to the patio. The three men have their backs turned to you as they converse amongst one another away from the crowded party, enjoying a moment of peace free of reporters and fanatic guests. You know that you should make yourself known instead of eavesdropping, yet you can’t help but falter when you hear your name arise in the conversation.

“So you and y/n?” Steve prompts with a pleased smile. “You two looked like you were having a lot of fun out on the dance floor.”

“She’s great, isn’t she?” Bucky voices, admiration present in his tone. You feel your heart swell with bliss at hearing the way he talks so fondly of you when he thinks you’re not around, and it only makes you more sure of your decision to tell him how you feel.

“I like you two together,” his friend says with sincerity. “I think you’ve both helped each other come out of your shells.”

“Not to mention she makes you less grumpy,” Sam notes with a playful smirk. “I just can’t believe you managed to pull off getting her to agree to come as your date tonight. She’s gorgeous and clearly way out of your league.”

You muffle your quiet laugh with your hand and decide that now is probably a good time to reveal yourself to save Bucky from Sam’s teasing, but his next words have you stopped dead in your tracks.

“Well, it wasn’t really my idea,” he explains while uncomfortably running a hand through his hair. “Natasha put me up to it.”

You can practically feel your heart sinking in your chest as the words settle into your mind. Your lips part in quiet shock and your stomach tightens in disgust at the reality you’re met with.

“Natasha?” Steve retorts with a raised brow. Bucky nods.

“We made a deal that she’d take over my next field assignment for me if I got y/n to be my date to Tony’s party.”

You slowly shake your head in disbelief and begin to back away as the weight of his confession sinks down onto your mind. You thought that Bucky was finally beginning to see you the way you see him, that he meant it when he said how lucky he was to have you on his arm tonight, that you were finally crossing over from being platonic friends to something more.

But it had all been a lie.

Sam turns to set his glass on a nearby table only to freeze when he sees you standing there. He takes in your trembling figure and wide eyes and is quickly able to piece together the fact that you’d heard everything.

“Shit,” he curses under his breath, garnering the attention of both men as all three now turn to find you lingering in the doorway. Bucky’s face falls as he makes contact with your glossy eyes and trembling lips.

“Y/n,” he utters remorsefully, taking a step towards you only for you to step back.

“I can’t believe you,” you manage to get out in a quivering voice, holding back a sob before quickly turning and making your exit.

You’re overwhelmed by the music that now feels like it’s blaring in your ears and the suffocation that overtakes you as you push through the crowded hall. You feel like you can’t breathe, and all you want is to get out of this party as fast as possible so you can return to the tower.

“Y/n, wait!” Bucky’s voice calls after, garnering the attention of a few onlookers who pause their conversations to watch the super soldier chase after you. He finally catches up to you once you make it to the front room away from the party, gently grasping onto your hand to halt your frenzied escape. “Doll, let me explain-“

“Explain what?” You spit harshly despite the tears that fall down your cheeks. “That you lied to me? That you only brought me here because of some stupid bet?!”

“It’s not like that,” he insists only for you to yank your hand away with a frustrated groan.

“Really? Because that’s what it sounded like to me,” you utter in quiet disbelief. “I can’t believe I actually fell for it.”

“You weren’t supposed to hear that,” Bucky pleads gently before carefully reaching out for your arm. His words only infuriate you further, prompting thorns to sprout from your skin and protect you from his touch.

“Oh, right, because that makes it better,” you retort sarcastically. “I actually thought that you could like me the way I like you… I let you make me believe that I was the prettiest girl in the room and that you could actually want to be with me.”

Your shoulders tremble as you let out a quiet sob, and Bucky can only watch on in despair as he tries to remedy the situation he’d created. He never meant to hurt you, and he hated to see you cry as a result of his own actions.

“Y/n, come on,” he urges you softly, now using his metal hand to try and reach for you. “Let me fix this, let me explain everything and I promise-“

“You want to fix this?” You interrupt in a shaky voice, swallowing down another sob that threatens to fall before backing away from the man. “Then leave me alone. I want nothing to do with you.”

“Y/n…”

“Congratulations on winning your bet,” you utter despondently before slamming the doors shut behind you and leaving Bucky to ruminate in the mess he’d created.

