#but then it’s impossible for me to top it or at least do another that’s on the same level of quality as that one
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beef-brisket · 1 day ago
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Lucifer steeped down the stairs, making Adam move backwards into the basement they were just in.
Lucifer: You're not wrong, but you know me, I have to take advantage of a deal that wasn't specified. I like to have fun, Adam. And the Devil can only find so much fun in Hell. I need a stupid human to really make me laugh.
Adam wanted to snap back at this demon for literally making fun of him, but he really wants to get out of this with at least three limbs in tacked.
Adam: W-What if we made another deal-?
Lucifer laughed: Another deal?! Oh, Adam. You're a man after my own heart! But, unfortunately, I already own your soul~.
Adam fell backwards as the Devil continued to stalk towards him. Crawling backwards, Adam kept going until his back hit a wall.
Adam: L-Look man- not offense- but I really don't want to have a kid with you-! My girlfriend- she wants them so fuckimg badly, I- shit. I was just-.
Lucifer stopped in front of Adam and knelt down: Being a