It was never supposed to be like this.

~~~

You haven’t left your room since returning from the party last night.

Your evening of glamour and excitement had come crashing down after your argument, and once you got home you immediately rid yourself of all remnants of the charity gala. You initially had been filled with anger and rage, but all you felt now was an embarrassing sadness. Natasha had filled your head with fantasies and gotten your hopes up about Bucky only for you to end up humiliated. A rational part of you knew she must have meant well by bribing Bucky into taking you to the charity gala as his date, but you wished she never would have meddled in the first place.

You don’t think you can ever stand to be around him let alone even look at him after hearing him talk about your night as if it was something less tedious to be done in comparison to being sent out into the field. You thought you were worth more to him than a stupid bet to be made, but his words had clearly proven you wrong.

No one has attempted to enter your room since last night, though it’s not like they could even if they tried considering you’d barricaded your door with a wall of prickling vines and thorn bushes to block their path. You didn’t want to see or speak to anyone, even if you knew that eventually you’d have to face your teammates at some point.

As you try to pass the time by tending to the plants littered around the room, a knock at the door interrupts the peaceful atmosphere you’ve created. You’re honestly surprised someone had managed to pull it off considering the multitude of thorns should have stopped them from doing so, but you make no move to answer it.

“Y/n, it’s me,” Bucky’s voice sounds, prompting you to bristle with unease. The thorns on the outside grow larger, but this does not deter the super soldier who uses his metal arm to knock against them. “Please talk to me. You have no idea how much this is killing me.”

“I told you I want nothing to do with you,” you shout back wrathfully. “Leave me alone!”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that doll.”

“Why don’t you go make another deal with Natasha and bet you can get me to open the door,” you retort sarcastically much to Bucky’s dismay. The quiet and timid girl he’d been so used to was nowhere to be found now, and you weren’t about to let him win you over again with charming flatteries.

Bucky groans in frustration, moving to walk away only to halt in his steps and turn back towards your door. He’s determined to get through to you, and despite the cold shoulder you’re giving him he’s not going to give up until you hear him out.

“Fine, you don’t have to open the door,” he says calmly, hands raised in surrender as he ceases his pounding. "I’ll just talk to you from here.”

You roll your eyes at his statement and try to block out his voice as you water your plants, but you can’t help the part inside of you that desperately wants to know why he would ever stoop so low to use you as leverage in a bet. You adored him, but he’d broken your heart, and you felt you did deserve an answer even if you didn’t want to hear it. You don’t respond to his proclamation, but you also don’t interrupt him, and Bucky takes this as a sign to keep going.

“I know I screwed up, and I shouldn’t have agreed to making that deal, but you have to understand that I didn’t ask you out just to get out of a field assignment,” Bucky says earnestly, prompting you to pause your ministrations and set your watering can aside as you slowly make your way closer to the door. “I worded it all wrong when I was telling Steve and Sam, and you didn’t give me the chance to explain myself.”

“When I came home from my mission with Steve, Natasha cornered me in the kitchen to talk to me about Tony’s charity gala. I had no plans to attend whatsoever until she warned me that if I didn’t go, some other guy would get the chance to sweep you off your feet instead. And I realized… I realized I didn’t want that to happen.”

Your eyebrows raise slightly at his confession before furrowing in confusion. You recalled the night you’d stumbled upon him with Nat in the kitchen, and you remember he had explicitly told you they’d been discussing you. You hadn’t been able to hear anything said between the two, and you were now finally learning for the first time what they’d been so secretively conversing about.

“She said I didn’t have the guts to man up and ask you out,” he says quietly, features forlorn as he leans back against the wall. “She bet I’d be too scared to ever make the first move, and I wanted to prove her wrong. I didn’t make that deal because I thought it would be an easy way to get out of work or to humiliate you. I did it because I like you, and I would hate for Natasha to be right about me letting some other lucky guy win you over all because I was too scared to open my mouth and tell you how I feel.”

A heavy silence fills the hallway as Bucky stands with bated breath before your door and waits for any sort of response from the other side. A part of him fears that you hadn’t heard a word he’d said, or even worse, had heard everything and simply chose to ignore it. However, just when he feels like giving up and finally leaving you alone, the vines guarding your room slowly begin to rescind until there’s nothing left. The door slides open and reveals your hesitant figure standing on the other side. Neither of you speaks at first, too nervous to make the first move, but after a moment you finally work up the nerve to talk.

“You said you wanted to tell me how you feel,” you utter softly, taking a nervous swallow before continuing, “so tell me.”

Bucky can’t help but to smile after finally being able to see you again, and you watch in uncertainty as he takes a step towards you and carefully takes your hands in his.

“I’ve had feelings for you since the day you touched my metal arm and accidentally made daises bloom around it,” he voices with an affectionate grin. “You make me want to be a better man every time I’m around you, and I know that if you gave me the chance I’d do everything in my power to be the guy you deserve.”

You bite back the tears that begin to well at his confession, a smile playing upon your trembling lips as you listen to Bucky say the words you’ve only ever dreamed about hearing. You can see the sincerity swimming in his eyes and know that he isn’t lying to make you feel better. What he says is real, and he means it with every fiber of his being.

“I believe you,” you relent quietly, “and I’m sorry I didn’t give you the chance to apologize.”

“I’m the idiot who should be apologizing,” Bucky avows with a chuckle while giving your hands a gentle squeeze. “I shouldn’t have needed a bet to tell you how I feel. Will you still have me, doll? Even after how stupid I’ve been?”

You giggle quietly as you pull him closer and prompt him to wrap his strong arms around your figure. You peer up to meet his loving gaze while gently placing a hand on his cheek, heart thrumming rapidly in your chest when he immediately melts at the feel of your touch. “Of course I’ll have you.”

Bucky bites back a smile, holding you close as he leans down to meet your lips in a kiss. Your arms find their way around his neck while his hands press against your back to hold you tightly against him as if he never wants to let you go again. The doorway once covered in thorns now blooms with beautiful roses, signifying your reconciliation with the man you adore.

Maybe that bet wasn’t so bad after all.

[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - bad intentions

warnings ; nsfw (18+!!!!!!), unprotected sex

prompt ; in which a TikTok edit sparks a desire to get absolutely destroyed by your boyfriend.

note ; hey… heyyyy *opens door* um idk what this is but I’m back with a new fandom and this random piece of writing. this is my formal request to join the bts fandom pls xoxo i promise im fun and can write hellish smut

It’s cruel that you live with someone as attractive as your boyfriend.

It’s even more evil that the world posts TikTok edits of your boyfriend to seductive songs that make your underwear soak through with arousal.

All that to say, you’re not really making your life any easier by watching every single one that stumbles across your For You Page.

You have been better. It was a slow Sunday: one where your boyfriend sits perched on your shared living room couch, mindlessly playing with his lip ring as he watches some Netflix show. It’s nice having him like this, all for you, in a space you two built for yourselves. But you, you’re in the bedroom, aimlessly scrolling through an app that has taken up more than enough of your time and perfectly curated content about your boyfriend and this silly little band he’s in.

But it’s when, and only when, you stumble across an edit of your boyfriend to a The Weeknd song, that you shoot up in your bed, blink rapidly, inhale a sharp breath. Your heart catches in your throat, does that stupid little flutter thing. And then.. the clench that follows down below. You replay it once, twice… a third time.

Don’t be weird. Do not be thirsty.

But, he is yours. That much, you do know.

You close the app, delete the page off your phone. It’s not like you two have a boring sex life, he takes care of you and you never feel dissatisfied. In fact it’s rather the opposite. This one time being two nights ago when he had your legs up on… never mind. You look at your black phone screen in disgust. Do not be a horny little freak.

Well, one last look at the edit won’t hurt.

You go back to the fan edit. Glance at it, slap your hand over your face, peek through your middle and ring finger. Fuck.

The arousal that had pooled before in your underwear was now a full-on ocean. Really, you should have more decorum than this. You don’t really want to bother Jungkook, he’s had a busy week with the boys… but it also has been two days since you two have had sex.

Fuck it.

You swing your legs off the bed, shuffle down the hallway of your apartment. You spot your boyfriend lounging on the couch, his back to you. Even from where you stand, you can see his build, his biceps.. Gosh. You sound like a hormonal teenage girl.

You creep up behind him, wrap your arms around his neck and press a few sloppy kisses down it. His hand flies up to caress your arm that’s hung around his neck, a little laugh leaving his mouth, “Well, hello to you too.”

You decide then and there in that moment: You’re going to die if you don’t have him. Maybe that’s a little dramatic, but you’ve lost all strength.

“Hi,” your voice is frail, weak even, as you kiss along his jaw. He sucks in a deep breaths, fingers drawing circles on your arm. His eyes are glued to the television screen like if he looks anywhere else, he might combust.

You detach your arms from around him, moving to the front, blocking his perfect view of the screen. He looks up at you with those doe eyes you love so damn much. One look at you and he gathers quickly there will be no more watching of television.

With little words, you straddle him, knees on either side of his thighs. Jungkook feels up your thighs, smirks a little, “What did I do to earn this right now?”

You are well aware of how needy and desperate you look right now, but that doesn’t matter. You let out a little sigh, pushing your lips onto his. For some reason, you feel like some little fangirl who is hooking up with her celebrity crush. The cold metal from his lip ring is a welcomed feeling, and you place your hands on his neck, feeling the structure and heat of his skin. God, you are going to cum just from this kiss if you keep it up.

Pulling away a little, you look into his eyes, “Nothing specifically… I just…”

You sigh, go back in to kissing him again. Those plump pink lips of his work against yours, shivers running down your spine as he runs his hands up and down your bare thighs. “Just what, baby?” He speaks in a low tone in between the incessant kissing.

“I’m so fucking horny,” You admit.

Upon the minute those words leave his mouth, you feel his cock begin to press against your inner thigh. You’ve got him right where you want him. And it’s not that this isn’t normal; it is. But you’ve essentially offered yourself up to him on a silver platter and the act of desperation you got going on right now is really doing it for him.

“Hmm?” He hums against your lips, his hands roaming underneath your shirt to trace your spine. And you could marry him right now for being so quick to go along with it. For not pushing you, for letting you set the pace.

You start to grind yourself down on him, the wetness soaking through your pajama shorts you have on. It is criminal how much you need this man inside of you, now. “What do you need from me, baby?” He starts to kiss down your neck as light whimpers exit your throat from the friction of your shorts on his grey sweatpants.

“N-nothing,” You exhale out. “Let me ride you.”

“Fuck.” He groans out.

“You need me that bad?” He brushes a strand of hair off your shoulder, kisses down your supple skin.

“Yes, please,” Your voice cracks. You can’t take it anymore; you think you might combust into a million little pieces.

“Well, go on, my love,” He removes his lips from your skin, smirks, sits back against the couch. “Have me.”

He does not need to tell you twice. There’s no time for pleasantries. You move your legs off his, lower down his sweatpants enough for you to be able to access his boxers. You kick off your shorts, leaving the underwear on; there’s not a single shred of a fuck left in you.

Jungkook is sat there, an amused look plastered on his face, mixed with a level of adoration you are not sure you have seen before. His arms have moved, now splayed out across the top of the couch, his biceps flexing. You straddle him again, remove his throbbing cock from the confines of his boxers. Fuck, if you weren’t so ready for him, you would’ve taken him into your mouth.. but alas, no time to waste.

You push your panties to the side, rub your juices over his length. He lets out a little moan at that, watches you eagerly get ready to take him whole.

With a gasp, you align him to your entrance in search of relief. You engulf him, take him in inch by inch until you bottom out. Honestly, you could unravel just from that. “Holy fuck, baby,” His head falls back, eyes still glued to the sight of you fully taking him to the brim.

You never really do get used to how big he is; when you two first started dating, he stretched you out so wide you were certain you would never recover. Your bottom lip is sucked in between your top teeth, rushed exhales leaving your body as you slowly begin to move, begin to gyrate your hips and lift yourself up and down on his pulsing cock. “Oh my god,” You breathe out, hands moving to his broad chest, gripping onto him to steady yourself

He’s not doing much, besides just watching you in complete and utter awe, and yet that still takes your breath away. “You look so unbelievably sexy right now,” He says, barely even realizing the words leave his mouth, since they were mostly meant for his inner thoughts. His hands come around to land on your hips, the pads of his fingers pressing into the bone. There will definitely be a bruise there tomorrow.

You lull your head back, close your eyes tight. It’s all you can do to try and keep yourself together. You’re an absolute mess right now; pussy squelching with each stroke, his cock a mix of yours and his arousal. The only sounds that can be heard in the apartment are the slapping of skin and the moans that continually leave both of your mouths. “[Y/N]…” He moans out. You look at him, deep in those eyes that you love so much.

And there’s such… desire on his face, his pupils blown wide, his jaw slack. He is so undeniably hungry for you, and it’s going to kill you. You speed up your bounces, losing a little more control with each and every passing moment. Your arms snake around his neck, pull him even closer to you. “Fuck, I am so close,” You whisper out, mostly to calm yourself down.

“Yeah?” Is the only word he can muster right now. “Need you to cum for me. Want to make sure you’re taken care of.”

It is all so filthy; the sounds, the look he’s giving you, the way your nails are digging into the flesh of his neck and leaving marks. Your half-lidded eyes meet his, gaze dropping down to his lips. You press a few sloppy kisses on them.

“You like this, hmm?” he asks, fingers digging even deeper into your hip bones that you’re certain he is leaving an imprint on your skull. “Having me like this ready for you? Does that get you off?”

His words elicit a clench around his cock, your walls tightening around him. He is absolutely correct. He knows he’s hit the mark. “Talk to me.” His tone is soft but threatening.

“Y-yes, it does. Oh my god, Kook..” You can barely think, any singular thought beside how incredible his cock feels inside you, how you can feel him penetrate your stomach with his entire length. “I’m gonna cum.”

It’s so close, it’s teetering on the edge. Every nerve ending in your body craves him to a point where you wonder if you need to be institutionalized. All you can see is that stupid edit made by that fan flash across your head, your brain unable to comprehend that that is the man you currently have inside of you. “Cum for me, darling..” He coos.

It nearly wrecks you, this orgasm. It washes over your entire being and you’re so loud you’re certain your neighbors will come knocking down your door. Your bounces go from focused to frantic, hips gyrating wildly, and he wraps an arm around your entire waist, picking you up lightly. He begins thrusting into you at a shallow, quick pace, chasing after his own release. Jungkook lets out a few grunts, eyes trained on the sight in front of him; and then he shudders, his cock throbs inside of you, head falling onto your shoulder as he feels himself empty out inside of you. You’re struggling to catch your breath, gripping onto the hair at the nape of his neck.

“My god..” You breathe out. You’re still sitting on him, cock warm inside you as he lifts his head from your shoulder, meets your fucked-out face.

“Baby, that was so incredibly hot, you have no idea,” His face is flushed, hand reaching up to caress your cheek. You entwine your arms and legs around him, holding him close, drawing him deeper into you. You stay there, hearts pounding in unison, as if they're each trying to break free from your chests, desperate to draw nearer. And still, even in this perfect closeness, you long to feel him even closer.

“Mhmm,” You hum out, quite content with yourself. You press a soft kiss to his lips.

“So… care to share what made you jump my bones?” He teases, pressing another kiss to your lips.

“Oh, nothing…” You act coy, but the heat creeps onto your face regardless. He pokes your side, eliciting a giggle from you that has you folding like origami.

“Maybe… just saw a little something on TikTok..” You trace circles on his collarbone, avoiding his gaze.

“Continue.” He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Some girl made an edit of you..” It’s low when it leaves your mouth, he can barely hear it. “Just wanted to remind myself I can have you.. whenever I like.”

You bury your face into his neck in sheer embarrassment, feeling his warmth and the vibration as he chuckles. “You can have me whenever. I’m yours, baby.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

[wonderjanga]

Solomon Outing Everyone

It’s not Billy’s fault Solomon does this. It’s just that the old man will blabber before he even has a chance to register and now he’ll know people’s identities.

Like the second time he met Batman. The first time the two met was when there was a giant alien invasion. That was the day the Justice League formed. Billy didn’t join though due to the fact he left almost immediately after so he could start clearing rubble and looking for injured. He wasn’t apart of the “Hey, after this, let’s meet up at a certain place and discuss becoming a team” discussion. See, the second time they met, was when Bruce Wayne was in Fawcett scouting for ��potential locations to open another branch of Wayne Industries in.” He was actually scouting for Marvel. He wanted to see how the Captain was doing as a hero and if the man would consider joining the Justice League.

Bruce: *walking around, asking about Cap and just looking for the man*

Marvel: *flying in the sky*

Solomon: “Oooh one of your little friends is here, Billy.”

Marvel: *pauses his flight* “Who?”

Solomon: “The Man of Bats. Batman.”

Marvel: “Mr. Batman Sir?” *looks around* “Where?”

Solomon: “Look down. You’ll see a lavishly dressed gentleman.”

Marvel: *looks down* “There’s like five lavishly dressed gentlemen.”

Solomon: “The one everyone’s gawking at.”

Marvel: “Oooooh. That makes sense.” *flies down*

I’m gonna tell you right now, more than ten people have gawked at Bruce when he walked down the street, not because he’s Bruce Wayne, but because they think he’s Patrick Wayne. (Bruce’s grandpa) Let this be connected to my C.C. and Great Grandpa Wayne post from a long while ago.

Marvel: *lands in front of Bruce with a big smile* “Mr. Batman! What’re you doing in Fawcett?”

Bruce: *face shows no reaction but his soul nearly left his body* “Captain Marvel.” *grabs Marvel’s arm and leads them away from public eye*

Marvel: *confused, lets him lead him away*

Bruce: “How did you figure out my identity?”

Solomon: “Easy, they’re body language is the same.”

Marvel: “Your body language is the same.”

Bruce: *someone who carefully crafted a persona to be the complete opposite of the Batman* “Hn. I’d like to you to elaborate on that statement in a few moments, but anyways, the Justice League would like to speak with you-” *starts rambling about the JL and how Marvel should join them*

After the rambling…

Marvel: “I’d love to join!”

Batman: “Really? That’s it? No second thoughts whatsoever?” *wondering how the other man gave this no thought yet also found out his secret identity in a short interaction*

Marvel: “Nope, count me in.”

Batman: “Huh.” *stares for like a second* “Alright then. I’ll reach out to you when we have a comm available for you.”

Then there was Clark. Now see, Marvel had met him first, but Billy had met him second. Mr. Morris introduced them and they worked together for a bit and Billy thought the man was nice. They were even on first name basis! (Clark was practically begging him to stop calling him Mr. Kent.) Then unfortunately, their little partnership ended and they went their separate ways. Solomon couldn’t say anything because Billy was Billy, not Cap, so the chat was muted. Two’s third interaction was when Solomon started running his mouth. This happened soon after he got his comm and went to the Watchtower for the first time.

Marvel: “It’s wonderful to meet you Mr. Superman Sir.” *shaking his hand*

Supes: “You as well, but uh… Please just call me Superman.”

Solomon: “Isn’t that the Kent boy?”

Marvel: *pauses mid handshake to stare intently at Clark because there’s no way that’s true- oh my gods it is* “Clark?”

Supes: *actually shows on his face that his soul also nearly leaves his body* “Wha- I- uh- Clark, who’s that?”

Marvel: “You? Or at least I thought you were.”

Solomon: “Thought he was? Billy you know it’s him.”

Marvel: “Yeah, I thought so. I can’t believe you’re a superhero, man. That’s awesome.”

Supes: *dumbstruck and fumbling for words*

Marvel: “Say, does superheroing help with getting stories-”

Supes: “Okay!” *pushes him into a nearby room so no one will here them*

Marvel: *lets himself be pushed*

Supes: “How did you find out my identity?!” *sounds super panicked*

Solomon: “His body language. And his face. Mostly the body language.”

Marvel: “Mostly your body language.”

Supes: “Wha- We’ve met one time before this!?”

Marvel: “So?”

Supes: “So?!” *pauses to take a deep breath* “Look, just please don’t tell anyone about my secret identity.”

Marvel: “You don’t have to tell me twice. A secret identity is a secret for a reason.”

Supes: *sigh of relief* “Good. But uh… I gotta ask, how exactly do you know my civilian identity? I don’t remember ever meeting you or someone like you.”

Marvel: “You’ve met my civilian identity.” *shrugs*

Supes: “Oh really?” *slightly surprised* “Who are you? Do you work at the Planet?”

Marvel: “No, and I can’t tell you who I am.”

Supes: “Why? You know me… somehow.”

Marvel: “I know, but my identity is kind of a problem.”

Supes: “Are you a criminal or something? Batman told me of a villain who became a hero, if that’s truly the case with you, I won’t judge.”

Marvel: “No, no, no, it’s not that. It’s just that my identity is just a flat out problem. That’s it.”

Supes: “Well that’s really specific.”

Marvel: “Sorry.” *feels bad*

Supes: “Don’t apologize.” *feels bad for making him feel bad* “You shouldn’t have that mentality about your civilian self though.”

Marvel: “I try not to.”

Also any shapeshifters? Solomon clocks it’s them immediately. Also also, him and Cassandra Cain are constantly in tune too. Same with him and Martian Manhunter.

[keravnous]

diet mountain dew; john wick/fem!reader (smut, 18+)

dating john wick - the playlist

The Boogeyman is out to get you. Little does he know, that you too are willing to do quite a bunch of things just to stay alive.

warnings: blood, guns, knives, injuries, physical violence/fighting, assassination attempt; dub-con, rough sex, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (female receiving), choking, dirty talk, spanking, a lot of manhandling bc for the love of god he doesn't know how to be soft anymore, gun kink, knife kink, size kink, strength kink, squirting, body worship if you blink, is this hate-fucking? idk; john has a horse cock change my mind; john is in his 50s, the reader is in her 20s; set somewhere after the series i guess? (I refuse to accept he's dead); problematic family relationship as a plot device; let's all collectively ignore the fact that he would actually never touch another woman or even dare to catch the smallest of feelings again; john gets off on the violence

word count: 10,6 k

thank you mel for a) listening to my ramblings and b) reading a good chunk of the first third of this dumpster fire and still going nuts about it, kissies and thank you v for listening to my keanu ramblings without losing faith in me

You wonder, if praying will help you. Probably not.

The sound of carnage, screams and gunshots in the hallway abruptly stops. You hear the assailant's heavy footsteps echoing off the floorboards outside of your hotel room mere seconds before the door bursts open, flies out of its hinges and rattles to the ground, wood creaking and breaking, splinters flying everywhere.

There had been a hit out on you for two days and every single soldier in your father's militia was ready to defend your life with their own.

Literally. You can tell by the man entering your suite.

You can tell by just how much he is covered in blood. You can tell by the way it drips down his forehead and how it soaks his white shirt - even the soles of his shoes creak with it. You can tell by the way he is totally and utterly drenched in red red red, and because you are certain it is not his.

They literally gave their life for you. The thought hits you like a blow to the head. People have died because of you. Fathers, brothers, sons. You recall your last conversation with your own father. They want us dead, they put out a contract on us - you had never seen him so nervous, so disheveled. What does that mean - his anxiety had been washing over you in seeping hot waves, sending cold shivers down your spine. It means, I need you out of the house - now.

Nausea bubbles in your stomach as the man now approaches you, casually strolls into the suite with his finger on the trigger of the gun dangling from his hand and you stare back at him - a deer in the headlights, frozen by fear in the eyes of its deadly predator. One of your father's men jumps from his cover, fires a shot and gets hit back with one straight between his eyes. It happens so quickly, that you can't turn your head away. You see the bullet piercing his forehead, blood splattering as soon as it exits the skull on the other side. His head flies back a little, and then his body goes limp, slack, as he falls to the ground with a heavy thud.

You want to scream. You want to vomit. You want to run. But there is nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide from him.

There's only one soldier left with you in the suite now and he is hiding around the corner, near the bathroom. The stranger - the assassin, the killer - does not lower the gun again, and does not let his eyes stray from you as he carefully enters the room. You feel terribly exposed, dressed only in your negligée, not daring to move.

Now, that the dim light of the suite's living room strikes his face, you can finally see him, see the man who has come to end you. He is older than you, maybe nearly twice your age, with dark hair and even darker eyes, matching his black suit. Lean and athletic, chest heaving slightly with physical exhaustion. The Boogeyman.

You do not know who or what you had expected, what cruel and dreadful images your brain had conjured up in the past 48 hours - 48 frightful hours of being moved around from hideout to hideout by your father's men, not staying in one place longer than necessary - but it certainly was not that. Not him. He is a lot more handsome than his reputation has led on. Seeing him on the subway around rush hour you would have never suspected him to be in this business. He looks nice. And that is exactly what makes him dangerous.

You have heard his name before. Echoing from the walls. Baba Yaga. Whispered with both: fear and respect. The Boogeyman. Blurted out: like a curse or like a blessing. Mister Wick: like redemption, like damnation. Jonathan, the king's son walking the earth as the devil.

John. The sound of his name is oddly human - disturbingly human - for someone looking as calm and collected, focused and concentrated as he does right now, while being drenched in blood and pointing a gun at you.

You must have said his name out loud, because his eyebrows twitch irritatedly, a movement so quick you barely missed it - must've sound desperate too, then.

Vision zeroing in on the barrel of his gun, your hands clutch the sofa's edge. There is so much adrenaline pumping through your veins right now that it freezes your limbs, has your ears ringing. The only thing responding to your brain fully are your eyes, and they snap away from the gun and over to the remaining soldier. It's a quick look, not even a second, but the hitman seems to recognize it and - with near inhumane speed - flicks his gun, and fires two shots. Blood splatters against the white door as the shots pin the soldier's body against it, and is it finally drops to the ground heavily it leaves a nasty trail, all wet and sticky and red.

Could be you.

You want to scream, but your body does not belong to you anymore, does not respond to your commands. It is a desperate, cruel sound that leaves your throat instead as you flinch with the sound of the gun being fired.

"Let's make this quick" his voice is gravelly and rough, like he has seen a thousand grim things and the pain of it has etched its way into his throat, left a nasty mark on every tone that ever dared to cross after.

That is when your fight or flight suddenly kicks in. Well, more specifically, it kicks in while he is speaking, as he starts to swap the empty clip of his gun.

He underestimates you. Everyone does. Your father, your brother. The countless men lying dead littered across the hotel's 25th floor. It will be his mistake.

You latch forward, grabbing the vase from the coffee table in front of you. The weight of it in your hand drags you down.

With all the strength you can muster, which is quite a lot considering the massive amounts of adrenaline that are currently amping up your body - you throw it at him. It connects with his forehead sharply; a deep, irritated noise bursting from his throat as it crashes, splinters and falls to the floor.

You are braver, braver than you should be as your assault does not end there, your body pushing you forward, leaping over the table and crashing into his broad shoulders.

I will not die today

Body ramming into his, he stumbles, as your fist connects with his chin. You have only been partially trained in hand-to-hand combat, after pleading your brother for months until he eventually gave in. Sadly, he wasn't nearly as thorough and honest with it as he was training his drug dealer and gun runners. But now, it is the only thing you can rely on.

There is nothing else; no one else left alive in that building who might be able to help you. It is up to you. So, you might as well try.

And Oh, does desperation fire up your blood.

I will not die today

The diversion does not last long and he - John John John only human only human only human - grabs you by you waist hard, fingers digging into your flesh and into the expensive silk, before he slams your body into the ground. All air leaves your lungs with a dull sound erupting from your chest, just as pain blooms around your ribs.

You cough and he looks down at you, confusion making his brows twitch, before cold-hearted determination takes over once more. John aims his gun at you once more, pulls back the hammer and you do not even think about it, your leg rising as you kick against his hand. The shot misses, buries itself deep into the expensive carpet a few inches next to your skull. You have no time to do either: panic or sigh in relief; instead, you deliver him a kick to his stomach, fighting yourself back onto your feet, punching him straight in the face.

John grunts and grabs your wrist, but you see it coming and throw yourself into his wide frame, wrapping your other arm around his back and thus hooking it underneath his right shoulder, dislocating his arm and preventing him from aiming his gun at you. You claw onto him as he twists your arm close to his stomach, while you wrap your legs around him, making it harder for John to shake you off.

I will not die today

You kick and dig the heel of your foot into his thighs and the back of his knees and he grunts and buckles a little, but turns wild and relentless quicker than you can blink, throws the two of you into the next wall. You gasp sharply as your back connects with the large mirror, splinters digging into your back - not deep enough to actually cut skin, but it stings nonetheless, the impact making you dizzy.

Sharp pain shoots through your back and your neck, but you are not willing to give up yet, as raw energy and rage and desperation surges through your body - one of your legs coming loose and your knee hitting his stomach repeatedly, making John grunt in pain and you use your momentum to dig your hand deep into his back, holding onto him and then swirling out of the deadlock he has got you in, jumping his back like a monkey.

His gun clatters to the ground and for a split second, the room falls silent. Then, roaring like an animal gone wild, he grabs your calves and slams his back into the nearest wall, has you screaming with the impact. You can feel blood pouring from your nose, feel it trickling down your lips.

I will not die today

John is stronger than you are, so so much stronger - the apex predator: all muscle, unbreakable focus and the sheer will to kill. But you are not only a little quicker; you also really want to stay alive. It is a force he rarely encounters. And quite frankly, it irritates him.

He may be older than you, taller than you and stronger than you but you have something he does not have: you actually still got something to lose.

And you fight like it, too. All scratches and sharp yells, as you punch and scrabble at his shoulders and tear at his tie, trying to strangle him with it. John is struggling against it, gasping for air and winding beneath your assault and then his grip around your claves grows hard like iron, seconds before he pulls - throws you over his head like you weigh nothing. You land on the expensive carpet with a heavy thud - groaning as you crash onto your side with sharp pain shooting through your shoulder, down your ribcage.

I will not die today

John sputters and stumbles forward, looking for his gun but you are quicker, kicking it away with your foot. It clatters back onto and slides over the wooden floorboards.

For a second you consider your choices, fighting yourself back onto your feet but John - a practiced and seasoned fighter - beats you to it and lands a blow to your upper back, sends you back down with him - a mess of sputtering saliva and painful groans. His body topples onto yours and he quickly rolls the two of you over the floor.

John is heavy and warm on top of you, as he keeps you in a tight headlock, your chest pressed to the floor and neck bend in a painful angle. He presses his strong forearm down onto your windpipe and you choke and cough, feet kicking, hands dragging across the wood, clawing at it feebly.

You can feel his breath on your cheek, hot and damp. You can feel his torso pressing against your back as he kneels behind you.

I will not die today

Mustering all your remaining strength, you trash against him, ramming your backside into his stomach. He grunts and for a split second, his grip loosens. It is all you need. Throwing your elbow back, you hit him in the chest and he caves in.

You cough, crawling forward and then scrambling back onto your feet, one of your negligée’s straps falling down your shoulder in the process. You hastily pull it back up, seconds before John launches a cascade of punches onto you.

A few of them hit you as you try to block them; dull pain igniting in your body, blooming in your face and arms. Your breath goes heavy as you stumble backwards. You cannot do this. There is no way. You just physically can't.

He is stronger. Taller. Heavier. Deadlier. Your body and every single muscle, bone, nerve in it aches and you wheeze but he is already onto you again, half-tackles you and grabs your waist, ready to smash you back onto the ground.

You cling onto him with all your remaining strength, struggling against his huge frame, wrapping your hands around his neck in an attempt to get him to stumble.

His hair tingles on your naked arms. Oh wait --

Tearing at his hair - which has him grunting in both, pain, and irritation at the unusual attempt - you clumsily pull yourself up onto his shoulders, cutting his face right above his eyebrow with your nails in the process until you finally wrap one leg around his throat and close it around there tightly, choking him. John tries to pull you off him and succeeds after quite the tussle, only to find your frame clinging to him, legs and arms wrapping around his body, hands scratching and feet kicking.

I will not fucking die today

In an attempt to either get rid of each other or submit the last blow, to finally kill the other, you two swirl through the room - a deadly dance of torn skin, smashed glass panes and mirrors, bruises and cuts. Somewhere in between kicks and punches, he managed to pick up his gun - and right now, you are mustering all of your exhausted strength to prevent the barrel from pressing against your skull.

Eventually, John crashes your bodies through a large wooden door, and is not quick enough - unable to stop his own oxe-like strength - to stop himself from stumbling into the room. The two of you only come a halt as his knees hit something soft and ironically that is what finally topples both of you over, landing onto the mattress of your bedroom with a soft thud and deep, exhausted grunts.

Your ears ring, and you are ready to lash out at him again despite the physical exhaustion, to strike him square across the face, as --

There is something hard pressing against your crotch.

The world falls silent.

No. No, there's no fucking way. It's got to bea hidden weapon. Must be.

But clearly, it is not. There, between your spread legs, his hard cock presses snugly against your panty-clad pussy.

And he just feels so huge - mouth-watering huge - that your body responds in its own way, hips snapping up, stuttering against the hard bulge. John lets go off a shaky, ragged breath, hand still clutching his gun. And you know, that this is your window.

Feeling the warmth that his body and his hard dick are radiating through his expensive suit, you roll your hips once - a languid, slow motion, rubbing your pussy over his bulge.

And he groans. A deep, primal sound that sounds a little coarse. John is looking at you, starring you down, but there is a shadow dancing over his eyes, turning his brown eyes into deep and dark, black pits that gives him away.

He is horny. The Boogeyman is fucking horny. You would laugh, if the realization wasn't knocking all air straight from your lungs. Because it just another reminder, proof of what he actually is: human.

And what a sight he is to see - eyes turning darker every second, his chest heaving with every breath and making it seem like his shirt is going to pop a button or two any second now, his cock prodding against its restraints and your clothed cunt.

It makes you want him. The thought leaves you dizzy, makes you gasp.

Apparently, that is all he needs to roll his hips back into yours. And that - that is just unfair. It's playing dirty. It's, it's -- His dick feels huge as it trails along your folds, has the muscles in your abdomen clenching.

"Fuck", you breathe, a little overwhelmed with and helpless at the sudden surge of lust that ignites your body, the wetness pooling between your legs.

John is not saying anything, just stares you down while he continues to slooowly roll his hips into yours, grinds his cock against your cunt. Your pelvis twitches upward as you start to meet his movements, and then you can hear it. He let's go of a deep breath, and it sounds like the faintest moan.

You need to hear more of that. You need more of him, your cunt aching and hole clenching around nothing already.

"John", and this time you say his name - consciously - it sounds a different way of desperate: your voice reduced to a small whisper, torn at the edges by a wanton whimper ripping from your throat.

If it throws him off-guard he does not show it, does not let you see it. Instead, he grabs your chin hard, gaze locking with yours. Dark pupils blown wide, swallowing the honey-brown of his eyes, and your breath hitches.

"Yeah?", he rasps, and it does not take more than one long look from you for him to lean in, to press his lips onto yours.

The kiss tastes of blood and adrenaline and doom, and you relish in it. Relishing the way his lips move against yours and his beard tickles a little, relishing how his tongue presses into your mouth. It feels like he is eating you whole, licking into your mouth, one hand dancing over your waist - featherlight, like he doesn't know how to touch a body without hurting someone, destroying someone.

I will not die today, motherfucker

Your whole body now sings with it, the security of an impending victory, as you roll your hips into his once more, your tongue now licking back into his mouth. For a second you think about how to strike again, now that he is seemingly distracted, but all will to fight leaves your body as one of his hands brushes over your knee, wanders further and eventually rests on your thigh.

The touch is electrifying and then his hand grows braver, his movements more certain, as he grabs your thigh, feels you up. It happens so suddenly, that you gasp into the kiss.

John parts from you, his lips a little plush already. "Oh God", you whisper as you stare Death Turned Human straight in the face, not a single thought remaining in your skull despite your lust.

He doesn't speak, as he gently let’s go off your leg and straightens back up and for a second you think he is going to hurt you, with the way his brows are furrowed - but he doesn't.

Instead, he moves in, right over your comparably tiny frame - a mountain of a man. John kneels above you, his weight pinning you down while he straddles your thighs and Jesus fucking Christ - what a sight he is to see.

Dark locks falling into his forehead, a little sticky with sweat and the bits of blood from the cut your nails gave him moments ago - right above his left eyebrow, still lazily trickling down into his lashes. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, as he hastily gets rid of his jacket, carelessly drops it to the ground. His black button-down clings to his muscular body underneath his waistcoat and his equally as muscular thighs pin you down to the bed, black fabric nearly tearing at the seams. And then there is his hard cock.

It looks as huge as it felt, with the way it bulges his pants, the outline of it clearly visible as it buckles proudly against its restraints. You are certain, you will not be able to close your hand around it fully - not a chance.

One of his hands - the one lacking a finger, which you only now notice and what sends shivers down your spine - wanders over your body, pulling your negligée down in the process, right tit spilling out of the soft silk. He immediately grabs it, cups it with his large hand and squeezes. You mewl, marveling at just how big his hand is, just as his whole body is in comparison to you. His fucked-up finger digs into the flesh, sending shivers down your spine.

John's hand gropes your tit, before he impatiently pulls the neckline down roughly. You sigh, arousal shooting down your spine and tingling in your lower belly, as two of his fingers nudge your nipple, pinch it.

He watches your face intently, as he continues to grope you, rolls your nipple between his fingers. You mewl, breath accelerating a little but it is just not enough and you buck your hips upwards. John grunts in, what you assume is an approving manner, and let's go off your tit, reaches to his belt at his loins.

Quickly pulling a knife from God-knows-where exactly, a sharp blade enters your vision.

You blink, panic seeping through your lust and your legs twitch a little with fear. If John notices it, he neither shows it nor does he say anything, just moves the knife closer to your body.

The blade shines in the dim light as it dances over your exposed thighs carefully, the metal cooly pressing against your skin, before he flicks it and cuts your negligée open. The thin, soft fabric cleanly cut in half it now lazily slides from your aching body, falls to its sides. Your chest heaves, shivers running down your arms and back.

It happens so quickly that you can only blink. As your brain finally catches up with your eyes, you come to realize that he is holding a real fucking tactical knife. You have thrown one once - they are sharp as hell and deadlier than a bullet. The sound of fabric tearing easily, like paper, proves your point.

And John's movements with the blade are so fast that your breath hitches, a little afraid he might cut you. But he does not, instead, he quickly pulls the torn silk off you and away from under you, carelessly tosses it into the dark of the room.

The edge of the blade dances over your skin and you do not dare to breathe, as he trails it up and down your curves, gently nudges your nipples. "I could kill you", he says calmly and then, in lightning speed, presses the blade into the crook of your neck. Your head sinks back into the mattress, in an instinct to flee the sharp edge.

All it does is to expose your neck further and something gleams in John's eyes, as he presses the sharp tip down slowly, carefully nudging your skin with it. The metal is cold and hard and sharp and your breath hitches. Just a little bit more and it might burst your skin, draw blood.

But, to your own confusion, you do not feel threatened anymore. Oddly enough, your nerves tingle with excitement. You blame it on the already high levels of adrenaline that still pump through your veins, rushing back and forth from your brain and your lungs, but a small voice inside of your head whisper gently, deviously, that you know That's not it. And he knows it, too.

It's in his eyes as well, the sheer excitement of it all, the fucked-up pleasure it evokes in the both of you lays heavy in the air.

It turns you fucking on. It turns you on, that the man who - minutes ago - tried you kill you and did hurt you very fucking badly in the process of it, now decides to let you live.

It turns you on, that you are at his mercy.

It turns you on, that he decided to spare you - just for now.

It turns you on, that these large and strong hands holding the knife have that sort of power over you. And thus, as the blade nudges your head back further, you moan.

"I could cut your throat", John's voice is heavy and thick with arousal and you can feel your heartbeat picking up, breath accelerating. His gaze drops down, watches the rapid rising and falling of your breasts hungrily, while another soft moan escapes from your lips.

"Don't", you breathe softly.

The knife practically burns on your skin, and you can feel arousal flooding your clothed pussy, rubbing your thighs together for any sort of friction. John can feel your squirming underneath him, but he can also see your eyes turning watery and dark with lust, pupils blown and a pretty pink spreading on your cheeks, your breath growing shallow. And he just really needs to fucking taste you right now.

As quickly as it appeared, the blade vanishes from your throat before he twirls the knife like the ruthless, reckless professional that he is, and buries it deep to the hilt in the mattress next to you. The sharp sound as it pierces the thick fabric has the hairs on your body standing up, goosebumps rolling over your skin.

"I'll do it later", he rumbles - casually, like he is talking about doing chores or picking up groceries - before hunching over you, grabbing your chin with his fucked-up hand, and kissing you again. His tongue immediately pushes into your mouth, like he is starving to taste you.

John eats you whole, with the way his lips move against yours. His hand cups your face, tongue licking into your mouth, toying with yours. His kiss steals your breath and you start to get dizzy with it, hips bucking. You can feel his lips curling up and then he parts from you, leaving you a gasping mess, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.

"Let me touch you, John", you whisper, voice a little small because you do not know why you feel that way, and if he will even allow it. But you just need to feel him.

For a long moment his gaze dances over your face and something shifts behind his eyes, like a shadow gets lifted and then very quickly returns. Ultimately, he gives a court nod, so small you nearly miss it and gives you a little more room while straightening back up.

Carefully, as if not to spook him, you dart one hand out, place it on his chest. The muscle is firm underneath his suit and you run your hand along the lapel of his jacket, down and then back up, before it slips beneath it.

John's body radiates warmth under the black fabric of his shirt and your other hand comes up, before you shove the jacket off his shoulders and onto the floor next to the bed.

Your breath hitches.

He is wearing a holster, a reminder of his deadliness, of the gun laying somewhere next to you. Maybe, he sees the fear returning in your eyes, but he is quick to shrug the holster off, throws it into the dark where it clatters onto the wooden floor boards. What is left in front of you are broad shoulders and a muscular chest, the fabric nearly tearing at his movements.

As you run your hands over it, you cannot help yourself - you need to fucking feel him for real.

Quickly making work of his waistcoat and tie you toss both to the side carelessly, before your hands roam his broad chest. His button-down clings snugly against his upper body and you can feel the muscles work beneath the black fabric as your hands brush over them. You tug at the shirt, pulling its tails from his pants before hastily opening the first few buttons. The skin underneath is pale, littered by blue - red - black bruises, birthmarks scattered in between like stars. You pop open the rest of the buttons, greedy to touch him. And as the shirt falls to the sides your hands are already onto his chest, roaming over and admiring the muscular, defined canvas of strength, that violence has painted a pretty picture on.

John is watching you intently as you undress him and then explore his body, your pupils blown wide and dark, mouth agape a little. He is a little taken aback by it - by someone not seeing his body as the ultimate tool of death that it is, but as something else, that he cannot really pinpoint because he can't even look in the mirror without seeing destruction and decay. But the way your gaze wanders over his body, the way you touch him, is different from that and he has not felt anything like it in years.

And John wants. Carnal desire tugs at his brain, shoots arousal between his legs, makes his cock twitch and a low growl escaping his throat.

The sound gets you going: pushing yourself up with one hand, the other wrapping around his strong neck for leverage as you sit up, mouth immediately clutching to his throat. He tastes of sweat and after-shave - sharp and musky - and you run your tongue over his skin greedily, licking and sucking at the skin while your naked body presses against his.

It disarms him. The gentle touch that you put his body up to, while everything still aches from plowing through the better half of your father's militia and beating the hell out of you, confuses him. Your touch, your lips on his skin are soft and not aiming to hurt - instead, they grow more and more needy, wanton and hasty, as you lick over his bruised skin, tasting his sweat. Your hands over his abdomen caress his defined muscles, in awe of his utter strength, thumbs brushing through the soft and dark trail of hair leading beneath the waistband of his trousers. And all John can do, is watch, his gaze locking with yours as goosebumps erupt on his skin.

And you - oh you; your head swims with the way you turn this animal into a human again, unlock a different set of animalistic needs within him and hearing John's breath growing heavy really fucking does it for you, feeling his scarred and beaten-up skin underneath your hands, wrapping them around the deadly machine that is his body. It makes you want more.

Shedding his blood-stained shirt off of his shoulders, your hands roam over his upper back - feeling the scars there: of knives, larger and small ones and round ones of bullets that once pierced his skin. There is something else, a burn scar, in the shape of a cross and he hisses as your fingers brush over it, nails digging into the stunted skin.

It pulls John out of his stasis, reminds him of who he is and you can feel the air swinging with it seconds before he moves. His large hands wrap around your shoulders and then he pulls you off him, throws you back onto the mattress. You yelp, eyes growing wide as you watch his face as it turns from lightly dazed back to stern, wild, with his brows furrowed.

"That's enough", he says, voice coarse and it still feels like a small victory, even though he spreads your legs roughly, hands digging deep into your thighs - hard enough to bruise - before he kneels between them. He yanks your body forward at the back of your knees, watches your tits bounce and then leans in, his lips immediately attacking your throat, your neck.

His lips are surprisingly soft against your skin, his beard tickling a little as it brushes over your tits, your stomach, your thighs while his tongue licks fat stripes over your nipples and down down down your upper body, right to your navel. One of his hands creeps up your body once more and roughly cups your tit, squeezes, and gropes it, rolls your hardened nipple between his index and middle finger. His stunted ring-finger digs deep into your tit and you gasp, hips bucking. John's lips suck and nibble at your skin, before eventually ghosting over your pubic bone, teasing you before assaulting your thighs again, teeth biting down gently into the soft flesh. You gasp and moan while he gropes your body, inhales your scent - as you watch how his lips, tongue, and teeth dance over your thighs, moving closer to your cunt.

John finally, finally, puts his mouth onto your pussy, peppers open-mouthed kisses around your clit, before clothing his lips around it and sucking on it hard through your panties. Your hips buck as a high-pitched moan erupts from your throat, hands flying into his greying locks.

"Fuck", you whine, feeling fresh wetness flooding your folds, dampening the thin fabric further. John can see the outlines of your wet pussy pressing against your panties and parts from your clit momentarily, only to lick a fat stripe over your clothed cunt, watching it twitch.

"That's fucking pretty", he rasps, gaze locking with yours and you feel all air leaving your lungs. His eyes are so fucking dark, like gleaming black pits swallowing you whole, his breath a little flat with arousal.

You want him to fuck you. Really fuck you. To plow you open, rail you until you cannot sit nor walk. He is already so so close to you, but too far away at the same time. "Please", is all you manage to utter out. And it seems to be sufficient enough for him; seems to get across what you want, what you need.

John's fingers wrap around the front of your lace slip, tugging at the fabric - that rubs along your cunt at the sudden motion and has you gasping quietly - and then he pulls. The lace tears easily as he rips it apart, and cool air hits your wet and hot pussy, as he practically peels you out of your underwear, throws it to the side. The look on his face is wild and you can hear him taking a deep breath, smelling your arousal, before he spreads your folds apart with his thumbs, gaze wandering over your plump and flushed cunt.

Teasingly brushing over your clit with his thumb, John watches your reaction intently. And fuck, you do not disappoint. Throwing your head back, you moan, drawing in a deep breath through your opened mouth that heaves your chest, your eyelids fluttering.

You are dying for him to touch you and as he does, it feels like your body catches fire - lust washing away the dull pain in your limbs and near your ribs.

"Oh God", you breathe out as his thumb draws another wide and slow circle over your clit, your hands darting out and grabbing the sheets "Please."

And John complies, his thumb rubbing over your clit in a slow but steady rhythm.

Gasping, your hands clutch the sheets, knees darting away from each other, giving him more space. John accepts the invitation, grabs one thigh hard, fucked up ring-finger digging deep into your skin. His fingers move further, abandons your clit and dance over your folds, down to your hole. It flutters as two of his digits tease it, gently circling around it.

"Please", you whine once more, lifting your hips a little, a desperate noise leaving your throat. John smirks to himself, before pushing two of his fingers into you.

The stretch is sudden and bigger than expected and you moan coarsely, as he pushes his digits along your walls deeply and nestles them into your seeping hot cunt up to his knuckles. And Jesus, you feel so full already; your head swimming as you consider how big his cock must feel, then.

Your breath goes quick and shallowly as he starts to move them, and then he leans in. Nudges your clit with the tip of his tongue, licks over it.

You feel like combusting on the spot: your nerves tingling with arousal, your whole body still aching from the beating you gave each other earlier - the pain in your back blooming as you stretch it with your hips desperately shoving themselves near his touch - your pussy squeezing his fingers.

John pumps his thick fingers in and out of you, his tongue rubbing and circling your clit and soft, needy moans fall from your lips. Obscene, wet sounds fill the air, mingle with your moans and heavy breathing. His lips close in around your clit, sucking at it while his fingers rub along your spongy walls and your cunt squeezes them hard as fresh wetness floods your folds, your squirt wetting his beard and dripping down on the sheets below.

You can hear - feel - John humming against your pussy, peppering the wet skin with open mouthed kisses, licking over it, and tasting your slick.

You feel so fucking good - lust pulsating through your veins, loins on fire - and your head falls to the side, body rocking with sharp gasps and your mouth agape, eyelids fluttering as --

There's the gun. And the knife.

You could easily grab either one or the other next to you, pull the blade out of the matress or the hammer back; put a bullet right between his eyes or plow the blade deep deep into his skull. Killing the Boogeyman. Killing Baba Yaga.

That would do wonders to your family's business. It would emancipate you from it, you would be free. Free to rule.

"Thinking 'bout killing me?", John rumbles, tongue licking a fat stripe over your cunt, nudging your clit. Your gaze flickers back to him: hair a mess, eyes gleaming darkly, hands on your thighs to keep your legs spread. He does not look surprised. Neither does he look worried.

Realization hits you like a blow to the head: he is toying with you. Has been the whole fucking time. The wolf hunting the deer, running a few rounds through the woods to weaken it; its breath whistling with exhaustion, long legs buckling before it collapses - an easy kill. An easy kill for an old wolf, one, that can't quite handle a real hunt anymore.

But maybe, just maybe - judging from the look in his eyes - he got lost in his own game. Its reins slipped from his bloody hands, the wolf tumbling to the ground.

Looking back at him, your lips curl into a sweet smile. "Not anymore", your hand darts out, brushing the loose strands of dark hair from his face - the soft gesture leaving him visibly confused -, "John."

Two can play this game. And maybe, just maybe, the deer can tire the wolf out first.

Something gleams in John's eyes, dances over them like a shadow and he seems to accept the challenge - readying to tire you out - tongue licking over your clit once more, making you shiver and mewl, as he pulls his fingers out of your dripping hole. You feel empty and --

"Do you really think, you could kill me?", he rumbles, voice deep and rough around the edges, "Stupid slut."

And then, quicker than your brain can process it, his hand comes down on your dripping wet pussy.

Your breath hitches, topples over and leaves your throat as a raw, needy moan. Softly stinging pain blooms between your folds and sets your nerves on fire. Blame it on the bruises, blame it on the pain you both inflicted on each other moments ago, but: it riles you up. Mingles with your aching bones and aching cunt, has you arching your back.

"Y'really think you could kill me", he doesn't sound offended, not even amused - voice plain, like he is inquiring if you really believed the earth to be flat. Like you really are stupid.

And you start to feel stupid, too. There was never a chance. You never had a chance. Your death was sealed, determined the second John stepped into the hotel.

You were stupid to believe you could outrun or beat him. You are stupid. And John has every right to show you, teach you, punish you for it.

Giving your cunt another firm slap, John watches your hips twitch, hears your pussy squelching and soft moans falling from your lips. "Shit", you sigh and he slaps your wet pussy once more, feels your slick folds wetting the palm of his hand.

"D'you like that, girl?", and as your only response are wanton gasps falling from your mouth John chuckles deeply, gives your pulsating cunt another two firm slaps. Seeing how he is pulling you apart, how good he makes you feel really seems to do it for him, gets him quite talkative.

"Uh-huh", you make dumbly, quite illiterate, watching him stroking your flushed, hot cunt with two of his fingers. Shivers run down your spine.

And then he leans back in, licks a fat stripe over your sensitive, flushed cunt, from the hole up to the clit.

You squirm, mewl as his beard brushes over your overstimulated skin, leaving a slight burn that mingles deliciously with a fresh wave of arousal that floods your body scalp to toes.

The muscles in your abdomen clench as two of his fingers circle your fluttering hole and then push in, rubbing along your plush walls agonizingly slowly and you can feel yourself tightening around it. Your juices squelch from your cunt as you squirt against his tongue and your slick runs down your folds, wets his fingers and palm while his tongue laps at your pussy, tasting your sweetness.

John pushes is fingers deeper as you moan and sigh, hands fisting his hair and hips moving against his tongue, his digits thrusting into you.

"Oh god", you huff as his lips close in around your clit, sucking on it and the tip of his tongue flicking against it occasionally.

Another wave of fresh wetness floods your cunt as you squirt once more, wetting the sheets below, your slick running down John's wrist.

John parts from your clit, nudges it with his tongue, his beard glistening with your juices.

"Yeah, that's fucking it", another one of his thick fingers pumps itself into your tight little hole and his other hand - also slick with your juices - grabs your thigh, "That's a good girl."

You feel so full, your spine feels like it's on fire and your brain tingles with it, sends wave of pleasure down down down your body; muscles in your loins clenching, chest heaving. It becomes all too much as he leans back in, rubs his tongue over your clit, lips sucking and teasing your folds.

The slight burn of John's beard tickling your plush, hot cunt. His fingers working your open and stretching your tight little hole open far and wide, obscene squelching sounds filling the air as he works you open, brushing against your g-spot occasionally and making you see stars.

But it's too little. It's just not enough.

"Fuck", you whine as John's thick fingers brush over your g-spot with quite some force, tongue lapping at your seeping cunt, "Shit, please. Please, just fuck me, please!"

You can feel him grinning against your wet cunt, beard a little sticky with your juices, letting go of your pussy with an obscene pop. "Yeah", he licks his lips, tastes you on his tongue, "D'you want my cock?"

And that - that might be what makes you lose your mind. Because yes. Yes, you do.

You have been craving to touch it, to feel it since it had pressed against your clothed pussy earlier. Thus, all dignity leaves your body with one, clean whine that breaks free from your throat.

"Yes, fuck - oh god, John", you brabble, legs falling apart further, inviting him in, his digits sinking deeper into your soaking wet hole, "Shit, please fuck me, John - please, please, please --"

Pleas are still falling from your lips like a chant, as a surprising noise breaks the silence, so strangely beautiful that it has you nearly shuddering: John is laughing. It's a nice baritone sound, and the fine lines around his eyes crinkle with it - it's so beautiful, that it drowns the world out. You watch him in awe, as he shakes his head, avoids your gaze.

"Jesus. Look at you", he huffs, voice dripping thickly with amusement, "If you need it that badly--"

Straightening back up and kneeling between your legs, John slips his fingers from your cunt and makes quick work of his belt, trousers, and boxers. The second he frees is cock, you start to drool like a fucking pavlovian-dog.

His dick is so fucking huge. It is nicely curved and cut, the bulbous pink head glistening with pre-cum and a thick, pumping vein at the bottom that rakes from the base to the tip, as it rests between trimmed, dark pubic hair. His cock bobs against his abdomen as it bounces free, smears the pre-cum along the pale skin, twitches at the sudden contact. And Jesus fucking Christ, you just want to fucking touch it, feel its velvety skin in your palm. But you just know that you won't even be able to wrap your hand around its base fully, it's impossible, it--

"I-it won't fit", you whisper, a little taken aback by his sheer size.

"Oh, I'll make it fit, baby."

John takes his cock in one hand, thumb right beneath its head, and rubs it against your slit. And Jesus fucking Christ. Your hips snap up, meet his movements, and he grunts while he spreads his pre-cum along your cunt, gathers your slick. The thick head of his dick prods against your entrance and you take a deep breath, looking down between your legs. You watch how he slooowly pushes in and you gasp at the sudden intrusion, the delicious stretch making you moan.

His cock feels so fucking big, hot, and heavy, as he nestles the tip in, your hole clenching around it. John's brows furrow, and he doesn't wait long until he pushes his cock in further.

The thick base starts to stretch your slim rings of muscles, a sharp pain shooting through it. He can feel your hole protesting, can see you wincing. "Breathe, baby", he hums, "Let me do the rest."

His coarse voice mingles with his words and the waves of pleasure shooting through your body despite the dull pain, conjures up a pretty pretty image that floods your brain - there's sunlight everywhere, orange rays of it hitting a bed covered in white sheets, sweaty bodies on top of it; limbs entangled, hands intertwined with their golden rings shining brightly in the warm light, heavy breathing and sloppy kisses, and lazy thrusts as his cock fucks you awake. The thought makes you dizzy, your legs falling apart and hole fluttering open, inviting him in.

The slight burn leaves you a gasping, whimpering mess as he pushes himself in deep, nestles his huge cock in between your aching, hot, and tight walls.

And John feels like he is going to pass out. No blow to the head, no bullet to the chest, no knife to the stomach could ever make him feel as dizzy as the feeling of your hot cunt squeezing him does right now. His whole body is vibrating with want and lust and he just really hopes that you don't notice that he has gotten a little rusty. The thought quickly gets drowned-out as he looks down, where his thick cock practically splits you open, vanishes in your hole.

"Shit", he huffs out, places one large hand on your stomach and thrusts. Feeling himself moving inside of you has him moaning, gaze shooting up to you, meeting your eyes, as his hand presses down. "You feel me right here, baby?", he rasps and you nod, mouth agape by the sheer force of his thrust, tip of his cock prodding your cervix.

John can see his cock moving inside of you, the way your stomach bulges a little. He gets a little dizzy with, and then his eyes make the mistake of moving up to your face. And it takes a whole lot of fucking will-power of him to not just thrust and thrust and thrust and fuck you until you cry, bleed.

You are so fucking pretty. Mouth agape you watch how his cock vanishes between your legs, splits your cunt open, with his eyes heavy-lidded and cheeks flushed. Your lips are plush and red from his assault.

Your hands grip the sheets and your breasts heave with your deep breaths, that grow a little more flaccid. Next to you lays his gun, knife still buried into the mattress. His eyes drop to the weapons and his breath hitches. And for a split second, like a flash of light, he wonders what in God's name he's doing here. He is a professional. The Ballerina works like that. He doesn't.

A sweet, sweet noise rips him out of his thoughts. "J-john", you mewl, eyes still trained on his massive dick splitting you open, "I-it, it's --"

"Yeah?", he breathes, the sound all soft and careful around the edges.

"Heavy", you breathe.

"Does it hurt?", he kind of wants it to. Make you pay for what you did to him. He kind of doesn't want it to. Make you enjoy what he's got to give.

John realizes he is fucked.

You nod, head flying back into the cushions, while your brows dart together.

John's free hand flies to your clit, nudges it gently, before slowly rubbing wide circles over it. You gasp, as you feel fresh wetness flooding your cunt and dripping down your folds to where his cock splits your hole open, pools around it. He carefully pulls out a little and then pushes back in, assisted by your slick. The way you moan spurs him on and the circles on your clit grow faster and smaller.

Aching your back, you lean into the touch. "That's a good girl", he whispers, voice raw and coarse, dripping with lust and the exhaustion of holding back. John bottoms out, while continuing to rub your clit and he can feel your walls growing plush, your hole fluttering around his dick, relaxing with your hot, seeping cunt inviting him in. "Feels good?"

"Yeah, fuck", you feel like you are being split open, with his thick cock filling you to the brim and rubbing along your walls with every little movement, the thick head prodding gently against your cervix, "Shit, John."

It feels so fucking good, all thoughts being washed away from your brain as he starts to move carefully, thrusts into you once, twice. You moan, lips slightly parted, before your gaze flies to him.

And Fuck. John's chest is flushed a little, muscles of his abdomen flexing with every thrust while his gaze is trained down to where his cock fucks into you, brows darted together a little and his breathing audible.

"John?", you whisper, and his gaze immediately shoots up to you as your comparably tiny hand wraps around the wrist of his hand that is still rubbing your clit.

"Yeah?"

"Fuck me."

For a long moment, he just looks at you and you think - no, you are convinced - that you can see a glimpse of the human being he once was. Caring, sweet and gentle; as he seems to really take it into consideration if you are ready yet, if you know what you are begging for.

Apparently, he does deem you prepared enough, and the soft gaze gets replaced by a dark gleam as all gentleness vanishes from his face once more. Without a warning, John rolls his hips back only to thrust into you again, deep, and hard, immediately picking up a quick rhythm.

It comes as a genuine surprise to you and you gasp, mewling but it quickly feels just so fucking good, practically lights your body up and leaves every nerve-ending on fire, each thrust has you moaning loudly.

It spurs him on, makes him grunt and for a while, you both just watch him gliding in and out of your tight hole, with him feeling your muscles squeezing him and you feeling his cock stretching your open further and further. Your lips as slightly parted and his brows are furrowed as he rolls his hips into yours and you feel time getting lost on you, the only thing of importance remaining is the feeling of him filling you up. John's hands roam your body, wandering over your thighs and your stomach, your hips before angling your leg, pushing the heel of your foot on his shoulder, and grabbing your ankle with one hand, his dick slips into you even further, balls slapping against your ass heavily with each thrust.

You can tell that John has not fucked in a long, long time. It's not the way he does it - all fluid, languid thrust of his hips, muscles dancing under the soft skin. It's mostly the way he pants and grunts - sounds just as desperate as you feel. And still, he has the stamina of a racehorse.

You can feel that he wants to prove it, too, as his free hand grabs your thigh and hoists your other leg over his hip bone, practically pulling your lower half off the bed in the process. Your pelvis now clings to his, obscene sounds of his cock fucking into your wet pussy filling the air while he huffs with his thrusts, yet does not slow down.

The grip on both, your ankle and your thigh are hard, and you are certain his hands will leave a bruise but you just cannot bring yourself to care. Deep down you know, that someone will see them: your maids, your friends, your family.

But all thoughts, all worries get swapped from your brain as your gaze wanders up from where John's dick hammers into you steadily, rakes over his defined stomach and chest and finally, finally lands on his face.

He looks downright, utterly, and breathtakingly -- pornographic.

John's dark pupils blown wide gleaming with arousal, his cheeks are slightly blushed and a thin layer of sweat makes him glow in the dim light of the living room falling onto the bed. It surrounds him like a halo, a Saint of Death and Decay, with his dark hair falling into his forehead and onto his shoulders. He brushes it out of the way with his stunted hand, a ragged breath making his chest heave. There is still some of your slick wetting his beard.

You can't help your mind from going there, from wondering how different things could have been. What it would be like if you had met me in a bar instead of him entering your suite, leaving the hallway behind him looking like a slaughterhouse. Maybe he would have laughed at your jokes, in the dim light of your favorite bar in the city. Maybe he would have liked the same music as you do. Maybe, just maybe, he would have brought you home only to stay the night and fuck you until you would have lost your goddamn mind.

Your hand wanders down your body, strokes your waist and hip in the process, before it languidly drops between your spread legs, two fingers darting out and rubbing circles over your sensitive clit.

John moves quickly, his usual deadly precision shattering your peaceful fantasy, his hand ditching your thigh and closing in around your waist. "Don't you fuckin' touch yourself", he growls, and it's the first time you hear real, actual emotion dwelling in his throat - not his toneless, cold and mechanical rumble. He sounds pissed. Offended.

And the best part is: it seems to get him fucking going.

John leans in, your calf still resting on his shoulder and the slight pain of the stretch is delicious as he nearly folds your body in half. You can feel his dick sliding in even deeper into your hole and you gasp and whine, one hand coming up to dig into his biceps to just hold on. Hold on, while he pounds into you with perfectly angled, deep and strong thrusts, hitting your g-spot with every single one of them.

You know that the suite's door is in shambles, that anyone could walk in here and see you having your brains fucked out by the man who is here to kill you - but you don't care. Part of it is, because the gun is still resting next to your head on the sheets. You could just grab it and shoot anyone dead in heartbeat, whoever is trying to disturb the pleasure that shoots through your body.

But it is also him.

It's the way John is towering over you, back hunched, looking all wide and powerful and deadly, with the way he shields your body from view and harm as he thrusts into you. As he pushes all his rage, adrenaline, and strength into your tight hole, groans, and pants into your ear.

There is nothing you can do, despite holding onto him, nails digging into his back, clutching his broad shoulders, fingers running over his tattoos desperately. He is fucking the living daylight out of you, your body moving like a ragdoll underneath the mountain of muscles and strength. Your cunt is being split open by his cock, as you feel him hammering into you and you feel like you are going to lose your mind, panting and moaning with each of his thrusts.

"John, fuck", you moan sweetly, eyes rolling into your skull as he pounds into you, "You feel so fucking good, shit --"

"Yeah", he huffs, his forehead slowly sinking onto yours, "You too, baby."

You can see his eyelids fluttering, feel his upper body heaving beneath your hands, smell the blood on his skin, mingling with his musky scent. Blaming it on the sickening cocktail of hormones that is flooding both - your brain and your body - you lean in, your lips desperately smacking against his.

And Jesus Fucking Christ. Does John kiss you.

Kisses you like he is starving for it, licking back into your mouth - his body pressing yours into the mattress with his whole weight and muscle, while still thrusting into you.

Your hands tangle into his hair, tugging at it. John moans against your lips and your stomach flutters at the sound, and you want more. One hand moves to lay at the crook of his neck and your tongue presses against his, licking back into his mouth. Adding some force to his neck you invite John deeper into the kiss, and he follows suite, steals you the last bit of air your lungs were holding. Panting you part from him, thumb brushing over the crook of his neck.

Greedily breathing against his lips, you can't help yourself. You feel so alive and you want him to wreck you, to leave something behind that you will remember for every day your heart continues to beat. Greedily breathing against his lips, you can't help yourself but to whisper: "Harder."

John blinks, hips stuttering. And then, he grunts. His hand digs into your waist as he grabs you there, hold you in place will his hips rut into you. Picking up a near brutal rhythm, obscene sounds of your slick being pushed in and out and in out of your hole as he jackhammers into your g-spot, the bedframe rattling as John's thrusts pound it into the wall - leaving you a gasping and moaning mess. His belt clinks with his thrusts and you cling onto him, sharp whines escaping your throat.

"John John John", his name leaves your mouth like a mantra, sharp and high-pitched. His head falls forward, dark locks brushing over your cheek as his temple rests against yours and then you hear it.

John moans.

It's a deep, carnal sound. Your stomach flutters and lust shoots through your body at the noise, your tight cunt squeezing his thick cock as you squirt around his cock like a broken fucking hose, wetting his pubic hair. You can feel it rubbing along your wet folds, the sensation making you mewl, leaves your hips shuddering.

"Shit", you breathe, hands cradling his muscular back and then you can feel his dick twitching inside of you, accompanied by yet another one of his sweet, sweet moans, "Fuck, John--"

He raises his head and your gazes connect, before he leans in, presses his lips onto yours once more. The kiss is surprisingly soft and in stark contrast to the way he ruts and pounds into you and then he hits the spot once more and -

Everything goes white as your muscles clench and unclench suddenly, as you nearly scream against his lips; your hole practically milking his cock as you cum, pussy gushing and squirting around him like a broken hose.

John continues to fuck you through your orgasm and his heavy breathing reaches your ears through the cotton candy, that slowly wraps you in as everything turns light and bright. He moans deeply against your cheek as he comes, too - shoots hot ropes of cum into you and paints your walls with it.

His movements still as he buries himself deep into you, cock twitching with each thick rope of his cum and you can feel him fill you up, as his massive frame slowly sinks down onto you.

Your legs grow heavy and the stretch of your left leg is turning painful and you - a little clumsily - pull it away from his shoulder, stretch it out. Your limbs start to shake and you close your eyes, drawing in deep breaths through your nose.

The room is silent, the air heavy with the musky scent of sex.

Your chest still heaves with the remains of your orgasm, bliss still spreading in your brain and your veins, making you feel like you are flying. Your heart is still racing, as you feel him moving again.

Blinking up at him, you can see him grabbing the gun.

"Don't", you say softly, voice coarse from screaming your lungs out in pleasure just moments ago, "Please, don't." You are not ready to scream yet again. Not ready to scream in pain, instead of pleasure.

John does not reply. He pulls the hammer back, checks the chamber - all with one hand.

"Kill him instead, please."

He freezes, eyes locking with yours. "Who?", he sounds just as exhausted as you. The wolf, tired out. The deer, bleeding, limping.

Call it Post Nut Clarity, call it Finally Taking Your Future In Your Own Hands, call it Emancipating Yourself. Call it Having Wrapped A Deadly Assassin Around Your Pinky.

You were not safer here. You never were. Just more isolated. Easier to locate.

Easier to kill.

Realization hits you like a blow to the head, your vision swimming.

See? I will not die today.

"My father. Kill him."

[honeyedmiller]

A Burning Desire part seven

firefighter!joel x f!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist

rating: explicit. 18+, minors do not interact.

warnings: mentions of pregnancy, extreme vulnerability, brief mentions of emotional abuse and manipulation in a past relationship, mentions of infidelity in a past relationship, shit ton of fluff, smut (nipple play, teensy bit of dirty talk, semi-public?? firetruck fucking!!! unprotected piv, ass play, ass slapping, brief choking, spitting, cum eating), reader’s brothers and tommy are little shits as always, no use of y/n.

word count: 7.1k

a/n: i’ve been feeling a little feral lately which resulted in the smut. apologies🧍‍♀️and yes that third picture is the 911 lonestar firehouse LMAO it was perfect for this okay 😭 anyway i hope y’all enjoy <3

synopsis: a drunken joel asks you to take your relationship with him to the next level.

A week had passed since Joel’s birthday party, and you’re now alone in a house that’s usually bustling with people. 

Sarah had gone off for the weekend to spend the night at a friend’s house while Joel went out with Tommy, your brothers, and Josh. You were curled up on the couch reading an invigorating romance novel. The quietness was accompanied by the ticking clock above the mantle and the soft scrape of paper rubbing against paper as you turned the page of your book. 

You find yourself so immersed in the book that when your phone rings, it nearly startles you half to death. You pick it up to see Emily FaceTiming you, and you dog-ear the page you’re on before setting the book down and sliding the answer button. 

“Hey Emi,” you smile at her as you bring your knees to your chest. 

“Hey sis. How are you?” 

“I’m good. Just reading a book and drinking some wine,” you say, lifting your glass up for her to see. She grins and holds up her water bottle, making you laugh. 

“You got the house to yourself?” She asks. You nod, chewing on your bottom lip. 

“Sarah is at a friend’s and, you know, Joel is out with the boys.” 

“The boys,” she snorts. “I can’t believe they all actually formed a little friend group and are going out.” 

“Tell me about it. I’ll take this over Andy and Cole chewing Joel’s head off any day, though.” 

“Seriously. Remember how long it took them to stop torturing Josh?” 

You think back to when your brothers would give Josh shit a lot when Emily first brought him around, but he stuck it out because he’s so head over heels for Emi… as he should be. Good man. 

“God, yeah. I also remember mom yelling at them both, saying something like ‘this is why you’re both single’,” you laugh at the memory, taking a sip of your wine. 

“I remember that, too. But I’m glad Josh stuck around,” she has a soft smile on her face before she twists her lips to the side. 

“Okay, so, I have something to tell you. But you can’t tell anybody. Well, you can tell Joel if you want,” she sighs, and you furrow your brows. 

“Is everything okay? What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing’s wrong. In fact, everything is perfect. You know how I told mom like a week ago at Joel’s birthday party that Josh and I didn’t use… anything on our honeymoon?” 

You nod, recalling the moment in Joel’s kitchen. Then you go completely still as your heart drops to your ass. 

“Emi, oh my god, is—are you—holy fuck,” your brain is scrambled right now, eyes going wide as you stare at the screen. 

She tears up and lets out a happy sob that sounds like a laugh, holding up a pregnancy test that so clearly has the word pregnant across the tiny screen. 

Your hand flies over your mouth and tears sting your eyes. 

“Oh my god!” 

“I know, crazy isn’t it?” She laughs, happy tears streaming down her glowing cheeks. 

“When did you find out?” You ask. 

“Literally like thirty minutes ago. You’re the first person I’ve told,” she pauses. “Let Josh think he was the first, though. This is what he gets when he leaves his wife at home to go out and drink with his brothers and new friends,” she jokes, and you laugh with her. 

You hold up your right hand, seriousness in your tone. “Scouts honor.” 

“Thank you,” she says, sniffling before wiping her tears away once more. 

“I’m so happy for you, Emi. I know how much you want to be a mother.” 

“I love you, my dear sister,” she beams at you, and you can’t help but return the same radiant smile. 

“I love you too.” 

“Sorry to cut the conversation short, but Josh just texted and said he’s coming home in a few and I want to be prepared and all that,” she waves her hand around, and you can’t help but huff a laugh. 

“No worries. I’m so excited for you. I love you and I’ll talk to you soon, yeah?” 

She nods and blows you a kiss through the screen, saying bye before she hangs up. 

You can’t wipe the grin off your face or the warm feeling in your chest at her news. You try to go back to reading your book, but your mind can’t stop from wandering to your sister. 

Your thoughts are torn from your mind just a few short minutes later as you hear the front door handle jiggle, opening up to a completely happy and very drunk Joel.  

“There’s my beautiful lady,” he says, stumbling a tiny bit in the entryway. You laugh and stand up to help him, giving Tommy a wave as you see him watching Joel from his truck to make sure he gets in the house okay. He gives you a wave and a smile before peeling off, and you close the door. 

You steady Joel and help him walk over to the couch with you, settling him before you sit down next to him. 

“I gather your night went well,” you giggle, and he turns to smile at you. 

“Your brothers are two of the funniest damn guys. Josh too. This bromance is coming along just nicely.” 

You can’t help but laugh at his words, leaning forward to plant your lips on his cheek. 

“Oh, speaking of Josh,” you start, taking Joel’s hand into yours before rubbing your thumb across his knuckles. “Emily called me a few minutes before you came home. She told me some wonderful news and said I can share it with you.” 

Joel’s gaze meets yours as his eyebrows shoot up. “What is it?” 

“They’re having a baby. Emily is pregnant.” 

“Oh wow, that is great news. You think they’ll announce it to everyone soon?” He asks, bringing your hand up to his lips to kiss your knuckles. 

“I’m sure they will soon.” 

It’s quiet for a couple of minutes before you switch positions on the couch and lay down, Joel following suit as he begins to tuck himself between your legs. You’re situating yourself before you look up at him with a small smile, his gaze already intensely on you. 

“We should have kids,” Joel says, a smug, sappy smile on his face. His words halt your movements as you eye him wearily. 

You quirk your brow at him and tilt your head. “Oh?” 

“Don’t ya think they’d be so cute?” He gushes, and Drunk Joel truly is a sight to behold. He’s all soft and cuddly. Practically a human teddy bear. 

“Just think about it,” he laughs, “They’d have your beautiful eyes and your smile and your laugh and—” 

You put a hand on his chest to stop his words, and he looks at you with so much love in his eyes you think you might burst. 

“Slow your roll, cowboy. How about we discuss this when whiskey isn’t in the equation.” 

He pouts at you and you have to stifle a laugh. He looks so fucking cute. Your heart blooms at the fact that he wants that type of future with you, and it cracks through the remaining pieces of the walls you’ve put up. 

He sighs and lays down on you, nestling his broad body between your thighs and clings to you like a koala. You kiss his temple and run your fingers through his hair, feeling so content and in love that it makes you nearly choke up with tears. 

He presses gentle kisses to the skin of your chest as he buries his face there, sighing in content. 

“Well if we’re holding off on the discussion of kids, then maybe we can start a few steps before that one,” he says, and his words barely make sense as he half-mumbles into your chest. You catch it anyway.

“And what would the first step be?” 

He lifts his head up to meet your gaze, eyeing you knowingly before giving you a soft but sure smile. 

“Move in with me.” 

-

“That’s the last of it.” You wipe your brow and exhale an exhausted breath, admiring the pile of boxes that overtook Joel’s living room—well, your living room now, too. It was only two months ago that Joel had drunkenly asked you to move in with him, and when morning time came, you had to make sure he was sure. 

He’d reassured you easily that he meant what he said and would love it if you moved in with him and Sarah. Sarah had been on board with it all along, wanting you to stay permanently after the few weeks you’d spent there taking care of Joel and helping with her. 

You had some things to figure out with your lease to your apartment, seeing as it wasn’t up until January, but your landlord was a godsend and the sweetest woman, letting you break the contract two months early with your full deposit back. 

Joel wraps his arms around you with a prideful grin, kissing your sweaty forehead. You grimace at that, but you’ve come to find out early on in your relationship that this man isn’t easily disgusted by much of anything, really. 

You gaze at the tower of boxes and it tugs at your heart strings. Just a couple of months ago, you were crushed by the prospect of having to go back to your apartment when Joel was fully healed, but it turns out he didn’t want you to leave, either. He’d come to your place on nights Sarah was with friends and would spend time with you there after you’d left his house and he got cleared for light duty at work. 

Turns out he’s just as clingy to you as you are to him. That’s not to say you both don’t mind spending time apart from each other, but you’d much prefer to be wrapped up in each other or simply enjoying each other’s company. 

You’ve already established that allowing yourself to get attached to someone scared the hell out of you, and Joel had sensed it, too. You finally opened up to him one night and laid all of your cards out on the table for him. Confessed that your ex had been emotionally abusive toward you, manipulating you and gaslighting you into thinking you were fucking nuts for wanting to feel something with him and be loved the way you knew you deserved to be, and that you were too much for wanting the bare fucking minimum. That he made you feel like you didn’t matter. That he made you feel unworthy of true love after you finally put the finishing pieces of the puzzle together, seeing the bigger picture, and coming to the conclusion that he was a fucking prick who didn’t deserve you or what you had to offer. The final cherry on top of this monstrosity was catching him fucking his coworker in his bed. 

You told Joel, with tears in your eyes, that your heart was completely his and it had taken you a while to get over the hurdles and constant battles in your mind. You told him he’s the one who crumbled all of those walls completely. He’s the one that made you believe in love again, no matter how much it terrified you. You confessed that he was it for you. He’d ruined every single other man for you, ever. 

With glossy eyes of his own, he pulled you in tight and held you for what seemed like hours, kissing your temple repeatedly until you completely melted into him. He’d made you a promise that night he’d do his absolute damndest to protect your heart and take care of it, and if he ever saw your ex, he’d beat the shit out of him. You’d never seen Joel so furious, but with the look he had in his eyes, you could tell he really wasn’t joking. 

It’s only been a few months, but you feel like you’ve come a long way—mentally, physically, with Joel, your family, and your dearest friend Maria. Without them, you don’t think you would’ve had the strength to overcome your worst fears that involved love. It took you a while to finally love yourself again after you ended it with Christian,  and even longer to allow someone else to love you the way your heart desperately desired. 

You couldn’t have been more grateful that the person to give you that is this handsome, strong, loving man that stands proudly beside you. Someone who’s unabashed about showing you off. Proud to love you out loud. Isn’t afraid of giving you a big, playful smooch in public and doesn’t hide you from his coworkers or his family or any of his friends. 

You’re irrevocably in love with Joel Miller, and you’re damn proud of it. This man has saved you—literally and figuratively. 

“I honestly thought you’d have more stuff than this,” Joel says with a teasing undertone. You snort a laugh and roll your eyes, looking at him with amusement. 

“My apartment wasn’t that big, Miller.” You pat his chest and move toward the boxes, luckily thinking ahead and separating everything into which room they belonged in. You lift the first one up that’s labeled bedroom in big bold letters, heading toward the stairs. Joel follows suit and picks up another one labeled bathroom, following you up the steps. 

You set the box down on the floor and open the drawers that Joel had cleared out for you. You smile at the thought of him being nice enough to clear out some of his space for you. He’d told you it gave him the perfect opportunity to clean up around the house and get rid of stuff he didn’t need or use anyway. He donated most of the stuff he got rid of, saying someone else would get much better use out of the various items. 

Joel sets his box down in the master bathroom, setting it on your side of the sink. Your side. Your lips curl up at that, and Joel comes behind you before nearly tackling you onto the bed. You yelp out in surprise, a breathy laugh escaping you as he straddles you and looks down at you from above. 

Your hands land on his torso, coercing him down with a mischievous smile and a curl of your finger, silently telling him ‘come here’. He licks his lips and leans down, elbows on either side of your head. 

“Fancy meetin’ you here, darlin’.” His Southern charm is something you’ll never tire of, especially if it’s regarded in a playful mood. 

“Don’t you know it’s rude to keep a lady waiting?” You quirk a brow at him and grin, fisting the front of his shirt to tug him down so you’re nose-to-nose. 

“You’re right, pretty lady. Severely rude. How long until everyone gets here…?” He trails off, kissing the line of your jaw before nibbling at your chin. Your eyes glance at your watch-clad wrist as you lift it up in your line of sight. 

“About forty minutes or so,” you breathe out in a sigh. Joel hums against your neck now, licking your pulse point before nipping your skin slightly. You arch your body up into his, neediness rolling off of every limb as you lick your lips in anticipation. 

“Enough time for me to show you how not rude I am,” he murmurs. You laugh at that, threading your fingers through his thick locks. 

“I think this lady would very much indeed like a proper demonstration.” 

Joel’s eyes turn dark and he nearly growls, tugging your tank top up and over your head before unzipping your sports bra. Your breasts bounce as they become free, and Joel chuckles deeply at the way your nipples tighten and become erect with such little teasing and some cold air. 

“So fuckin’ pretty. I love these tits, baby.” 

He leans down and sucks a nipple into his mouth, swirling his warm tongue around it before tugging on it with his lips. He scrapes his teeth over the sensitive bud and you gasp, hands landing on Joel’s chest as you fist his shirt once more. 

Wetness easily pools in your panties as he continues his ministrations, giving the other nipple as much attention as the previous. He eventually licks down your sternum, nipping his way down your torso before grabbing leggings by the waistband and yanking them down. 

“Joel, I’m all sweaty,” you whine, not particularly keen on him going down on you when you feel… musty. 

“Since when have I given a shit about that, baby? You know I’d eat this pretty pussy for breakfast lunch and dinner, given the chance. Now hush up n’ let me eat you like you deserve.” 

And he’s about to dive right in when the doorbell rings. You whine in frustration, rubbing your brow impatiently. 

“Guess we don’t have forty minutes,” you bite, and he has to roll his lips into his mouth to refrain from laughing. You roll your eyes at him and gently push him off of you, standing from the bed to adjust your clothes. You make your way out of the bedroom, and Joel can’t help but land a hefty smack to your ass. 

You swivel your head to look back at him and give him an unconvincing scowl. He’s sporting an amused expression in return. “Hands off, Miller.” 

“Uh uh. We’re in our house now, sugar. Not a chance.” 

He wraps his arms around your waist as you both pad over to the front door, opening it to see your brothers standing there. 

“Hey look, it’s Dumb and Dumber,” you muse, and you scrunch your nose with a laugh as Andy rolls his eyes. Cole flips you off with a saccharine smile plastered to his lips as you step to the side to let them in. 

“Just to let you know, Miller, you’re insane for asking our baby sister to move in with you. Woman’s a goddamn menace,” Andrew starts, setting the six pack he brought onto the kitchen counter. 

“That’s rich considering you and Dumber over here decided to harass him about treating me right the day before Emi’s wedding.” 

Joel’s lip twitches up at the corner, and your gaze meets his as you both share an amused look. He wraps his arm around your shoulders, kissing your temple as he turns back to your brothers. 

“She’s my menace. I love it. I love everything about her,” he says, giving you a chaste kiss as you beam at him. 

“Eugh. Get a room,” Andrew says while he scrunches his face up in mock disgust. 

You point at him in an accusatory fashion. “‘Y’know, Andy, you won’t be talking so much shit one of these days when the woman of your dreams swoops in and knocks you on your ass.” 

“Jeez, who pissed in your Cheerios this morning?” Cole asks, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Both of you did. Cockblockers.” You brush past them to get a bottle opener for the beers, tossing it to Joel when you find it. 

“Dude, come on!” 

“Fucks sake.” 

Your brothers groan in unison as they pick up exactly what you were putting down. 

A flush of deep red creeps up Joel’s neck and face as he opens beers and doesn’t meet either Andrew or Cole’s gazes. 

“When’s the rest of the Brady Bunch supposed to get here?” You ask, pulling a water bottle out of the fridge for yourself. You uncap it and take a long sip, eyeing your brothers over the frosted plastic. 

“Probably twenty minutes or so. We were already in the neighborhood so we thought we’d swing by early.” 

You nod and shift your gaze back to the boxes. Your family was nice enough to volunteer to help you unpack and get things all organized, along with Tommy and Maria. 

A few hours later and the once-full boxes are broken down and flattened, piling high in the living room. The rest of the stuff you need to unpack is stuff for the bedroom, but you decide to take care of it a little later.

You can’t stop thanking everybody as the day goes on, and in truth, it warms your heart that you have so many people in your corner. 

“I’m happy for you, sweetheart,” your mom says as she nudges you with her hip. 

“Thanks mama.” You give her a side hug and lean in to her just as Joel catches your eye and winks at you. 

Your mom huffs a laugh beside you, looking at you with a knowing smirk. “That man really is your soulmate, baby girl. I’m so glad you’ve found someone who loves you the way he does.” 

“You know, I told him about everything that Christian had put me through. That man looked me in the eyes and told me he’d do everything in his power to protect my heart. I completely opened up my heart to him, mom. That’s something I haven’t done in such a long time because I was so fucking scared of me being hurt again being the outcome.” You finish putting away some baking tools in a kitchen drawer before you sigh and shake your head. 

“It was so clear to me, especially after his accident. I can’t fathom losing him.” You start to choke up on your words as your eyes get watery. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to regain your composure. 

“Oh, honey,” your mom coos, wrapping her arm around you while rubbing your arm lovingly. “I know that time was super difficult for you and you had your reasons as to why you didn’t want to talk about it. It killed me seeing you going through such a tough time. If I could’ve taken your heartache away in a beat I would’ve.” 

Hot tears are fully rolling down your cheeks now and you sniffle, giving her a sad smile. “I love you, mom. Thank you for sticking by my side even during the ugliest of it all. I never meant to push you or dad away. Just know that Joel treats me so well and I don’t have to second-guess things with him. I know it’s only been a few months and it may seem like things are moving fast, but I’ve never had stronger feelings than this for someone. He’s it for me, mom.” 

“I’m so proud of you for opening your heart up again, sweetheart. You deserve this happiness and love. I can’t wait for the day I get to see you up at the altar with him, and, you know, follow in Emi’s footsteps in having a baby.” She gives you a wink and a kiss on the cheek before wiping a tear from your face before rejoining everyone in the living room. 

And it’s at this moment that you feel your heart grow fuller, completely surrounded by love—and, for the first time in years—full contentment and certainty. 

-

The quietness of the usually noisy home the following day was almost unsettling. It’s something that you know will take time to get used to, but luckily you have your Bluetooth speaker and your favorites playlist to keep you company. 

You make a checklist of everything you need to do today, and you’re determined to get it done before Joel and Sarah come home. The first thing on the list is to put away the last of your stuff and tidy up the house, which you get done in a couple of hours. It’s around eleven when you finish, so you decide to freshen up for the day and shower before heading downstairs to see what groceries they have in the fridge to make dinner. 

As soon as you open the fridge, you spot Joel’s forgotten lunch bag. You roll your lips into your mouth before checking your watch again, figuring he’d probably eat lunch soon. You decide to pay him a visit at the firehouse to drop off his lunch and get all of the flattened boxes that lay in the living room to a recycling facility. 

You load up the cardboard in your car and grab Joel’s lunch, starting the twenty minute drive to the firehouse. When you get there, you notice one of the trucks missing from the apparatus bay. Other than that, everything else is in place and the firehouse is completely quiet, except for some faint clinking noises coming from the second level. 

Your mind reels for a second, remembering the first time you walked through these doors. It had only been a few months back, but it seems like a lifetime ago. You truly couldn’t fathom how far you’ve come not only personally, but in your relationship with Joel as well. 

You remember being so uncertain about all of this. Nervous to take the next step. Push yourself to trust Joel and see where the leap of shattered faith would take you. You never in a million years thought it’d land you here, but you were beyond indebted to the universe that it did. 

You climb the stairs to the second floor and see Joel standing with his back to you, washing dishes. You take this time to eye him head-to-toe, admiring his strong build and tall stature as the muscles in his biceps and forearms flexed while he scrubbed away what looked like egg scraps off of a plate. His uniform is fitted to his figure like a glove with the navy blue Austin Fire Department t-shirt tucked into his crisp navy blue slacks with black steel-toed boots to finish off the look. His brown curls are neatly combed, and you just know he’s sporting that one Clark Kent curl in the front that drives you absolutely nuts. 

The dull ache in your core resurfaces from yesterday before you were so rudely interrupted from getting your pussy eaten like it was Joel’s last fucking meal. You nearly moan at the thought and shake your head with a brief sigh before you bite your lip. 

You let out a low whistle and giggle. “Looking good, Miller,” you say, stepping closer to him now. Joel swivels his head to look over his shoulder and his gaze meets yours with surprise written all over his expression. 

“Hey baby,” he says, finishing rinsing off the last of the dishes before turning off the tap and wiping his hands. He makes his way over to you with a grin, planting a sweet kiss on your lips before wrapping his arms around your waist securely. “This is a real nice surprise. Watcha doin’ here?” 

You hold up his lunch bag with a smirk. “Someone was in a rush this morning,” you tease. He chuckles and takes his lunch bag from your hand. 

“Guess I was. Didn’t even realize it. Woke up later than I intended to, but leavin’ you behind in bed is just so damn hard.” He kisses your forehead and you sigh in contentment. 

“Tell me about it. The bed gets so damn cold without my own personal furnace right beside me.” You giggle as he tosses his head back with a hearty laugh, and you admire the crow’s feet around his eyes as they crinkle. Everything about this man is just so damn beautiful. 

He fixates his gaze on you once more before sliding his free hand down to your ass to give it a love tap. 

“Thank you for bringin’ this to me. Probably woulda just stole Tommy’s lunch if I didn’t have one.” 

You huff a laugh before you finally look around, noticing that there’s nobody else in the vicinity. 

“Is it just you here?” You ask, and he lets go of you so he can put his lunch bag in the fridge. 

He nods. “Mhm. Everyone’s on a call. Left a couple ‘a minutes before you came here.” 

“Oh,” you grimace. “I’m sorry you’re not out with them,” you say sympathetically. 

“Ain’t a worry, baby. Gives me the chance to tidy the place up and rest my bones. Just glad ‘m not drivin’ you crazy at home anymore.” 

“You didn’t drive me crazy,” you laugh. “I’m already there.” 

“Funny.” 

“I know,” you gleam at him before scrunching your nose, heading toward the steps. 

“Leavin’ already?” He falls in step behind you and follows you down the steps. 

“Don’t wanna bug you too much while you’re at work.” 

He scoffs and shakes his head before stopping you next to the firetruck. “Woman, when you gonna learn that you never bug me?” He’s got a teasing glint in his eyes and you raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Guess you’ll just have to teach me that lesson over…” Your eyes trail down to his lips and the corner of your mouth tugs up in the slightest. “And over.” 

He moves toward you so your back is flush against the sleek red engine, caging you in as he places both hands next to your head on either side. He’s got that look in his eyes that drives you wild, and the dull ache isn’t so dull anymore. It’s a full-fledged throbbing that has your breath picking up in the slightest as you look at him staring back at you with a fire in his eyes. 

“I don’t have a single problem doin’ that, darlin’.” 

You swallow harshly as his eyes flit behind you for a brief second before they settle back on your face. 

“You ever been inside a firetruck?” He asks, cocking his head to the side. He moves closer to you so his body is nearly flush to yours, give or take two or three centimeters. 

Your mouth goes dry and the words you want to say seem to die on your tongue. You opt for shaking your head no. Joel smirks at that, reaching up to pull open the back door to the firetruck. He nods his head upward, and you immediately get what he’s hinting at. 

“After you, baby.” 

You slowly turn around and climb into the back of the truck, looking around in pure curiosity. There’s two captain’s chairs right next to each other, and Joel takes a seat on the one closest to the open door before he shuts it. The sound makes you jump and you look down at him as he tugs on your hand. He spreads his legs wide and the slacks he’s wearing hug his thighs deliciously. Your mouth nearly waters at how fucking good he looks in his element. He pats one of his thighs and you sit down on it, looking around a bit more before he gently grabs your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look at him. 

“This is actually really cool,” you say, eyes finally settling on his face once again. He doesn’t say anything for a minute, just staring at you with a lustful look in his eyes. You can practically read his mind from a mile away.

“Joel, no, we’re at your job and—”

His lips on your jaw distract you and you suck in a sharp breath as he licks at your pulse point on your neck. You know this is so wrong on so many levels, but you can’t seem to get yourself to stop and think about the consequences. 

“They’re on a call,” he mumbles into your neck. “‘S gonna take ‘em awhile.” 

He grabs your hips and swings your other leg over the other side of his lap so you’re straddling him. You can’t deny the slick heat between your legs and the prospect of doing something insanely inappropriate in a firetruck. This was never on your Bingo Card of Life, but when the opportunity arises, you take it. 

“We never got to finish what we started yesterday,” Joel states matter-of-factly before his warm hand plunges into the front of your leggings. He raises a brow up at you when he realizes you’re going commando today. His middle finger slides through your slit easily, and you moan at the contact as you loll your head to the side. You grip onto his shoulders and lean down, crashing your lips to his in such fervor that it nearly knocks the wind out of you. 

He circles your clit skillfully with the tip of his finger, and you can’t help but grind yourself onto his hand. He’s swallowing every whimper that bubbles up in your throat as you move your hips back and forth, and his free hand grabs your ass before giving it a smack. 

“A little rough today, are we?” Your voice is breathy and you let out a small laugh, slowing down your grinding motions. 

“Is it too much?” He asks, and you nearly want to melt into a damn puddle at how considerate he is being so concerned like this. You grin down at him and smooth out the worry line in his brow, bending down to give him a lengthy kiss. You peck his lips a couple of times before sliding your hands down his chest, feeling his strong heartbeat beneath your fingertips. 

“Not at all. I like it rough.” You smirk at him as you feel his cock straining against his slacks at your words. A low growl rumbles deep in his chest before he closes his eyes for a beat. They snap open again and this time, you’re met with a darkened gaze that’s full of lust and determination. 

“Yeah? How rough?” His hand slides out of your leggings and he swipes the tip of his middle finger across your bottom lip, coating it in your arousal. He coaxes your jaw open to slip his finger into your mouth, and you suck his finger willingly. You taste yourself then before you shoot him with a dead serious stare. 

“Ruin me.” 

He stills at your words for a beat as he sucks in a sharp breath. He grabs the back of your head and crashes his lips to yours, hands now roaming wildly before he’s frantically sliding down your leggings. You’re trying as quickly as possible to blindly unbuckle his belt and unbutton his slacks, and you slide his clothing down his thighs before he presses the head of his cock against your folds. 

Before you can even think to sink down onto him, he grabs you and forces you to face downward toward the seats so you’re ass up and completely exposed to him this way. 

“Such a perfect fuckin’ ass too, baby.” He grabs both of your arms and holds them behind your back, wrapping one hand around both your wrists to keep you steady. You whimper as he slides his cock through your folds once again before he suddenly slams into you. 

Your mouth goes agape and your eyes roll to the back of your skull as the air in your lungs dissipates. You clench hard around him and you feel your mind completely slipping away as you see stars. 

Joel presses his free hand down on your lower back and soothes you lovingly. “Breathe, baby, breathe,” he says through clenched teeth, and you can tell this is a lot for him, too. 

“Move, Joel,” you choke out, sucking in a big breath of air. He does as you say, moving his hips at a brutal pace so he’s pistoning in and out of you. 

You have to concentrate on breathing because it’s damn near impossible. The sound of skin slapping on skin reverberates inside of the firetruck, and your mind was absolutely reeling at how you two were doing something this scandalous. 

You feel Joel’s free hand rub your ass for a brief second before he lands a harsh smack on it, and you cry out in both pain and pleasure as your skin stings from the contact. 

“You like that?” He asks, somehow pounding into you even harder. Your limbs are like noodles at this point and your mind is so foggy. You try to answer him again but nothing comes out. 

“Answer me, sweet girl. You like when I’m rough with you?” 

You whine before you finally find your words again. “Fuck! Yes!”

He lands another harsh smack against your ass and you moan loudly before sucking in a breath when you feel his thumb circle your other hole, and he spits on it. 

“J-Joel—”

“One of these days I’ll fuck you here, too.” His husky voice is full of promise as he slips his thumb into your  asshole, and all you can do is nod as you feel so full like this. 

“Yesyeyes oh, god—”

“He ain’t here right now, baby. Just me.” Joel darkly chuckles as he releases your wrists and uses that hand to slither between your legs, furiously and skillfully rubbing at your swollen, aching clit. 

You brace your arms on the seats below you as you try to hold yourself up, but your legs are shaking uncontrollably. Joel takes his thumb out of you before sliding his hand around your body to hold you up against his body as his relentless pace begins to get sloppy. 

He brings his hand up to your throat and wraps around it, yanking your head back against his shoulder as he looks down at you with a chillingly carnal stare. He almost doesn’t even look like the sweet man you’re in love with, but a darker version that’s consumed his being. 

Seeing this side of him makes you even more hot and bothered and your body easily succumbs to his ministrations, so reactive to his touch and words. 

He uses his thumb from the hand on the throat to tug at your chin, coaxing your jaw open as a wicked grin curls onto his lips before he spits into your mouth. 

The heat that was once a low simmer in your belly is now a fire roaring throughout the veins in your body, igniting you and consuming you as a whole. You swallow before he leans down to kiss you hungrily, and that’s what does it for you. 

You surge over the edge, orgasm crashing over you like waves on a shore. Joel swallows all of your cries and pleads against his lips, groaning at how you’re pulsing around him as you ride through your undoing. He squeezes the sides of your neck as he comes undone, arm moving down to wrap around your waist as his whole body stills. 

You feel his hot spend fill you up with each last harsh thrust he gives you before he stills completely. He kisses your shoulder lovingly before pulling out, groaning into your sweater as he does so. You feel his spend leak down the apex of your thighs, and Joel collects some on his finger as he swipes it through your folds. 

You shiver at his overstimulating touch, looking back at him as he smirks and brings his finger toward your mouth. You eagerly open it for him, moaning around his finger as you get a taste of the both of you. 

“You know, for someone who’s such a sweetheart, you really are a lil’ freaky. Just how I like it,” Joel says with a chest-rumbling laugh. You roll your eyes at him before he kisses your temple and helps you pull up your leggings before he tucks himself back into his boxers and fixes his uniform to look somewhat presentable again, opening the door to get out. 

“You’re one to talk, Miller,” you say, grabbing his hand as he helps you hop down out of the firetruck. 

“I’m an angel. Completely innocent. No idea what you’re insinuatin’, pretty lady.” He wiggles his eyebrows as you roll your eyes at him once more before laughing. 

“Sure, and I’ve got telekinesis.” 

He opens his mouth to retort, but is cut off by the sound of the other fire engine beginning to back up into the empty spot of the bay. 

Everyone starts to unload one-by-one, waving hi to you as they see you and Joel standing there. You’re hoping to god you don’t have a ‘we-just-fucked-in-the-back-of-the-firetruck’ look slapped across your forehead. Luckily, nobody seems to notice, and if they do, they don’t say anything. 

Until Tommy rounds the corner of the smaller truck. He looks at you both and pauses, taking in your appearances. Your face burns and you know if you look down at the ground it’ll give you both away, but anything is better than being under the younger Miller’s scrutinizing stare. 

Everyone’s gone upstairs at this point except for you three, and the sudden howl of laughter Tommy lets out makes you jump. He’s bent over with his hands clutching his knees, face and neck turning red with how hard he’s laughing. He’s got tears in his eyes that he wipes away with a knuckle, and it’s a couple of minutes before he finally calms down and catches his breath again. 

He straightens out and looks between the two of you again, lips wobbling as if he’s trying to hold back more laughter. 

“Oh for fucks sake, out with it.” Joel rolls his eyes at his brother as he wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you back so you stumble into his solid body. 

“You two are unbelievable. You’re not that slick and you know, you both have guilty written across your foreheads. I know what you did, you nasties.” 

“Might I remind you about that time I caught you and Maria—”

“Hey hey hey, this ain’t about me and my girl, this is about you two.” Tommy chuckles as he holds his hands up in surrender. 

“Don’t y’all get enough time at home?” Tommy teases, and you bury your face into Joel’s chest with a groan. 

“Shut up Tommy,” you say. 

“No actually, because you’re always there,” Joel retorts, which causes Tommy to laugh again. 

“Oh please, like that’s stopped y’all before.” 

“Not another word about it, brother,” Joel warns, and Tommy smirks at him. 

“Fine. But ya might wanna take care of that stain on your pants.” 

Joel’s eyes snap down to his slacks the same time yours do, but you don’t see anything.

Fucking Tommy. 

“Bastard,” Joel mumbles. 

You decide to get in on the teasing. You pat Joel’s chest and sigh, shaking your head. “Guess that means no more sex for us, cowboy.” 

You give him a loving kiss on the cheek before you pry yourself out of Joel’s grip and turn to walk out of the firehouse, fighting your giggles as you leave a dumbfounded Joel who calls out ‘you’re not serious, are you?’, and a, yet again, doubled over Tommy with tears in his eyes from laughing so hard behind you. 

taglist: @raspberrybesitos ; @nostalxgic ; @endlessthxxghts ; @punkshort ; @clawdee

@pascalpvnk ; @bensonispunk ; @merz-8 ; @darkblue-tennesseee ; @typewriter83

@lizzie-cakes ; @sawymredfox ; @keylimebeag ; @nandan11 ; @pedropascalsbbg

@pimosworld ; @yxtkiwiyxt ; @anoverwhelmingdin ; @kikaaauu ; @buckyispunk

@untamedheart81 ; @picketniffler ; @fluffygoffpanda ; @paleidiot ; @survivingandenduring

@party-hearses ; @pedrospatch ; @harriedandharassed ; @brittmb115 ; @sunnytuliptime

@frodofreakingbaggins ; @aceaubrianna ; @tangled-tumbler-blog-blog ; @bunniboo0015 ; @aerihina

@pedritospunk ; @ro-nahime-things ; @ananonymousaffair

if you'd like to be added / removed from the taglist, please let me know!

divider by @saradika-graphics

[mattsnight]

Elevator - Chris Sturniolo

Summary: elevator sex with chris as you guys are in a hurry.

Warnings: elevator sex, oral female!receiving (i love chris giving his girl all the pleasure😣), fingering, sucking titties and all that !

A/N: my third kinktober fanfic! Make sure to check out my other fics

English is not my first language, also not proofread!

///

“Chris hurry up we’re late!” You yell at your boyfriend as you quickly put on your heels. Today you and Chris are going to look for houses around the city, which was so exciting for the both of you. Ever since you and Chris started dating you’ve been dreaming about living together. It’s not that you didn’t want to live with Nick and Matt, you just wanted to have your own little space with your boyfriend.

You rush out of your shared bedroom to be met with Chris who can’t seem to get his tie on right. A chuckle escapes your lips before you start helping him. “This is so confusing, can’t seem to do it right.” He says, completely frustrated with the fact that he couldn’t do it after watching millions of tutorials. Not even a second later you fixed it for him.

“There you go, you ready?” You say as you grab your purse. Chris nods before following.

As you enter the elevator you feel 2 hands land on your hips. Chris now notices how amazing you look in that dress. He looks up at you with puppy eyes, gently pulling at the ends of your skirt. Of course you decided to wear a short dress today. It’s black and it perfectly hugs your curves. You didn’t think for a second how hard Chris would get from even seeing you in it and now that you do realize it was a stupid mistake.

“Ma.. fuck you look so good.” He says, letting out a deep breath. He’s painfully hard now and his hands are everywhere on your body. You feel yourself getting wet too, but you gotta keep control because remember, you are looking for houses.

“Chris we cant, not right now.” You say, fixing your posture. Chris whines, not stopping with touching you. “I need you s’bad.. please.” He begs as he pulls at your hand.

Suddenly the elevator stops and you feel your stomach drop. Panic immediately fills your body as your breathing speeds up. “Fuck-“ you hear chris say as he looks for an emergency button, which he finds. He notices the change in your behavior, fingers rubbing your temple gently. “Calm down, ma.”

He presses the emergency button, silence filling the room. Chris’ hand is still on yours. You squeeze your thighs together, not only in fear, but also because you’re turned on. Chris notices, i mean how could he not? His hands move from your hand to your sides, pulling you close.

“Guess this was a sign, don’t you think?” He says, pulling up your dress at the back. His big hands gently squeeze your ass. After he pulls off your dress quickly. A loud gasp escapes your lips as he takes off your bra, his tongue swirling around your nipple already. Your hand flies into his hair, gripping tightly.

He takes off his belt, revealing his hard cock through his boxers. He takes it out as he pulls your panties to the side. Not even a second later he fully fills you up. Oh and fuck that felt amazing. He pounds into you, losing everything inside of him. Your tits bounce up and down. The grip you had on his hair moves to his shoulder, nails digging into his skin as you already feel yourself getting close. Matt notices and speeds up just a bit.

Both of you cum at the same time, not moving or anything remotely close to that. Everything feels right. As both of you recovered he pulls out of you, still panting.

He moves down to his knees, giving gentle kisses all over your body before reaching your lower stomach. His eyes move up to meet yours, asking for permission silently. You nod, starting to get desperate again. The tips of his fingers slide over your folds, earning a gasp from you.

“Chris- we need to hurry.” You choke out.

With that Chris buries his face between your thighs as he holds you tightly against the wall. And even though you’re in a hurry, it still feels so fucking good. Moans you cannot stop leave your mouth as your hands run through his hair. Chris pushes a finger inside of you, adding another one quickly after. Wet sounds and groans are the only thing you hear as you get closer and closer to the edge.

“Fuck Chris im gonna cum.” You warn him.

“Cumf fforf meff.” He manages to say as his face is still buried in your pussy.

You cry out as waves of pleasure wash over you, leaving you breathless. Chris pulls away, helping you get your clothes back on.

“I think we’re good living with your brothers.”

////

Taglist: empty..

A/N: Yall i lowkey love this😭 give me ideas what to do next and of who !!

[nthspecialll]

The fandom glorifies Arthur Morgan

Now I am not talking about about low honor, I play high honor and got it as the top at the end of every damn playthrough but my Arthur, as it is the cannon Arthur, is not a good guy. I am not going to talk about all of the murder, robbing and stuff he does, because we are majorly aware of it, I am talking his sexism, casual ignorance and disrespecfulness.

I quite often see people say that Arthur Morgan is a woman lover, and he definitely is, he is better than a lot of men from that time (which isn't hard), but he would not hold up in modern times, because he is not from modern times.

Generally speaking, Arthur Morgan is a man who believes in gender roles, he believes in the idea of "a man being a man" and "a woman being a woman." He has opinions about what a woman should do and what a man should do.

I think the biggest hint at this is his relationship with Sadie, because while he accepts her running with the boys he doesn't seem entirely happy about it. "You got a pair of pants and all of a sudden you think you're Landon Ricketts?" "You want to ruuuunnnn with the men?" and also "can Ms Grimshaw spare you?" when the girls asks if they can come to Valentine with him.

Talking of that quest, when he runs off to get Jimmy Brooks he puts Uncle, a lazy old bastard, in charge of getting the girls home even though they are more than capable of doing it themselves as they are healthy young women who knows how to handle horses.

In several antagonize lines against women performers (which are just as cannon as his greet lines) he shouts things like "That isn't very ladylike!" or "Go back to the kitchen" and "go make someone supper."

People keep saying Arthur would "treat them right" and he would, to an extent, he would care for you, he would be nice to you, but he would force those gender roles. He does have a belief women are somehow "softer" and that he as a person with a provider gene should do more of the harsh work.

So now we covered that, lets talk about the racism, or as I probably should rather call it, ignorance, because it is very commonly know Arthur does not judge by the color of skin.

The first one is that Arthur uses the whites-only saloon in Rhodes. Tilly mentions it to Arthur that they don't allow people of color into it, and yet he still supports it, it isn't a big thing but it is something of notice.

Secondly, when he talks to Eagle Flies where he "sets him in his place" Arthur, honey, you are so wrong here. Eagle Flies is being chased by the government for the mere fact that he exists with a different culture, you are being chased because you murdered so many folks, you can run across the sea and live a good life, they are fucked regardless.

When we first arrive in Lemoyne, Lenny and Arthur talks about the Lemoyne Raiders about racism and Arthur says "These boys got a manner about them but I haven't particularly noticed," Arthur of course you wouldn't, you are a tall, muscular, white man with sun kissed hair and blue eyes, you are the poster boy for eugenics.

Lastly, which will also bring me to the third point, the casual disrespect:

Arthur causally calling Javier a slur on the boat for no reason, did you really need that one-liner so badly? That goes for a lot of times in the game such as: "are you secretly normal" "what a lunatic" "we should find a better story for that scar" "But you continue to irritate me, I will kill you and make my appologies to the lady" "stick around and you might die for her as well" "oh I didn't know I was talking to a lady." All those were a slight bit disrespectful, enough to be able to annoy the majority of us if he said it to us, and they were also unnecessary.

He is also canonically chronically late, most notably we can hear Sean saying "that man will be late to his own funeral," and when you go around antagonizing characters in camp they are not surprised at all, rather they go "back at it again huh?"

All of this is just to sum up, Arthur is a pretty bad man (also counting in all the illegal stuff) and we tend to glorify him and forget some of these things, partly is also because Rockstar are amazing at hiding them, at making them seem natural, and they are because this is a historically accurate game! It is set in 1899 and this is a man from 1899 he is going to be casually sexist and disrespectful, and again, considering that he is from 1899 he is a decent guy because the majority of folk would be like Micah, not Arthur.

I definitely love Arthur, and I love Arthur exactly because the point of his character is him not being a saint but a human. His redemption is choosing to do good where he can, but even so, this is a man in 1899 and he is going to have a 1899 mindset. If you want to play a game that is set in the past but don't have that type of accuracy it is not Red Dead you want to play.

Also here is an Arthur pic as a thank you for reading all of that. I love him.

[thefreakpanda]

"Nesta favors Elain"

Everyone favors Elain! And most of all Feyre.

If you want to point the finger at Nesta, don't use that argument. Don't complain about how differently Nesta treats her sisters because in reality, Feyre might be worse.

“Elain sometimes just… didn’t grasp things. It wasn’t meanness that kept her from offering to help; it simply never occurred to her that she might be capable of getting her hands dirty.” (ACOTAR, ch.2) Elain gets excuses and most importantly, is never even asked to help for anything. If Feyre is going to teach someone archery, it's going to be Nesta. She needs wood to be chopped, it's going to be Nesta.

When Lucien accompanied her back to the Night Court, he asked her about Elain and says he wants to see if she's worth fighting for. (To each their own opinion on the matter). Feyre doesn't respond but thinks so. Later on, when Cassian flies her to the House of Wind and they talk about Nesta and how he comes to see her every other day, Feyre asks : “Why do you bother, Cassian?” Elain is worth it but Nesta isn't?

When the sisters are moved to the townhouse, rooms have to be picked. “And a third for Lucien — on our side of the hall. Well away from Elain’s.” (ACOWAR, ch.24) Because Elain staying away from her mate whom she hasn't yet said she wants nothing to with is fine and perfectly understandable. But when Nesta says over and over and over again how she wants nothing to do with Cassian, she's just going to have to suck it up and be locked in a house with him.

Rhys, being true to himself, tells Feyre the bond between Elain and Lucien can be used to ensure his loyalty. “I don’t like that Elain is a pawn in this.” (Feyre in ACOWAR, ch.18) But using Nesta as a pawn to ensure another Vanserra's loyalty, though... As a matter of fact, when dancing with Eris is proposed she even says : “Elain doesn’t go near him.” (ch.55)

In ACOSF, after we learn that Elain will try to find the Trove if Nesta doesn't, Feyre says : “It wasn’t an easy choice for me to ask Elain to endanger herself like this.” (ch.21) But asking Nesta is easy, right? It's been like this forever after all. Feyre was never going to ask Elain to tell her story to the High Lords. Poor thing was depressed. But asking Nesta to put herself in the worst danger possible, even though she was destroying herself just two weeks ago, even though she si still depressed and hurting... Feyre doesn't hesitate then.

Yes, Nesta has her faults. Yes, Nesta has said mean things to her sister. But if we look at the text, at the amount of times Feyre has been unkind to her sister, you'll realize that she is much worse.

[gallusrostromegalus]

How does each of the main aeiwam cast react to spiders?

Ichigo: "...Why's my leg itchyyYEAUGH! DAMMIT!" *scoops spider up in piece of paper, opens window and throws it out* "OUTSIDE! SHOO! I hate it when they sneak up and on me...

Orihime: Had an intense close personal friendship with a Joro Spider that had made it's web on her apartment balcony when she was six. It's death at the end of summer was her first real experience with mortal loss, and she mourned it for weeks. She still recalls "Joro-San" fondly.

Uryuu: Secretly dreams of Spiders large enough to spin actual ropes of silk- the stuff is a marvel of chemical engineering, and would be incredibly useful to him as a Doctor or Fashion Designer. He feels like the difficulty of harvesting Spidersilk is the main thing holding back a Golden age of Humanity, and is disturbed to find out he shares ANY opinion with Mayuri Kurotsuichi.

Tatsuki: Paralyticly Phobic of spiders. Understands and appreciates their importance in the ecosystem, knows they can't hurt her and that the phobia is an irrational reflex, and even thinks some of them 'look cool as hell'. The second there's a live one in her presence, she locks up and can't move until someone removes it. (Usually Ichigo, because Orihime will just stare at it, fascinated).

Chad: Has a Pet Kitchen Spider. thought about shooing flies in it's direction, then felt bad for the flies.

Kon: Is a cat, hunts them, and will have nuanced discussions about how different spiders taste with Yuzu, the one person who will tolerate that analysis.

Keigo: Screams theatrically and jumps away and into someone's arms if they're there, but that's just how he reacts to anything that startles him.

Mizuiro: Fascinated by them, will stare at them with Orihime and tell her fun facts about Joro-Gumo Yokai and other lore, which delights her to no end.

Yoruichi: Like Kon, enjoys toying with them before eating them.

Urahara: Curled into the farthest corner, screaming, crying, throwing up, and begging Yoruichi to STOP FUCKING AROUND AND GET RID OF IT!

Rukia: *entirely genuine, with a huge spider crawling on top of her hair* "...what Spider?"

(Seireitei Squad Under The Cut)

Yamamoto: Utterly fails to notice or care. There are so many things he's seen that are so much worse, and honestly? Even when he was a young man he didn't give a shit. He slept rough delivering messages, waking up in the dirt with half a dozen bugs on him was normal.

Sasakibe: Thinks they're delightful. So many elegant designs! Such perfect sense of when to strike! Such patience! He finds out about Diving Spiders and goes Ape Shit. THEY MAKE THEIR ON SCUBA TANKS!!

Soi Fon: Spiders are cool but not as cool as wasps and hornets :)

Omaeda: Also has a Pet Kitchen Spider, but does not feel bad about shooing flies into it's web at all.

Gin: Isn't actually sure what spiders are, or if they're even real. He's seeing sixteen dimensions at once, something that minuscule gets lost in the noise. Still thinks that someone Screaming "SPIDER!" and everyone flailing around in fear or suddenly attacking the walls and furniture is a social game like "The Floor Is Lava"

Rose: Thinks they're cool right up until they're in his personal space and then they are VERY SCARY.

Izuru: Was the designated spider-wrangler for the third from the first day he transferred in, because everyone else is a huge bitch about them. he plays it cool, but he's actually creeped out by the really big ones.

Unohana: Spiders are garden Friends :) often heard verbally encouraging them to destroy her garden pests with calls of "GET HIS ASS!" coming from the Hydrangeas.

Isane: Everyone is sort of surprised how chill Isane is about dealing with spiders- even Yamada's Actually Dangerous Specimens- and she shrugs and tells them that she deals with more dangerous things every day, especially over in Pharmacology. It keeps the focus off the Bug she's actually terrified of: Butterflies.

Hanataro: Do Not Ask The Head Of Toxicology And 11th Division Pocket Medic About Spiders Unless You Are Prepared For A Seven-Hour Lecture With A Pop Quiz At The End.

Aizen: HUGE fan of Spiders. What splendid creatures- look at how carefully the spider selects the anchor points of it's web, the skillfulness with which it weaves. Such incredible patience, waiting for the lines of tension it's woven to snare it's game- though I suppose such patience is easier when the fly's capture is inevitable >:)

Shinji and Hiyori: *Screaming and flailing, hitting things at random (mostly each other) in a blind panic, because they share a braincell and that cell is TERRIFIED of spiders* "It's so fast!" "It was huge! It had to be a tarantula!" "We should burn the division down, just to be sure."

Momo: Escorted the little garden spider outside in a cup like ten minutes ago, and forgot about it because that's such a routine chore, and she was having a more important phone call at the time.

Byakuya: Rarely notices spiders, but sometimes one will scuttle across his desk and he'll stop to watch it for the seven minutes it takes to actually cross his desk with a neutral expression, before resuming whatever he was doing. It's a pleasant diversion for him, not unlike watching the koi fish swim around in the compound pond, and he resumes his duties feeling spiritually refreshed by that chance encounter with nature.

Renji: Not bothered by Spiders. VERY Bothered by his Boss's fucking peculiar-ass reaction to a spider wandering across his desk because to Renji, it looked like Byakuya had never actually seen a spider before and was staring at it with an expression that indicated his higher brain functions had ceased entirely. Is currently making plans to study "The Captain Kuchiki Spider Brain Glitch" by catching a bunch of spiders in a jar and releasing them into his office to see what happens.

Komamura: He's particularly fond of Jumping spiders, because they sing little songs while hunting that he can hear if it's really quiet. They're very cute. Gets very upset when people kill spiders or talk about killing them.

Iba: Not afraid of spiders but doesn't know what to do when they're in his way. Killed one in front of Komamura once when he was a little kid and Komamura was still his babysitter, Sajin gave him a huge and very upset lecture about respecting life in all it's forms... but did not actually teach Iba how to remove them. So every time he sees one he sorta stands there for a minute and hopes it will move, before yelling "BOSS!"

Shunsui: Does not want to admit how much Spiders freak him out. It's not fear, precisely- more of a disgust reaction. All bugs make his skin crawl and he understands how important they are, but can they do all that ecology stuff Far Away From Him, Please And Thank You?

Nanao: Like Unohana, reveres spiders as pest control. She takes it a step further, and actively collects Jumping Spider egg sacs as she finds them in the archives and tends to them over winter so when early spring comes, she can release several hundred thousand spiderlings into the archives to destroy the mites, bookworms, moth larvae and other archive pests before they can get a foothold. She usually does this while dumping out the entire terrarium and cackling manically.

Lisa: Immediately joins in on Nanao's Spider Propagation Project, much to Shunsui's horror.

Tousen: If there is a sudden shriek and burst of profanities and hexes in the ninth division, 90% chance it's because Kaname walked into a spider web again, his LEAST favorite texture in the Universe. Yes, including the curse nails. He'd keep them in his spine if it meant he'd never walk into another spiderweb.

Kensei: Often cracked open a beer while watching the evening news during his exile in the living world. Sometimes it was several beers, or something stronger if he'd had a rough day. One night, it was a bottle of Fireball as he watched the news, and felt too intoxicated to change the channel from the newshour, so he kept watching when PBS Nature came on, and damn near pissed himself laughing when he saw the Peacock Spider's Mating Dance. Full on Howling, tears streaming down his face, barely able to breathe, Pterodactyl-noises laughing. Nothing has been funnier before or since to him, so now whenever he sees a spider he starts guffawing and stop to explain WHY.

Shuuhei: Deeply confused by the fact spiders keep coming indoors. "Why are you all here?" he asks, doing a cobweb patrol with the broom before his boss gets back from the inter-division meeting. "What are you eating? Crumbs? Lint? Is it Lint you eat?"

Mashiro: Has a grasshopper-type Zanpakuto who is not a fan, so she attempts to destroy any spider she sees in solidarity. Usually misses and destroys something else.

Matsumoto: Spiders are cool, but not as cool as snakes :)

Hitsugaya: Grew up on a farm, and shares Momo's total non-reactivity to them. It's even deeper, because his constant ambient chill means spiders never climb on him if they can't help it.

Zaraki: Used to agitate Yumichika and Ikkaku by eating them. Now he agitates them by wandering off the trail during 11th Division Boot Camp or other deployments and coming back with extremely dangerous ones and handing them to Hanataro "fer yer collection". The 11th Division's Pocket Medic has explained toxicology at length to him, and now Zaraki thinks of various medicines as "Spider Pills" and "Scorpion Juice".

Yachiru: Still eats spiders. She's the sole exception to the Wrath of Komamura, because there is no malice or fear in her actions- it's perfectly natural and morally upstanding Carnivory. The rest of you are being irrational and jerks.

Ikkaku: Sometimes regrets his life choices when he sees the freak he's sworn loyalty to walk out of the trees with something venomous enough to kill half the gotei-13 with a single bite crawling over his face, then realizes that's FUCKING BADASS and is assured that he made the right choices.

Yumichika: *currently sneaking up behind Ikkaku with a fake spider on a string to affectionately terrorize him*

Mayuri: Unlike Uuryu, Mayuri isn't a Weenie, and he's making his dreams of Milkable Spiders the Size of Cattle a reality.

Nemu: Helping with that. This one is hers. She named it #47, after it's designation, Specimen Number 47.

Ukitake, *entirely genuine, with a huge spider crawling across his forehead* "...There's a spider in here?"

[mae-gi-writes]

let it be me | kuroo tetsurou (2)

In which you, as a new divorcée, can't help but crush on your 4-year-old's new PE Coach.

genre: singleparent!reader x coach! Kuroo, fluff, acquaintances-to-lovers

taglist: @patpatspatz @matchagirliris @multi-fandom-fanfic @alittlebirdahgaselx @kuroos--little--kitten @menacejelly12 @aeshiue @dreamlessnight @altheades @loonalockley @not-your-average-fangirl @bertqut1 @sunlixfl-blog @nabboo007

a/n: enjoy! <3 thanks for all the love given to the first part of this story! here's the second part. Third part is coming soon ~

---- previous | part two | next part >>>

"He can't be serious."

You sigh and watch the wine in your glass slosh around, creating beautiful patterns along the rim of your glass, "unfortunately, I think he is."

Your cousin has on an expression you can't quite place, in-between disgust and pure confusion. He's at the microwave, busy heating up some popcorn. Having adamantly asked you to sit on his couch while taking care of the snacks, you thus decided to watch Sakura play with her legos along the carpet, keeping a watchful eye in case one might end up in her mouth.

"He's only marrying her for the money," is what he concludes after a small pause.

You snort into your glass, take a sip of it and allow the bitterness to coat your tongue, "I wish that were true."

"How would you know that?"

" 'Tsumu, is it written stupid on my forehead?" your own wrinkles in distaste, "I see the way he looks at her. He's--" you choke on your words then, the knot in your throat growing tenfold, "--he's in love with her."

"Who is in love, mum?"

"No one at all," you're quick to answer upon noticing Sakura has been listening in. She normally doesn't, a kid that enjoys staring off into space and conjuring make-believe stories, where there's magic and only happy endings. You try and force a smile onto your face, "how's the house construction for Princess Peach going?"

Your daughter lets out a laugh as she presents to you a square that looks nothing like a house. Still, you coo at it, "so pretty! I bet princess peach would love it."

Your conversation with Atsumu has to wait until Sakura is tucked away in her uncle's bedroom and has listened to three stories about princesses, before you manage to join him back onto the couch where he's busy watching a rerun of volleyball matches.

You don't get to see him much now, courtesy of the fact that he's a national athlete and has been booked at the big games representing Japan. You couldn't be prouder, and yet his permanent absence does still leave a big hole in your heart whenever he flies over a thousand miles. Atsumu had been your rock since you guys were kids, defending you on the school playground and dragging you around to parties and birthdays without your consent. He'd taken care of you as a big brother would and he still is. You don't know how to repay this kind of kindness.

You're just thankful that he has one week off so that you can rant and ramble about the unfairness of the world. At least with Atsumu here, it appeases the pain, if just a little.

"Have you signed the papers yet?" he asks, handing you the bowl of popcorn.

You grab a handful, popping onto of them into your mouth as you answer, "not yet."

"You should ask him for alimony, at least."

"I'm not sure I'd win that, 'Tsumu."

"Still," his nose wrinkles in distaste, "this feels unfair. And why are you the one taking care of Sakura on your own? And I don't mean the parenting part. What about the finances? Why can't he contribute?"

"Because he's a dick and he thinks he can get away with it," you're glad that the tv is providing a welcome distraction, for you can't bear to look into Atsumu's eyes, "I'm just going to sign it and be done with it. I don't want Sakura to suffer any longer. It's not fair on her, she barely sees him."

"Well maybe it's time you find someone else too, y/n."

Your thoughts suddenly flash to Kuroo's beautiful smile and you have to physically force yourself to keep from grinning. You can feel the heat from the back of your neck and come up with the excuse that it's still too early and that Sakura wouldn't like her world shattering just for your happiness.

But it seems that Atsumu knows you better than that, for he asks, "are you blushing?"

"Wha--" Panic skitters through you, "no. No, why would I blush?"

His eyebrows raise, "you’ve met someone then?"

"N--No. Not at all. It's--" you realize you're blundering when his smile widens slightly, "it's not like that."

"So who's the lucky guy?"

"Atsumu."

"Y/N," his eyes glisten with playfulness and he nudges your shoulder, "c'mon. Tell me!"

You let out another breath and mumble, "He’'s not someone I met. He's...Just someone I know."

"And how do you know him?"

"He's Sakura's PE coach."

Atsumu lets out a whistle, "well that--" he shakes his head, "--that's not what I imagined at all."

"Shut up."

"So you like him?"

"It's not--It's really not like that. I--" you try and rack your brain for anything to say because this is really embarrassing. Who has a crush at the age of twenty-nine? Practically all of your friends are already married and have kids, talk about husband problems and how they wish for their youth back. And you? Here you are, thinking you might have a crush. You're no better than a middle school girl.

Which is why you say, "I don't even know him."

"You just think he's cute?"

"Precisely. But there are a lot of cute guys. It doesn't mean anything."

“Right,” Atsumu lets out a breath before he leans back into the couch, “but you know what I think?”

You hum in response.

“I think you should get laid—“

You almost spit out your wine in shock, gape at him in horror, “Atsumu!”

Again, your brain goes into overdrive at the thought of Kuroo and his sweaty chest, the breadth of his shoulders, the way he just towers over your small frame…

NO! You slam onto your mental brakes and shake your head, “you’re disgusting.” You spit out.

“I’m telling the truth princess. I really believe in the power of s—“

“Don’t—“ you cut him off with a raised palm, “don’t even say it.”

“So tell me,” Atsumu proceeds to wriggle his brows suggestively which makes it even harder to stop the blush igniting along your face, “this guy, how handsome is he? Must be pretty good-looking for you to be blushing like that.”

“Shut up ‘Tsumu, it’s not like that at all. Just stop. He's like--half of my age."

“Alright alright,” he laughs his deep-bellied laughter and wraps an arm around you in a gentle, comforting hug, “but if ever you do get lais with him, you gotta tell me.”

“Mum, what does ‘getting laid’ mean?”

“Oh!” Your head snaps to the doorway only to see your daughter all sleepy-eyed and clutching a spare pillow.

“Sakura!” You scramble to over, casting your cousin a scowl as you do, “c’mon, sweetie. Let’s get you back to bed.”

You hear Atsumu’s laughter follow you all the way to the bedroom.

————

It’s weird when Sakura isn’t around.

It’s almost like you’ve lost your purpose. But then again, you should be taking advantage of this right? That’s what everyone keeps telling you.

But alas, something in you cannot just let yourself rest for fear that your thoughts may go into a black hole of what ifs and images of Sakura with your ex-husband’s wife —well, almost ex-husband— and thus decide to take on a last-minute order.

It’s a simple enough request— a birthday cake. While you usually plan events from A to Z, this order merely requested a cake of any kind. So that’s how you spend your Saturday morning — creating a dough and sugar decorations that would fit into the theme of “Halloween”, as per what your client has asked.

You drive up to the pin location around four in the afternoon, strolling through the streets until the google maps signals you that you’ve arrived to your destination. Turning off the ignition at the said house — a beautiful Victorian home adorned with columns twice your height and size — you open your door only to come face to face with a familiar pair of golden eyes.

“Coach?”

“Kosuke-san?”

You both stare. And stare.

It’s shock that comes first. Before realization slaps you in the face, “oh!” You quickly bow in hopes that you haven’t been staring too long, “good afternoon, Coach. What—What brings you here?”

"Kosuke-san," he bows and looks just as surprised as you are, before he notices the way you're struggling to juggle to cake in your arms, "here, let me help you."

Without hesitation, he opens the door a bit wider and closes the gap between you, lifting the box from your arms, "jeez how heavy is this thing?"

You let out a small laugh, "it's all the icing sugar."

"Come in," he gestures with his chin for you to follow and as you step into the threshold he continues, "so when you said you were an event planner--I didn't expect you to be a cake designer too."

"It's an extra service I provide," you shrug, "I'm a patissier by career. Event planning is just something that keeps the cash flowing."

Kuroo pauses in mid-step then, "you're a patissier?"

"Yeah. Well, I was," you chuckle, "but anyway, it's been a while since I've baked now. So I hope it's just as good as you expect it to be."

Kuroo opens his mouth only to be cut off by a horde of boys stumbling into what appears to be the kitchen area. Now that you have a better look, it's all white marble and golden taps and golden handles on every piece of furniture to match. In any case, this house screams of money and for a minute, you feel a bit small and insignificant in your stained-flour blouse, the splotches of paint across your faded out jeans, courtesy of Sakura's art skills.

"You must be y/n!" one of the boys detaches himself. His orange hair glistens in the sun streaming through the window and he's a bit shorter than Kuroo. He beams at you and you can't help but be reminded of a puppy, "thanks for taking my order on such a short notice!"

"No worries at all. You must be...Hinata?"

"Yes!" he shakes your hand, "so I see you've met Kuroo! He's one of my best mates! We used to play against each other back in high school."

"Really now?" you quirk a brow in Kuroo's direction, watching the muscles of his arms ripple as he places the cake in an orderly manner inside the fridge. His voice is muffled when he replies, "yeah, he's the midget that made us jump for our lives. I hated him."

"You're just sour because you lost that one time," Hinata pouts, "but anyway, this is the rest of the ex-team!"

And so that's how you get a round of names that you will probably forget in five minutes and Kuroo, having seen the confusion in your eyes, can't help but laugh to himself because the sight is somewhat adorable. And he knows he shouldn't find it, he knows you're off limits because first, you're a mom from the school and two, you're married and have a kid. It's definitely not at all appropriate for his eyes to be roaming over your curves or to linger over the light glittering in your eyes.

Get a hold of yourself, he mentally whacks the back of his head.

“Where’s the little munchkin?” Kuroo asks you once you’re all settled after having been wheedled by Hinata to stay (“please please please you did such a great job on the cake” is what he’d begged). You’re now perched onto a plush lounge chair, a mixture of juice and vodka in your hand and watching the nth match of pingpong between someone whose name you forget and the other whose name sounds like Daichi. Though yoj might be wrong.

You’re glad for Kuroo’s presence, for even if he is a stranger, he still feels familiar to you right now in this setting.

“Sakura’s with her father today,” you explain with a slight smile in hopes it doesn’t give any of that bitterness away.

Kuroo opens his mouth like he wants so say something — anything— but you beat him to it, “we’re not together. Not anymore.”

His eyes widen with realization and you see it, the way he’s putting all the puzzle pieces together, “I’m sorry to hear,” is what he finally musters.

“Nothing be to be sorry about.”

“So… the name Kosuke…”

“Is my maiden name,” you reply, “I’ve never changed names. Looking back, I think I’ve done the right thing.”

Kuroo isn’t sure whether he should be mad for you or hurt in your place. After all, who in their right mind would leave their wife and their toddler daughter?

He deals with little kids every day, so he knows exactly what they’re like on a daily basis, and it’s not easy.

“I’m sorry,” it seems that’s the only thing he knows how to say.

“Really,” you laugh at him, “how can you be sorry when it’s not even your fault?”

Kuroo shrugs and grins bashfully because yes, it’s true and he still doesn’t know what to say. So he decides to ask, “And Sakura… how is she?”

“She doesn’t realize it. She’s too young,” your smile fades slightly, “in a way, I hope that’s a good sign.”

His heart clenches at the thought of you raising this kid alone. He can’t even imagine it. It makes sympathy swim inside his chest like an ache he can’t quite ignore. The look on your face suggests that you’ve been let down and he has the sudden impulse to tell you that everything will be alright, will be okay.

But he can’t do that. You’ll think of him as a creep. So he bites his tongue and look away instead, at the war of pingpong ongoing between his two friends. In a way, he’s glad for the distraction as he sips on his beer.

“And you?” Your voice piping up surprises him. His eyes flit back to your face. You continue, “married? Engaged?”

Kuroo’s throat bobs as he chuckles, “no. None of that.”

“How come?” You take a sip of your cocktail, “you don’t seem like the type to wound up alone with a hundred cats.”

“No no,” he can’t help but laugh because one, you’re hella attractive to him; tiny and frail and looking like he can fit you in a box no problem and two; you’re actually entertaining to be around. Something that he’s found lacking in his previous dates, “I just didn’t find anyone special yet.”

“Well there's no rush,” you lift your cocktail as you speak, “and anyway, you’re still young. You should enjoy it while you can.”

“Young?” Kuroo’s face breaks into a grin as his golden orbs glimmer down at you, amused, “how old do you think I am?”

"Uhm--I don't know. Early twenties?"

"I'm twenty-five," he gives you a look, "how old are you?"

"Twenty-eight. Going on twenty-nine."

"You look like you've just gotten out of college though," Kuroo's smirk is visible even behind his beer as he chugs down most of his drink, "if I didn't know better, I'd say you and Sakura were sisters."

"Not even," you retort, "And excuse me, but you look younger than twenty-five."

"I make up for it in height," he peers down at you, "but I suppose you wouldn't understand that considering--"

Your arm whacks at his shoulder before you know it. A playful gesture surely, but one that you don't really use on your daughter's teachers. Let alone ones that have bulging muscles and a figure to die for. You stare at your hand for a long minute, your brain going blank, before your eyes whip up to his and horror seeps into your gaze.

"Oh my god!" you screech and recoil like he's the one that had slapped you, "I'm so sorry, I--It's just--automatic you know, my cousin--he's got the same humor and--well I--I'm really sorry--"

The guffaw that leaves Kuroo's mouth is so loud that it causes heads to turn, even the ones invested in the ping pong game. He bends over while holding his stomach and the initial panic that you have wears off upon seeing him look so joyously happy. You can't help but chuckle along.

"What?" you say when he's regained most of his breath, "what's so funny?"

"You are," he grins, before it turns mischievous, "senpai."

"Hey--now that's going a bit too far!"

You're not quite sure what time you get home that night. But you do know that you've gone to sleep with a smile on your face.

————

"Kuroo sensei! He stole my ball!"

A typical Monday morning where Kuroo is busy surveilling the fifth graders as they decided to play basketball during their free time. He's not one to deny such requests, actually enjoys watching them play and seeing them grow day by day, developing their techniques. But to say that he's a bit in the clouds would be an understatement.

"Kuroo sensei!"

He finally snaps back to reality. Blinks down at the tiny boy with the biggest scowl he's ever seen yet, "yes I'm sorry. What's wrong?"

"He stole my ball!" the young boy points at one of the chubby classmates who seems quite content in playing by himself, "and now he's saying that it was his!"

Kuroo can't help but raise a brow. He's taught that class before, knows exactly that the chubby little kid doesn't have that many friends, including the boy standing before him.

"I don't think he stole your ball."

It's a bold statement, but from the way the tiny student squirms and averts his gaze, Kuroo believes he is right, "but--but he did! He really did steal my ball!"

"I have an idea," Kuroo bends down to his height, not able to restrain the grin along his face at the pout forming on the student's lips, "why don't you go and play with him? He seems a bit lonely."

"Yeah that's because he never talks to anyone in class."

"Then why don't you be the first? hm?" he nudges the boy's shoulder, "show your class a good example. Come on."

With a bit more reassurance, the said student goes over and Kuroo watches fondly as the two exchange awkward greetings before the chubby student nods his head, glancing at his PE coach like he'd just dropped a bomb.

Five minutes later, they're playing together like best friends.

And Kuroo goes back to daydreaming.

He's not usually like this. So out of it, so inside his own head that he can't see the outside world. But ever since that party he's been wondering when's the next time he'd get to see you, to talk to you. Not just as Sakura's mum but as someone, maybe a friend. He's addicted to the way your eyes curve up before your lips are even drawn into a smile, like you're sharing a special secret with him before the world gets a flash of blinding white teeth. He enjoys watching you move about because you're just so tiny, holding cups with two hands and always having to tiptoe about to find stuff. But most of all, that conversation with you had him dreaming of more. He wants to know you, that initial curiosity turning to what he'd define as stupid infatuation.

Yes, Kuroo Tetsurou has a crush, and he's not quite sure how to feel about it.

"--Earth to Kuroo?"

He blinks. In front of him stands his colleague and friend Bokuto. Having faced each other off countlessly during their high school days, it was a miracle and lovely surprise to see him at the new year induction. Since then, they’d been a constant pair inside the school walls and creating assignments, organizing and coordinating events had never been so fun.

“Sorry,” he mumbles and rubs a hand over his face.

“You look like death, mate,” Bokuto leans on the fencing that separates the courts from the building, “why the long face?”

“Haven’t slept well,” Kuroo says, but he knows he’s not convincing when Bokuto’s eyebrows raise in question.

“You? Firm believer of 10hrs of sleep every day?” His friend shakes his head, “no way. Tell me what happened. What’s got you looking so dazed?”

“It’s noth—“ he halts. Maybe he can find some advice? Bokuto’s known for being a badass romantic after all. Maybe he can have something wise to say.

Like tell Kuroo you’re way out of his league and— what the hell is he even thinking, dating someone’s mom? Someone older than him, at that?

The words burst out of his mouth without warning:

“I think I like someone.”

Bokuto merely blinks. His face lights up, “well that explains it. Who?”

Kuroo’s arm swings to the back to scratch his neck, “it’s… one of the student’s mom’s.”

The last few words are said in a mumble, causing Bokuto to lean into his friend with a wide-eyed gaze, surprise flitting across his face when he realizes what Kuroo has just said.

“No,” the grey-haired man’s mouth turns into an “o” as he stares his friend down, “no way. Who?”

“I don’t think you know her. Sakura Kosuke?” Kuroo prompts.

“Sakura Kosuke…” Bokuto shakes his head in thought, “haven’t heard of that one. But—-Kuroo! I thought older women weren’t your style!”

“She’s not that old,” Kuroo’s face flames, “only by three years.”

"Who would've thought," Bokuto breathes out with a chuckle when a thought suddenly occurs to him, "wait-- it's not the chick who came by with the cake last weekend?"

Kuroo nods and awkwardly clears his throat, "yeah, the very same."

"Ha! If only I knew! I would've done my best to set you up!"

"It's not funny!"

But now that Bokuto has some leverage of information, he's definitely not going to let it go and Kuroo kind of regrets spilling the beans to him, of all people. That, and the probably fact that he’ll be spreading this news like wildfire across their friend group.

Thankfully, Kuroo’s schedule makes it that it’s hard to think about anything but work since midterm season is approaching for his other primary school colleagues. There’s after-school shows and events for every single activity and since he’s being asked to help for every single thing (because he’s the preschool teacher and, yeah! How come you don’t have any events planned for your preschoolers?!). Which means that he doesn’t have actual time to think about you, not even when he’s finally home and mustering up enough strength to brush his teeth, take a shower and dump himself in bed.

He does, however, collide head-first into you one week day as you’re hurrying out of the principal’s office, looking flustered and red-faced.

“Kosuke-san,” he takes a longing glance your rosy cheeks and felt his hand tingle with want. Just to see if it’s as soft as he imagines it to be? “You okay?”

“Kuroo sensei,” you run a hand through your locks and causing your hair to get even more disheveled, “hi, sorry— how are you? It’s been a while.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You’re looking a bit more greenish now that he sees you in the light.

“Yes I—“ your hands flutter up before you in an attempt to find an explanation, “—just came back from a meeting with Sakura’s teacher.”

“Oh?” Kuroo frowns, “what—nothing bad, I hope?”

“It’s just—well,” you try to chuckle but it comes out like a whimper, “apparently she got into a fight with one of the other girls in her class. Got a few injuries herself so…”

Your eyes are wet and it seems you’re half a second away from a breakdown. So it’s only natural for Kuroo to take a few steps closer to you before he whispers a soft, “hey hey, you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m sorry,” you take a shaky breath, “it’s just been a long, hard morning.”

“Yeah,” Kuroo bites onto his lower lip, not sure what to do to make things better as he watches your chest move up and down in staggered breaths.

That’s when an idea hits him. He makes a grab for the back of your elbow and the smallness, the thinness of your limb takes him be surprise as he steers you out of the corridor.

And when your wide eyes flutter up to his, he quickly says something along the lines of, “I know a place. It’ll make you feel better.”

That’s how he finds himself dragging you to the nearby coffee place he always frequents— called Espresso Block— a small vintage bakery run by none other than his good friend Osamu Miya, as part of his expansion branch from his onigiri restaurants.

"Y/N!" Osamu greets as soon as he spots your face trailing behind Kuroo's tall figure. He pushes the raven-haired man aside with impatience before sauntering over and wrapping you up in a bear hug.

"Osamu," you breathe in the scent of baked croissants lingering on his uniform, "you're choking me."

"Oh--sorry," he drops you and grins sheepishly, that is before he registers that you're together with one of his friends, causing his eyes to narrow, "how do you two know each other?"

"Kosuke-san is Sakura's mother and she was having a bad day," Kuroo explains before he turns to you, "how do you know him?"

Did you imagine the five-second frostiness that came from his tone? Maybe not, as you reply, "he's my cousin. We grew up together. I taught him how to play volleyball back in primary school."

Kuroo's relief is instant. Thank god, it's not a close friend, nor is it a romantic partner candidate. His mood brightens instantly and without further ado he proceeds to lead you towards a table in the back.

He doesn’t fail to ignore the way Osamu’s eyes are following him all the way back to his table as he carries the two drinks — strawberry latte for him and a black coffee for you — and Kuroo can just hope that his dear friend can keep his distance until you've gone.

Becayse he's quite certain he will be subject to interrogation. Especially if you're that close to Osamu.

Placing the tray on the table, he takes out the mug and pushes it into your hands before finding his seat opposite you. You grab the cup between your two palms and take a deep breath as Kuroo sips on his latte.

The sweetness of the strawberry never disappoints. It’s refreshing and brings a smile to his lips. Osamu sure knows his desserts.

“I'm really sorry about what happened earlier," you seem to have composed yourself from earlier. You take a small sip of your coffee and Kuroo watches in amusement as you shudder.

"Do you want some milk with that?" he can't help but ask.

You nod and look shameful, and Kuroo's heart squeezes with sympathy. Your eyes are tinged with aprons of blue and there are tired lines lining your eyes and the corners of your mouth. It's only when he comes back -- from having gotten some steamed milk from Osamu and a suggestive wink to match -- you dip your head into a nod and mumble out a soft 'thanks', eyes glued to the way the dark brown turned into a creamy latte.

"You could've asked me for a latte," Kuroo smiled to show that he didn't mind at all. But you winced.

"I'm sorry--"

"Don't say sorry," he softened, "just--next time, you can tell me what you want, Kosuke-san. I'm not here to bite you...unless you want me to."

Your eyes flit up to his in surprise and Kuroo pinks at his words. They'd just slipped out on their own. It's not like he'd wanted to sound flirty when you're looking all shaky and worse for wear. He quickly clear his throat and tries to change the subject, "how are Sakura's injuries?"

"She's fine, got herself a bruised lip."

His eyebrows raise in surprise, "woah, that's still something."

"Yeah," you mutter and take another sip. And then another, "I hope this doesn't become a habit."

"I've taught Sakura since the start of this semester," Kuroo leans forward, elbows propped onto the table, "and I can tell you--she's anything but violent."

"I really hope you're right about this. I can't have her running around beating up everyone."

Kuroo stifled a small laugh, "to be honest, I think it's good she knows how to defend herself."

You shoot him a look and he can't help but laugh. And it's so contagious, the way it booms out of him like a melody, that you cannot restrain yourself from joining in.

"You're right," you say in-between chuckles.

"Maybe she got her mom's feisty spirit," Kuroo adds.

"No way. I was as silent as a mouse," you retort, "if she got anything like that, it's probably from her father's--"

You halt in mid-conversation, wanting to bite down your tongue for even mentioning him and quickly flash Kuroo a bashful smile in hopes he'll just brush it off, "sorry, let's not talk about him--"

"Kosuke-san, you really have to stop saying sorry all the time," Kuroo says with a grin, "it's not healthy."

"I know, I'm--" you catch yourself and he bursts out laughing once more at your face, "don't say it! No matter what!" he chides.

"Stop--" but you're grinning from ear to ear, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling, "--Kuroo sensei, I hope you're not as playful with your students or they'd never learn anything from you."

"Course not," he winks, "I keep that solely for the pretty ladies."

His suggestive tone makes you blush despite it all and you look down at your coffee with the blush blazing so hard across your cheeks you swear everyone can see its colour from afar.

"I don't know how it is at home though," Kuroo's voice brings you out of your small bubble of warmth, "it must be tough handling Sakura all alone. Do you ever take a break?"

"Well, she goes to see her dad ever two weeks. But other than that, she's always with me unless my parents decide to come over. Which isn't as often as I would like."

"Why's that?"

"They live in the countryside and have a farm. It's hard for them to take days off, and I don't blame them not wanting to be around," your voice lowers to a mutter at the last few words, "especially after what happened with the marriage and all..."

"Marriages fail every time," Kuroo says gently then, "that too, isn't your fault."

"I wish my parents believed that," you let out a small laugh, "but they're right. We were too young to get married."

"But you have Sakura right? Isn't she worth it?"

His eyes, golden flecked and filled with so much hope and softness, meet yours from across the table. You suddenly feel a bit hot in your seat, wanting to squirm as you quickly look away from Kuroo's gaze because dear god, it's almost like he's ripping away, ripping apart every single layer of self-protection and preservation and reading you out like an open book.

"You're right," you clear your throat upon realizing he'd still been waiting for your response, "she is worth every single second. I wouldn't change anything about what happened. I just--I wish my parents could see it that way too."

"I think you spend a little too much time stressing about things you can't control," Kuroo takes another sip of his latte, "how about you learn to let go a bit? Maybe take the day off? Go hiking?"

"With Sakura?" you shake your head, "impossible, I--"

"Surely you have someone that can take care of her while you're gone," he tilts his head, jaw resting into one of his hands and making him appear all the more handsome.

Your thoughts flash to Atsumu. He's right, you could technically take a day off by dropping Sakura with the blonde. But she's not his responsibility and Atsumu has other priorities in his life rather than hang out with his niece. But Kuroo's persistence is strong and he makes you -- practically orders you -- to text him when he connects the dots that you two are also family.

"That guy can learn a thing or two about being responsible anyway," grins Kuroo, "so I'm sure he won't mind."

————

How did you end up here?

That's the question you keep asking yourself -- even when you're busy picking out your clothes only to realize that you barely have anything that's worth 'party material', even when you're attempting to do your makeup even though it's been almost three (or four?) years since you've tried to look your best because Sakura's wellbeing always came first.

Even when you're strapping up your black ankle boots, the question is getting drilled into your brain like a broken mixtape as you wonder whether this is a good idea after all.

"Go," Atsumu is firm when you call him for the nth time. It's five minutes until Kuroo's supposed to pick you up and feeling the pressure on your shoulders, you quickly decide to call your cousin in an emergency, "you have to do it, y/n. Stop making this all about Sakura. You need to be happy too."

"I am happy," was what you'd mumbled out in the phone receiver. You don't realize how tightly you're gripping the phone, so tight that your knuckles have turned white.

"I know you are, but you'll be happier if you live for yourself. At least for one night," Atsumu responds, "and Sakura's safe with me. And if ever there's an issue I'll call Osamu first to--"

"What?! No! No you call me first, okay?"

"Y/n please just relax. It's supposed to be a fun night."

You slump against the wall in defeat, "I don't even know why I'm doing this," you mumble mostly to yourself, though you're certain he can hear it too, "there's no point trying to prove that I'm content with my life. There are things that are going to leave me unsatisfied. I'm--I was fine with that, really."

"Are you though?" your cousin's voice is accusatory this time, "you're ready to live just for Sakura? Making her happy will make you happy too? Is this how it's supposed to work?"

"Technically yes, I'm her mother--"

"--And you've been left behind!"

The words are like a slap. You bite down onto your lower lip.

It draws blood.

You hiss, sucking on the skin as the metallic taste hits your tongue.

In truth, Atsumu has a point. You can't just live to make Sakura happy because that will ultimately destroy you. Not because she's not the only thing you need in your life. But because despite having your little girl being the center of your world, despite being able to sustain her with your career, you still feel like it's just yesterday when Aoi had upped and left you. His excuses, as pathetic as they had been, were arrows shooting straight into your heart. He left you crying into your pillow that night, hovering over your figure until you'd told him to 'get lost or I'll call the cops on you' before curling up on the small couch that you'd gotten rid of once he'd moved out for good.

So much pain. So much pain and haunted nights and obstacles that had come your way. That, along with caring for Sakura, had been a big hurdle. You remembered the long mornings, how hard it had been to drag yourself out of bed for the first few days. Atsumu had volunteered to stay with you then, giving you all the support you needed until you'd had enough strength to get back on your feet.

So he knew exactly what you'd gone through. Had seen it all first-hand. He wasn't kidding when he said you really needed to get laid. Somehow, he seems to have a valid point.

But it's been so long since you've left the dating scene that the thought of it makes you want to vomit.

"I'm sorry y/n, that wasn't cool." Atsumu's voice flows through the receiver like a lullaby and you take a deep, staggering breath, "I just--I know how hard it's been pulling your weight and caring for Sakura. It practically consumed your entire life. It's about time you get that motherfucker back for screwing things up--"

"Language," you tsk at him.

"You know what I mean," he replies impatiently, "So go out there, have fun. Get smashed. And at least do something to make you happy for a change. Alright?"

"Yeah okay," you mumble.

"And plus, you're with a bunch of guys that I know. They're cool. They'll keep an eye on you."

"Thanks mom."

"Anytime hun."

You can't help but giggle before you hear a car pulling up outside, "alright. I think my ride's here."

"Yeah, try to get laid okay--"

"Atsumu!" your cheeks flame, "I hope you're not saying all this in front of Sakura!"

A burst of laughter echoes from the receiver, "don't worry, miss Sakura is asleep. Have fun y/n! Take pictures!"

The drive there is less awkward than you'd imagined it to be, despite the fact that Kuroo's get-up does make your mouth salivate. And not just you. You realize a bunch of girls have him on their radar, from the stolen glances driven his way as you follow his broad back out of the parking and into the small terrace-looking entrance flanked by colored glowing palm trees.

"I haven't been in a club for like four years," you confess to him as you trudge into the queue. The air smells like cigarette and smoke. And something else. Something dangerous. It makes you giddy, you realize.

"Four years?" his eyes grow round as he looks down at you, "you have drunk before right? To the brink of passing out?"

"Like...maybe four years ago?"

His mouth opens, then closes. He shakes his head, a smile curving at the edges of his lips, "remind me not to drown you with tequila."

"I'll try my best."

You meet the rest of the gang upon stumbling into the club. It's dark and pulsating with music, with two dance floors separated by the DJ stationed on a platform right in the middle. Lights are bouncing off the space like crazy and all around you are moving bodies that writh and mold together until you're not sure where one ends and the other begins.

“Y/N! You’re here!” A drunk Hinata hooks an arm around your shoulder before steering you towards the bar, “you’re just in time! We were going for a round of lambos.”

“Lambos?” You balk and meet Kuroo’s eye, “you mean— Lamborgini’s?”

“Hell yeah!” Another one of the guys chimes in. It’s almost comical, the way they’re all stumbling against each other as you move like a congregation until you’re straight up in front of the barman.

“Ten Lambo’s please!” Hinata slams his card ontot he counter.

It brings back a wave of nostalgia, seeing the line of glasses and the way the bartender drops the alcohol in like he can do it with his eyes closed. You’re jostled and pressed against warm chests and shoulders, surrounded from all sides and yet, you feel safe with them all. That is, until you feel a soft brush against your elbow.

You turn to see Kuroo’s warm golden orbs.

“All okay?” He mouths to you.

You nod and give him a smile in return, and the grin that he cracks makes a troop of butterflies swoop into your stomach.

You look away just as Hinata thrusts a glass into your hands, “come y/n! This one’s on me!”

One shot becomes two. And two become three. Soon enough you find yourself on the dance floor and moving to the beat with one of the girls from the group— Yachi?— while the guys are trying to pay each other back their shots. The music vibrates through the floor up your body and flood your veins so that you get lost in it, ecstasy and the thrill of just being alive finally gushing through your brain, fogged up and amplified by the alcohol in your bloodstream.

It’s amazing. You feel free. Like nothing can stop you.

It’s honestly the best you’ve felt in a while.

After a while, you and Yachi decide to take a well-deserved break, stumbling over to the clustered seating space filled with red cushions as the boys scatter to find more alcohol. At this point you’re surprised that they’re still moving around and conscious, considering the amount they’ve drunk.

One of the boys— the one with the kind smile called Daichi— offers to get you guys some water as you take a seat, allowing your tired legs to take a break.

“I’m going to fine Hinata!” Yachi says into your ear and you nod before ushering her out of your way. There’s something between those two, a kind of tension that will develop into something more if they just allow it.

But you’re not one to meddle, not when your own love life’s a mess.

That’s when you notice.

It’s the lingering stare out of the corner of your peripheral that makes you turn your head.

Then you see him.

A tall, lanky man. He’s seated right opposite you, a drink in his hand and taking a swig. But there’s no mistake, for when his eyes meet yours across the room you can only jolt in shock.

You look away with embarrassment and disgust. Heat spreads to the back of your neck and goosebumps run up your arms. Suddenly, it’s a little too cold in this hot, sweaty club.

Why is he looking at you like that?

There’s no mistaking the intention. You risk one more glance and confirm that indeed, there’s a darkness in his eyes; the kind of a predator.

The kind that wants to strip you bare.

It’s unsetttling, unnerving.

Disgusting.

You don’t even hesitate. It’s like instinct for you jump off your seat with the only purpose to find Kuroo. But to your terror, the man starts to follow you. And soon enough it becomes a game of catch: of cat and mouse. You almost trip over your high heels as you push through the moving bodies as quickly as you can.

But the figure is there, hovering over you like a dark shadow that causes your heart to clench.

You bite back a whimper, pushing through a throng of girls as you frantically search for a sign of Kuroo’s familiar mop of hair. Or Hinata’s. Or just about anyone for that matter—

Bumping into a chest, you’re more than surprised as you let out a small yelp only to hear a familiar alto.

“Kosuke-san, everything alright?”

“K—Kuroo sensei,” your mumble is drowned in the beats of the music, eyes darting between his face and the dodgy man.

He’s now standing by the bar a few feet away from you. The same kind of withering stare that makes you wince.

Hurriedly, you turn to Kuroo and grip his shirt, wanting nothing more than to hide behind him, “I—uhm— there’s someone—“ the words jumble up as they pour out of your mouth and you find you can do nothing but grip his shirt for dear life, like Kuroo’s the only thing that can help you out of here.

Thankfully, he seems to understand your dilemma, for he puts a hand on your shoulder before steering you a little closer to him and away from the main path, a frown evident on his face, “what’s wrong Kosuke-san?”

But it’s only when he follows your fear-stricken eyes that Kuroo realizes there’s something — someone tormenting you. He recognizes the dark hunger, the prowling intent.

Instantly, his hand grips your waist. Tugs you closer.

You stumble into him, “Kuroo sensei—“

But Kuroo’s not having it. He stares the man down with a glower, longer body practically wrapped around yours in a protective embrace as he dares the man to do something, anything.

Try me, his eyes are saying, you’re not going to lay a single hand on her.

The stranger finally breaks eye contact after a few beats of silence and Kuroo keeps watch, golden eyes blazing until the man is nothing more but a memory of smoke as he disappears into the crowd.

Only then does he allow his hold to relax. Tilting down towards you. He murmurs out softly:

“He’s gone, Kosuke-san.”

You’re practically glued to him at this point, face buried in his chest and hands gripping so tightly onto his shirt that you might’ve grown claws. Kuroo nudges you gently once more, and that’s when you look up from the depths of his shirt.

The sight makes him almost coo because goddamnit even in the dim disco lights you look adorable. He has the sudden urge to pinch your cheeks and he’s glad his hands are somewhat occupied along your waist.

“You okay?” Is what he whispers.

You nod, looking a bit shaky and green int the face, “yeah—I’m—I’m fine. Thank you. He was—it scared me.”

“I know,” Kuroo draws away ever so slightly so he can have a better look at your face, “I’ll bring you home, alright?”

“No no it’s okay,” you shake your head and attempt a smile, but even Kuroo can see past those shaky lips, “you stay and have fun. I’ll call an Uber and—“

“Nonsense,” he grabs your elbow once more, “I’ll accompany you. C’mon.”

———

It’s definitely unnerving. It leaves you shaking with fear and you’re thankful for Kuroo’s strong grip on your arm as he maneuvers you out of the club.

The rush of cold wind hits your cheeks, leaving the soft beats of the club behind. Slowly, the world comes back into focus as the air rushes through your lungs and the sound bustling traffic in the distance is brought back into focus.

Only then do you realize how close you’re standing to the coach.

With a start, you stumble away with a muttered “sorry”, not daring to meet his eyes while quickly brushing off your clothes because dear god you weren’t sure what to do with your hands.

The uber arrives without much delay — thankfully — and the ride home is silent, almost as if there’s an awkward tension that has settled between the two of you. Away from the alcohol and now sobering up, it’s impossible to ignore the fact that you’d practically glued yourself to this man earlier. The act is so embarrassing you decidedly keep your gaze on the flurry of bustling streets and dim lamps flying by.

You don’t realize you’ve dozed off until a warm hand is shaking your shoulder, followed by a soft; “we’re here.”

You gasp, noticing that you’ve been pressed against Kuroo’s shoulder all this time.

“Oh,” you scramble away as quick as lightning, “I’m so sorry—“

His lips quirk upwards, “no harm done, senpai.”

You hate it when he calls you that. It makes you sound… old.

Nevertheless, you decide to be quiet as he accompanies you up to your flat, hands in his pockets while following you up the rusty stairs. You hope he’s not judging; it’s not like you have unlimited amounts of funding, what with Sakura’s education and activities.

“Well,” you finally reach the door to your flat and turn on your heel so that you face him, “thanks… for everything.”

"No problem," he's smiling down at you. Still so patient, still so happy to help. Your heart swells in your chest and you ask, "how are you getting back?"

"Oh, probably Uber..." he trails off, already turning away to fish his phone out of his pocket, "it's not far."

"Where do you live?"

You almost bawk when he tells you his address, because it's practically at the other end of town. He'll be there in forty-five minutes, at least.

The words are automatic, shooting out of you, "I'm so--"

But Kuroo's hand whips out, clamping over your lips. Your eyes widen as you look up at him, only to see the young man grinning like there's no tomorrow.

"You really need to stop doing that," he finally says before drawing back. Already, you're hit with the cold air following Kuroo's touch upon your skin, "I wanted to accompany you. There's nothing to apologize for."

"I know, but--"

He throws you another pointed look that has you clamping down on your mouth. You're about to say sorry once more because you're being a pathetic blubbery mess, but the look in his eyes makes you say a soft, "thank you" instead.

"You're welcome," and with one final grin and a wave to match, the school Coach disappears down the corridor, leaving you gazing at his broad back until his silhouette turns the corner and away from your sight.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Some Literary Terms & Devices

Literary devices and terms - are the techniques and elements that writers use to create narrative literature, poetry, speeches, or any other form of writing.

Anadiplosis - a figure of speech in which a word or group of words located at the end of one clause or sentence is repeated at or near the beginning of the following clause or sentence. This line from the novelist Henry James is an example of anadiplosis: "Our doubt is our passion, and our passion is our task."

Bildungsroman - a genre of novel that shows a young protagonist's journey from childhood to adulthood (or immaturity to maturity), with a focus on the trials and misfortunes that affect the character's growth.

Chiasmus - a figure of speech in which the grammar of one phrase is inverted in the following phrase, such that two key concepts from the original phrase reappear in the second phrase in inverted order. The sentence "She has all my love; my heart belongs to her," is an example of chiasmus.

Diacope - a figure of speech in which a word or phrase is repeated with a small number of intervening words. The first line of Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy, "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way," is an example of diacope.

Epizeuxis - a figure of speech in which a word or phrase is repeated in immediate succession, with no intervening words. In the play Hamlet, when Hamlet responds to a question about what he's reading by saying "Words, words, words," that's an example of epizeuxis.

Foreshadowing - a literary device in which authors hint at plot developments that don't actually occur until later in the story. Foreshadowing can be achieved directly or indirectly, by making explicit statements or leaving subtle clues about what will happen later in the text. The Russian author Anton Chekhov summarized foreshadowing when he wrote, "If you say in the first chapter that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third chapter it absolutely must go off." The description of the gun on the wall, in other words, should foreshadow its later use.

Hubris - excessive pride or overconfidence, which drives a person to overstep limits in a way that leads to their downfall. In Greek mythology, the legend of Icarus involves an iconic case of hubris: Icarus is given artificial wings made of wax and feathers so that he can fly (a superhuman feat), but he ignores his father's warnings and flies too close to the sun, melting his wings and drowning in the ocean.

Irony - a literary device or event in which how things seem to be is in fact very different from how they actually are. If this seems like a loose definition, don't worry—it is. Irony is a broad term that encompasses three different types of irony, each with their own specific definition: verbal irony, dramatic irony, and situational irony. Most of the time when people use the word irony, they're actually referring to one of these specific types of irony.

Juxtaposition - occurs when an author places two things side by side as a way of highlighting their differences. Ideas, images, characters, and actions are all things that can be juxtaposed with one another. For example, it's a common plot device in fairy tales such as Cinderella to juxtapose the good-natured main character with a cruel step-sibling. The differences between the characters, as well as their close relation to one another, serve to highlight the main character's good qualities.

Kenning - a figure of speech in which two words are combined in order to form a poetic expression that refers to a person or a thing. For example, "whale-road" is a kenning for the sea. Kennings are most commonly found in Old Norse and Old English poetry.

Litotes - a figure of speech and a form of understatement in which a sentiment is expressed ironically by negating its contrary. For example, saying "It's not the best weather today" during a hurricane would be an example of litotes, implying through ironic understatement that the weather is, in fact, horrible.

Metonymy - a type of figurative language in which an object or concept is referred to not by its own name, but instead by the name of something closely associated with it. For example, in "Wall Street prefers lower taxes," the New York City street that was the original home of the New York Stock Exchange stands in for (or is a "metonym" for) the entire American financial industry.

Narrative - an account of connected events. Two writers describing the same set of events might craft very different narratives, depending on how they use different narrative elements, such as tone or point of view. For example, an account of the American Civil War written from the perspective of a white slaveowner would make for a very different narrative than if it were written from the perspective of a historian, or a former slave.

Onomatopoeia - a figure of speech in which words evoke the actual sound of the thing they refer to or describe. The “boom” of a firework exploding, the “tick tock” of a clock, and the “ding dong” of a doorbell are all examples of onomatopoeia.

Polyptoton - a figure of speech that involves the repetition of words derived from the same root (such as "blood" and "bleed"). For instance, the question, "Who shall watch the watchmen?" is an example of polyptoton because it includes both "watch" and "watchmen."

Quatrain - a four-line stanza of poetry. It can be a single four-line stanza, meaning that it is a stand-alone poem of four lines, or it can be a four-line stanza that makes up part of a longer poem.

Red herring - a piece of information in a story that distracts readers from an important truth, or leads them to mistakenly expect a particular outcome. Most often, the term red herring is used to refer to a "false clue"—a piece of evidence that misleads readers to believe that a crime (or other action) was committed by someone other than the actual culprit.

Sibilance - a figure of speech in which a hissing sound is created within a group of words through the repetition of "s" sounds. An example of sibilance is: "Sadly, Sam sold seven venomous serpents to Sally and Cyrus in San Francisco."

Theme - a universal idea, lesson, or message explored throughout a work of literature. One key characteristic of literary themes is their universality, which is to say that themes are ideas that not only apply to the specific characters and events of a book or play, but also express broader truths about human experience that readers can apply to their own lives. For instance, John Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath (about a family of tenant farmers who are displaced from their land in Oklahoma) is a book whose themes might be said to include the inhumanity of capitalism, as well as the vitality and necessity of family and friendship.

Understatement - a figure of speech in which something is expressed less strongly than would be expected, or in which something is presented as being smaller, worse, or lesser than it really is. Typically, understatement is used to call attention to the very quality it pretends to downplay. For instance, if you had just eaten the most delicious meal of your life and licked the plate clean, you might jokingly tell the chef that "It was edible," making use of understatement to humorously express how much you appreciated the meal.

Verbal irony - occurs when the literal meaning of what someone says is different from—and often opposite to��what they actually mean. When there's a hurricane raging outside and someone remarks "what lovely weather we're having," this is an example of verbal irony.

Zeugma - a figure of speech in which one "governing" word or phrase modifies two distinct parts of a sentence. Often, the governing word will mean something different when applied to each part, as in the sentence, "He took his coat and his vacation." The verb "to take" makes sense with and governs both "coat" and "vacation," but is appropriate to each in a different way.

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References

[sashi-ya]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ エロチックトバー２０２４> MDNI / EXPLICIT CONTENT

TURBULENCE ✈ JUGRAM HASCHWALTH X F! READER ＫINKTOBER DAY 27: PLANE SEX

🐙 requested by: Anonymous. Hiii, the theme for the event is a bomb😳Do you write for the Sternitters too? (Bleach). If so, I’d take a Jugram Haschwalth for the airplane sex kink. The gender can be female or gn, I don’t mind. Thanks in advance! ⚠️ tw: mdni. explicit content. modern au. business trip. airplane sex. 🐙 wc: 2.4k // kinktober 24 masterlist // join the taglist

Ah, he has always been next to the general director. He even works more than him. Jugram this, Jugram that. Go here, go there… 

“Jugram-sama, I just received an e-“ you inform but get interrupted by him. “I know…” the blonde answers, checking his phone for the third time since you both seated on that plane. 

Uncomfortable, both try to get your legs ready for a lot of hours over the clouds. No matter how much you were -the Silbern company- willing to pay, a last-minute flight across the world only had barely two tickets available on economy. Forget first class, not even a single one free on business class. 

However, if Yhwach ordered Jugram to do it, he must do it. And you, his assistant, tried your best to find accommodation… took whatever it took. 

You keep quiet as his crystalline eyes fix on the screen of one of his six phones. What an amazing beauty this man holds, with manly features but still delicate to be mistaken by an angel… still, he might be the loneliest of them all, by choice perhaps, pushing everybody away… 

“Did you pay wifi on board, right? I’ll need it” he utters, as cold as always. As serious as ever. 

You nod, searching for a little card with a special code they gave you when you were checking in. 

“Here, Jugram-sama” you give it to him, grazing your fingers. He is not really looking at you, he just seems especially glued to the screen. 

It doesn’t take much for the plane’s doors to be finally closed and for a flight attendant to reach your spot. A young beautiful woman, dressed in the airline’s sexy uniform, stops right by your side noticing Jugram still on his phone. 

“Ah, Sir. Excuse me, we are about to take off, you should put your phone down until we reach cruise alt-“ she says, shutting up the moment the blonde looks at her in a very “not amused” grim. 

 The immediate change of that woman when seeing his handsome face isn’t something new for you, in fact, the flight attendant didn’t even notice you were also on your phone. She immediately recognize him, acting all silly and flirtatious towards him. 

“Sorry. Will shut it off in a moment” Jugram says, blocking his phone and sliding it inside the chest pocket of his white suit. 

You do the same, sighing. It’s ok, the flight attendant won’t notice, nor will Jugram. He doesn’t care about you; you are just a mere software that breathes and speaks to help him… or so you think. 

“Fasten it. Tight” he suddenly says, bending just a little to reach for your seatbelt and adjust it closer to your lower stomach. And you gasp, when did he ever cared about your safety? 

You nod, again. Out of words, even more than always. You can’t say much, you just fix your eyes into the little screen in front of you. Hot ears, hot cheeks… a simple touch of this man, and you are sent to heaven. 

And, speaking of heaven, soon and with your ears popping the plane leaves the ground to be finally airborne. In complete silence, the only sounds you are blessed with are the roaring of the engines and the little creeks of the plastic insides of the plane. 

Time flies, they say, when you are comfortable… however, this wasn’t exactly the definition of comfort. You tried to squeeze yourself in that tiny seat, as much as possible. Your left elbow carved into the plane’s fuselage wall, and your right arm crossed over your chest. You don’t wanna take Jugram much space, and as much as you wish, you don’t even dare claiming the middle armrest for your own. 

“You look uncomfortable, (Name)” he mutters, this time with his eyes scanning a haggard magazine. You have no idea how he does it, but he sees you without looking. 

“Not to sound very cocky, but economy nowadays is a torture… we haven’t even left Germany, and my legs are already dead, I wonder if I’ll be able to walk when we get to Japan” you whisper, as the lights of the cabin have already been turned off and some snoring from other passengers filter in between the sound of the engines. 

“Try to rest, we will need energy” he simply says, closing the magazine and turning his head to the side. His eyes closed, but his facial muscles still tensed.

When will you rest, Jugram Haschwalth? 

Seven hours in, and that water bottle you chugged in while bored, has started to affect you. But how to leave your seat to go to the bathroom, if that would mean crawling on top of Jugram who has finally -incredible to you- fallen asleep? 

Yet, your bladder has a limit and after several minutes trying to forget about your necessities, urgence takes over… 

Taking a deep breath before starting to move, you stand up. You hit your head with the overhead compartment and swear in silence. Then, facing Jugram, your left leg goes first, passing over his long legs. And just like this, with your hands on each side of his face, on the headrest, your hips seem like straddled on his, even though your crotches aren’t touching. 

A soft rocking motion, known as turbulence, seems to complot against you as it becomes a little more noticeable. It obviously affects your balance, but you are not willing to wake this man up, much less with you in such position. 

However, Jugram seems to never really rest, and suddenly a pair of hands land on your waist. 

“Careful” he whispers, opening two shining stars per eyes. His hands are strong, his hold making you feel secure. 

“I’m sorry, I had to go to the toile-“

“You should have asked me to move…” he answers back, helping you to reach the aisle. 

You nod, out of words, and quickly run -as best as you can- to the toilet. You can’t normalize your breathing for at least a couple of minutes after you finally relieve yourself and in the mirror in front of you, you try your best to fix your image… 

Yet, seems destiny has decided to play with you, once again…

The up and down motions increase, turbulence becoming more and more noticeable, and a flight attendant asking you to hurry and go back to your seat once you’ve managed to leave the restroom.  

You grunt; why in the world there isn’t something able to deal with turbulence yet? Grabbing anything, really, while you walk to your very uncomfortable seat, you pray for Jugram not to be asleep.

“Uh, Jugram-sama, I’m ba-!” you try to ask for him to move so you can squeeze back into your seat. But, of course, to make it a lot more shamefully to you, turbulence makes you jump. 

The blonde once again snatches you, this time saving you big time not to hurt yourself badly. You get locked in his arms, on top of his lap. Your face close to his, noses almost touching, eyes fixed on each other’s. 

“You ok? Did you hurt yourself? Is your head ok?” he asks, touching the back of your head, grabbing you real close to his body, seriously worried. 

You nod, finally breathing back. 

“I’m ok… thank you for saving me, Jugram-sama” you whisper, letting your forehead rest on his shoulder. You are sure you shouldn’t have done such thing, but you couldn’t help it… it is hella scary to feel like gravity has abandoned you. 

“Don’t… worry” he whispers back, allowing you to rest as much as you wish on him. His hand on your head makes it clear, “stay here if you wish”

The scent of his skin, and the sweet perfume he wears, makes you dizzy… what a delicious combination. The warmth of his flesh on your lips, invites you to kiss him… how much you wish you could do it, but just the way the plane moves will have to do, an indirect kiss that can’t be call as it. 

And, the more the plane moves, the more you softly jump on his lap. And Jugram seems to tense, more and more… is it that maybe the constant graze of your legs on his crotch, the warm breath of your mouth, or your nose buried on his skin it is making it really difficult for him? 

You notice his muscles becoming stiff, and thankful for the darkness surrounding the fuselage, you take a little bit of advantage of the situation… I’m sorry, Jugram-sama, this is a dream came true. 

However, common sense comes back to you; “Sorry, Jugram-sama! I’m gonna go back to my seat. I’m sorry...” you try to stand up, but you can’t. 

“Stay…” he grunts in your ear, pressing your body, harder, against him. This time you can feel a man’s reaction to a beautiful woman jumping on him… 

You look at him; this time your eyes are imbued with lust. You only just needed a plead, a single word… you are just a human, you have been pushed to the limit… You have always wanted him… and apparently, he has always wanted you. 

Perhaps a couple of seconds passed, but to you it felt like an eternity. His hand landed on your cheek, with its fingers reaching the back of your head. 

In silence, trying to recognize each other’s traits with the soft led lights of the bathroom sign on the back of the plane, you spend some more minutes until he devours you in one kiss. 

It is more than magical and also painfully needy; you have no idea if he had been wanting to kiss you since forever, or this is just something out of the blue. And who cares? Kiss me more, Jugram-sama. 

Indecently, the kiss become more and more deep, in a full plane, surrounded by strangers… and his hardness keeps growing, as if was searching for your core to go desperately deep inside. 

“Toilet, go. Wait for me” he commands in between tongues playing. 

You widen your eyes; he wants to fuck you in that tiny bathroom?

“Please…” he adds, again pleading, begging. 

You nod, this time biting your lower lip. He helps you; the turbulence continues but has decreased in intensity. You walk to the bathroom in the back, praying for nobody, including the crew, to see you. 

Your clearly agitated -and horny- imagery reflects on the mirror of the tiny toilet. You wonder how is Jugram going to manage to get inside without being noticed. 

Trust Jugram Haschwalth, he is not only wise, he is rich and the second hand of one of the largest companies in the world… 

“Miss, if I give you my number, would you close the bathroom for me and my assistant? She is not feeling well and I will try to help her. Please, contact me soon, we are soon purchasing a private jet, and we will need a flight attendant like you to join us” 

“Oh! Of course, Jugram-sama! Thank you!! And please, don’t worry, take all the time you need!” 

A sudden knock on the door announces he is here, not even a minute has passed. You open, sticking yourself against the back of the toilet. Amazed you noticed nobody but him around, where are the flight attendants? 

There is no time to think, as he gets inside and closes the door right behind him. Pleased with the loud noises of that Boeing 777, he turns you around. Your belly hits the mini counter, Jugram’s hands lowering your bamboula pants. 

“I don’t know why you chose to wear these today, but I’m so glad you did” he grunts in your ear, as it was hella easy to lower them down and expose your ass. 

You were about to reply it was because of comfort, but it’d be pointless to add anything at all. He lifts your right leg on top of the counter, for better access, feeling your wetness with his free hand. 

His chest hits your back, his chin carved on your shoulder, both looking at each other through the mirror. 

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time… I’m sorry it has to be on a plane’s toilet” he says, smirking. 

For a long time, Jugram-sama? Amazed, amused, impressed… the very first time he is showing you a smile and it’s when he has his fingers inside your folds… 

“I- I don’t- I don’t care…”  you simply answer, because you can’t even think straight; by now, Jugram has started fingering you like nobody else did before. 

Your inner thighs tremble, your skin becomes bumpy. Your hand tries to reach for Jugram’s hips, you want him closer -inside-. And he understands his job, immediately. 

“You want me to fuck you, mh?” Jugram asks, pinching your cheeks and making you look yourself in front of the mirror. 

“yes… please…” you plead, lifting your hips, grabbing yourself from the little counter in front of you. It isn’t easy not to lose balance on such a tiny place, on a plane with occasional turbulence. 

Jugram, however, seems not to notice the motion of the plane and keeps both feet steadily on the ground. He lowers his zipper, freeing his sex from his white pants. Ready, so ready to impale you, he doesn’t even take a single moment to do it. 

His strong hand lands on your mouth the moment he finally gets deep inside you; a Boeing might be loud, but your moan could have been heard by others.

The slaps against your ass and thighs force you to put your hands on the mirror in front, where both never stopped looking at each other. It is both magical and perverted the way  you enjoy this moment through the reflection. 

One, two, three. More and more. But is not enough, is not deep enough… “Come here…” he commands, turning you around. 

You pant, legs trembling, wanting more and more. 

Jugram sits on the toilet and spreads his arms to receive you. And you immediately understand; time to bounce on his hard sex. 

You let yourself fall on his lap; the need allows his dick to slide right in with no difficulty whatsoever. Facing your blonde lover snatches your lips in a feverish kiss, his hands press the small of your back against him, and his legs begin to bounce along with you… ah, deep Jugram-sama; deep, fast… faster… 

And now turbulence is making it even better, don’t you think?!

Taglist of amazing babes: @awas-posts @missfuriosa @theneighbourhoodferret @cyberdazetragedy @ariesbbytings @animesnowstorm @lenablack9919

[dongslinger--420]

You were born to two people who never wanted to have you, who never should've had you. You grew up around alcohol, and your only role model was on television. People tried to make friends with you, but you just pushed them away. You made your first friend at 21. You love your friend more than anything, but you cannot escape the fact that he was indirectly responsible for your downfall. You try so hard to go back to the era where you thought you were happy that you end up making two of the biggest mistakes of your life. You surround yourself with people who remind you either of him, of yourself, or both. Your lack of true, authentic experience means that you believe yourself to be both unworthy and incapable of love. You have 4 best friends and you take them all for granted until it's too late. Millions love you, and you feel so alone.

You were born into a family of 7. Everyone in that family hates you. You were bullied in school, and your only role model was on television. You survive your 20s on sheer unbridled optimism and a barista's salary. You meet two people who are just like you, who are passionate and cynical and bright minded. One day, you fall in love with an older man who is nothing like you, but he's kind and extraverted, and it's something you have no frame of reference for. You meet your idol. He's not who you thought he'd be. He's the furthest from it that you could possibly imagine. But you love him. Because he's you. He reminds you of the girl you were growing up. Sometimes he's compassionate towards you. Sometimes your now husband is compassionate towards you. You don't know how to respond in either situation. You try to look for reasons to push them away. Your closest friends love you, and you feel so alone.

You were born the youngest of 12. Your mother loves you, but she needs you a little too much. You grow up obsessed with a film about a girl who flies away, a girl who (for better or for worse) comes of age. So then you decide to fly away. You get a job as a strongly independent intern. But then you meet a man. He's deeply flawed, and the way you take care of him reminds you too much of the girl you were growing up. But you see so much good in him, and you spend your time telling yourself that the good outweighs the bad. He has single handedly got you out of the worst situations you have ever found yourself in. And for all your independence, you crave companionship, in any form. The love that anyone feels for you is forever fleeting. You feel so alone.

You were born into a loving family. You meet a beautiful wife in your 20s, and get the best job ever solely by accident. There is no reality other than this. And why would anyone want one? This is perfect. You try so hard to go back to that first era where you were happy, by surrounding yourself with people who agree with you. Your first wife starts to disagree. You don't understand her decision to go into politics, because there is no reality other than this, and why would anyone want one? You break up with her. You have to keep the illusion going, fill that space asap. Your second wife disagrees with you. You meet your third wife on the day your second wife leaves you. Your third wife cares more about the world outside the bubble you've cultivated than your first wife did. But status quo is god. It worked in your dream job, and it's going to work now. Your third wife leaves you. You feel so alone.

You were born of a man you don't even remember. You were forcibly given the name of the man your mother married. He's extremely hard on you and you don't understand why. You love music and games and new experiences, and he loves anger and being boring and getting a job. You get kicked out at 18. You find someone new, and you feel almost as reliant on them. You don't know when your new situation will end, but it's easy. This is what you wanted, right? But all your new friends have proper lives. They have some sense of knowledge for what they were doing. And maybe your stepfather was right. Maybe BoJack was right. Maybe you need to get your act together before you amount to anything. Because for all your independence, you still crave approval and acknowledgement, in any form. You have no idea if anyone loves you, and you feel so alone.

[nightmareweaverz]

What is Love? (Mr. Gap x GN!Reader) Part 3

Part 1 || Part 2

CW: Minor character death, canon typical violence, a bit of gore, slight angst

Wordcount: 2538

Here is the third part of "What Is Love?" The next part will be the last one! This has honestly been a lot of fun to write.

Room after room after room, you’ve traveled. Each time a resident appears in your path, you ask them if they know where the exit is. It does not yield many results. If there’s a word for elevator in the other language, you don’t know it. And that, perhaps, is not aiding your search. Still, you persist.

Robin’s frightful nature doesn’t improve much over time. At the very least, it’s keeping him safe. He doesn’t enter rooms before you do and he doesn’t touch anything before you’ve confirmed it’s safe. Part of you is grateful for it.

“Could we rest somewhere for a bit? I'm getting a little tired,” Robin says gently after what's probably been hours of walking.

“Yeah, I suppose we should.”

Sparing him any additional injuries has come at a price. After the incident with the toys, you’ve chosen to run from many residents whom you would’ve had no issue subduing on your own. A fight comes with greater risks of injury. As a result, you may have depleted him of energy.

A tiny room, containing a couch and two smashed lamps ends up as your chosen temporary base. Before you allow Robin to sleep there, you check every piece of furniture to make sure nothing hides beneath or inside of them.

He tries to get you to rest with him, but you refuse. Someone has to keep watch. And you’ve come to learn your new body can work on two types of fuel: blood and sleep. You can supply it with one of them later and it will last you plenty of time.

For now, you slide down the wall, just outside the room and settle in a criss cross position. The absence of anything to read makes you wish you’d put in the effort to carry at least one. Perhaps you should search for a bag or backpack after you send Robin off.

Instinctively, you glance around in search of holes in the wall or ceiling. There are none. This is a little disheartening. Despite the way you last parted, Mr. Gap has somehow become someone you’re capable of missing.

Then you suddenly feel something poking your back. Your immediate reaction is to jolt up, crowbar held in preparation. Only to find that you’d set yourself in front of an open drain. Your void dwelling companion is staring back at you, happy with himself for startling you.

“Oh. Hello,” you greet him normally, as if your previous encounter didn't end with you insulting him.

“Human leave?” he asks.

It takes you a moment to realize he isn’t talking about you.

“No. They sleep. Me protect.”

This, for some reason, makes him grimace. Does he dislike Robin that much? They haven’t even interacted yet. What does he have against him?

“You not like they? Why?”

“They not fun.”

You expect him to elaborate, but he does no such thing. Similarly to how he explained why he hangs around you a while back. Because “you are fun.” Whatever that means. You shake your head in defeat.

“Me bored. You give paper?” you decide to try your luck. You’d even be willing to give him a few fingers right now in exchange for something to do.

He seems to be considering it. When he speaks again, you expect him to name his price, hopefully an organ you’ll have an easy time parting with and wouldn’t take long to heal.

“Me want touch.”

This is… new. He hasn’t mentioned any form of touch ever since you gave him that little lesson on romantic love. The fact that he now wants it for a reason other than curiosity makes you feel… odd. Restless, in a way. Like there are flies buzzing in your stomach.

“Me give touch, you give paper,” you conclude.

“Yes!” He sounds a little too happy about this arrangement. But there is no telling what he’s thinking, as usual.

You reach inside the drain and set your hand on top of his head. His hair feels rough and a little damp like the rest of him. You feel a few tangled knots as you caress it gently. Although he must’ve been expecting one of the gestures you’d shown him before, he appears intrigued by this as well.

“Not special touch?”

“You not stay what touch. Me give touch.” It is your turn to be smug.

The corners of his mouth drop and his eyes narrow in annoyance. Was he really hoping for kisses and hand holding? Why do you find that cute?

“Give paper?” you ask, now suddenly feigning innocence.

Still mumbling grumpily, he shoves a magazine your way. It’s impossible not to giggle at his displeasure. He really is bad at reaping what he sows.

You turn your attention to the magazine he gave you. This time, it’s a travel magazine. A surprisingly new one. It’s a little damp and the edges of the pages are curled, but the pictures still have vivid colors and the paper hasn’t yet gained that old, yellowish appearance most other books here have.

But when you look at the cover more closely, you hesitate to open it. It features a tall building. One that looks similar to the one you always used to see on your way home. Home…

You flip through it slowly. And with every page you turn, a suffocating ache grows in your chest. There are pictures of breathtaking landscapes, cliffsides, beaches, jungles, pools and cities. There are pictures of people eating ice cream, pictures of busy streets and local dishes, of bread and potatoes and cake and spicy sauces. You don’t even notice your hands have started trembling.

You eventually stop at a picture of a flower field spread over two pages. Purple flowers reign over half its surface and, above them, a deep blue sky occupies the rest. You can almost smell the perfume, feel the wind in your hair, see the fluffy clouds idling by. The ache in your chest is becoming unbearable.

“What wrong?”

Mr. Gap’s voice suddenly yanks you out of your sorrowful daydream. You’re surprised to find he hasn’t left yet.

“Not like paper?”

You shake your head. “Me like paper. Me want… me want to go where paper show. Me not go. Me different.”

You wonder if someone like him can even understand what you're feeling. He can go wherever he pleases using his little teleportation ability. Meanwhile, you're stuck here. Forever.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Perhaps he’s confused again. But then he declares: “Me good! Me research.” Then he’s gone.

What it is he is hoping to research, you don’t know. But Mr. Gap has surprised you before. Maybe he’ll do it again.

You try to push any depressing thoughts aside and resume reading the magazine without thinking too much about what you will be missing out on for the rest of eternity. You are mostly successful.

A few residents pass by, but none try to pick a fight, which comes as a relief. Eventually, Robin finally emerges from the room. He appears to be in a better mood.

“I needed that. Thank you for keeping watch. It helped me sleep soundly.” He smiles. You're not sure you've seen him smile until now. It suits him better than the constant frightful expression he always wears.

“Don't mention it.”

You set the magazine down by the open vent and take off, motioning for Robin to follow. It would not be wise to dally anymore. Anytime now, he will begin to change. You have to get him out before that happens.

He does as you ask without protest.

“So, um. How much longer until we reach the exit?”

“I don't know. The hallways always change. But we're looking for an elevator. And it's best we find it sooner than later,” you respond.

“I see…”

His expression shifts into nervousness. You want to reassure him that he will make it out, that you’ll make sure of it. But that’s something you aren’t sure you’ve even convinced yourself of yet.

“Do you like reading?” he asks eventually.

“I do, since I started living here. It helps pass the time.”

“My boyfriend also likes reading. He drags me to bookstores sometimes. His favorite are murder mysteries, but sometimes he picks up those useless self help books that don’t actually help much.” Tears glisten in his eyes. “I… can’t even remember what I last said to him before I ended up here. I hope it wasn’t anything bad…”

Boyfriends and bookstores, wanting to say sweet words to loved ones before you disappear. All of these bring back that awful annoying ache. The reminder they are not for you anymore. Part of you pities him and another is so envious that it hurts. Because he still has hope.

“...what's he like? Your boyfriend.”

Robin sniffles and rubs his eyes as he walks. “He's kind and considerate. Sometimes he can be a little exasperating. But that's part of loving someone.”

It is? In books and shows, they always show it as some sort of blissful feeling that melts your insides and makes your life perfect.

“This may sound like a weird question. Sorry. But how do you know you love him?”

“I think about him often. And when he's not there, I wish he was. And if he were to love someone else, I'd lose my mind.” He grins bitterly.

That sounds oddly simple. No flowery language or everly complicated declarations. Just wanting someone at your side. It actually sounds pleasant.

“Are you in love?” Robin asks suddenly, taking you by surprise.

“Why would I be?” you answer with another question.

“Usually, when people ask things like this, they're trying to understand their own feelings.”

“I've just been reading. And the love in books confuses me. I was wondering if it's the same in reality.”

Robin laughs. “Of course not. In reality, it's a lot more mundane, though you can still have romantic moments. Fiction highlights the good parts. But there's both good and bad. Sometimes your lover will eat all the cookies before you get home or they'll refuse to put on headphones while listening to music. But then when the jar is entirely full and the music is gone, you miss even the less pleasant things…”

It sounds like Robin really loves his boyfriend. You wonder what it's like, being that important to another person. Could someone like you have that?

There comes that ache again. You push it down, hide it somewhere deep inside yourself.

“...we'll get you back to him.”

Robin doesn't respond, but he smiles fondly.

Your conversation is cut off when you notice someone approaching down the hallway. Immediately, you prepare your crowbar. But as the figure draws closer, it proves to be someone familiar.

It’s Mr. Stitch. Out of all the people you could’ve been reunited with since you’ve returned here, it had to be this guy. And to make matters worse, he recognizes you as well.

“You!” he calls out and points. “Me know you!”

Robin quickly retreats behind you like a scared duckling running to its mother.

“Who they?” Mr. Stitch points at Robin next.

“They friend. You go. Me not like you,” you state bluntly.

Your declaration only seems to amuse him. That awful smile of his grows. “Friend? Me not take?”

“Me smash your head when you take.”

Mr. Stitch does not look deterred in the slightest. If anything, he seems more interested after seeing your reaction. You should've seen it coming, knowing him and how much he loves messing with people's emotions.

“Where you go?”

“W-what are you guys talking about?” Robin asks, growing more nervous by the second.

“Nothing important. In fact, it's about time we leave.”

You grab Robin by the arm and drag him after you.

But as you attempt to pass by Mr. Stitch, he suddenly swerves behind Robin and holds him in place. In your irritation and panic, you get ready to swing at him. But then you notice the knife pressed to Robin's neck. You freeze in place.

“You angry?” Stitch asks, for you refuse to give him the respect of an honorific any longer. He is loving the worry mixed with furry on your face.

“Let them go.” You try to sound imposing. You hope you do. Whenever you're about to kill someone, you play the innocent and sweet act, so they wouldn't see it coming. Intimidation is not your forte.

“Where you go?”

“We leave here. Go other world,” you begrudgingly answer.

“Me know where! You play! Fun!”

Your jaw clenches in annoyance. It’s getting harder and harder to think straight. This is bad. If you lose control now, you are going to kill both Stitch and Robin.

“Not play. Let human go.”

Focus, focus, focus. You can do it, you can get him out safe. You need to.

Stitch tilts his head, seemingly weighing his options. He must be entirely unaware of the fate awaiting him.

“You not play? You not fun. Me eat huma-”

Before he gets to finish his sentence, you raise your hand in his direction.

Go to hell. Go to hell. Go to hell.

Then you bring it down. All that is left of him is a pile of blood and guts.

Robin screams in terror and immediately backs into a wall. His pants are stained red, but he is unharmed. The horror on his face brings you back to reality.

“Robin, I had to do it. He would’ve killed you!”

“How did you do that?! He suddenly became minced meat. You didn't even touch him!” Now he's trembling.

You take a step towards him and he takes one back. The way he's looking at you has gone back to the way he looks at all the residents. You know why and yet, it still hurts.

“Please don’t do anything stupid. It's too dangerous to go on your own.”

For a moment, you think he's going to take off running. But slowly, he stops trembling and nods. Then he begins to walk the same way you'd been walking before Stitch showed up. You follow at a distance, head hung low and hand wrapped around your crowbar so tight that it stings.

You go the rest of the way in silence. He doesn’t start up anymore conversations and you don’t dare attempt it yourself. It’s not the first time someone’s condemned you for taking a life. But it’s the first time it has an effect on you.

And then you finally find the elevator.

It sits under an eerie green light, just like it did when you found it in the past.

“This is it. You can go home now.”

“Is this really the exit?” He steps towards it cautiously.

Before he's close enough to press one of the buttons, Robin turns around to face you. “I… thank you.”

He doesn't sound certain about his choice of words. Maybe he would've rather called you a monster.

“I hope you and your boyfriend are happy. Don't go wandering into anymore strange buildings.”

He nods, avoiding your eyes. Then he turns and, as the door opens, he says over his shoulder: “Goodbye.”

Just like that, he’s gone.

And you lose your mind.

[quill-beetlewing]

I've just re-read the short lived duel that Aeneas and Achilles have in Book 20 of the Iliad and it's actually the most hilarious fucking thing.

So it starts out with Apollo disguising himself as Lycaon, one of Priam's many sons, and telling to have a go at Achilles. Keep in mind that this is post-Patroclus Achilles. Aka: berserk Achilles. Aka: so fucking mad he would fight a literal river Achilles.

Aeneas, who is capable of critical thinking, says he doubts he can actually take him on. He also references a time when he was herding cattle on Mount Ida and Achilles ambushed him, adding that the only reason he survived then was because Zeus gave him enough strength to book it (cracking up the official times that he's been saved by a god from certain death to 3, you go dude!).

However, after a bit of back and forth and a ton of hyping up on Apollo's part, Aeneas decides to try anyway.

Like, what could possibly go wrong?

Achilles notices Aeneas charging at him and he begins to taunt him. It's something among the lines of: "I'm sorry, are you, background trojan character #61, actually gonna try and beat me? And then what? Do you think that Priam will reward you in some way? Maybe making you king after him? Well it's BULLSHIT, because Priam fucked so much that your chances of succeeding him are basically 0. Ahah. Loser."

Now, you'd think that maybe Aeneas got enraged at the comment and attacked him, or maybe he even got scared and backed down, but NOPE. What does Aeneas do?

Well, first of all, he insults Achilles' insults, comparing his bickering to that of a child. Literally, "I heard third graders do better than that." And then he decides to list his and Hector's entire fucking family tree.

You know that part of the Bible that's like "this guy sired this other guy, and this other guy sired yet another guy" and so on? It's basically that.

So after he's done with all that, Aeneas states that while he'd love to have a battle of insults with Achilles, because according to him he's actually very good at insulting people (his words, not mine), they should probably throw hands now. Achilles agrees.

The duel is shortlived and Aeneas gets his ass handed to him. Badly. As expected. And he's about die when ✨️POV shift✨️ we're not on Olympus where Poseidon, Hera and Athena are watching this absolute train wreck go down.

Poseidon, pitying Aeneas, suddenly goes on a rant. It's something among the lines of: "come on guys, look at him, he's just a little guy! He literally has no stakes in this war, he doesn't deserve to die here! He even gives us lots of gifts and sacrifices, he's literally such a nice guy. How can we do this to him!?

...oh and also he's part of some prophecy, Zeus would get mad if he died."

The fact that the way it's worded makes it sound like Aeneas being part of a literal prophecy is an afterthought to him absolutely floors me, Poseidon is literally just attached to a random dude that's fighting on the opposite side to his because he thinks he's nice.

After all that Hera is pretty unimpressed and states that she really doesn't care if our man lives or dies as neither her or Athena have ever saved a Trojan from death, she however adds that Poseidon is free to do whatever he wants.

The literal moment Hera stops talking, Poseidon lunges down from Olympus and onto the battlefield to look for the two combatants. When he does, he saves Aeneas like only he can do.

You know how when Diomedes first tries to kill Aeneas, Aphrodite gently folds her hands around him to shield him? There's none of that here. Poseidon just runs up to him and literally flings the motherfucker.

It literally says that he flies "high in the air". It's like a Looney Toons sketch.

So Aeneas lands and, while he's obviously a bit dazed, Poseidon proceeds to call him a madman and essentially tells him to never do something stupid like that again and just wait until Achilles is dead, then he'll be able to murder Achaeans to his heart's content. Aeneas is fine with that.

Achilles, who just saw his opponent just get yeeted into the fucking sky, just shrugs and goes "welp, guess that guy's off limits, I'm gonna go kill someone else now I guess lol".

This entire scene is pure fucking gold and the fact that I've literally never seen anyone talk about it just breaks my heart.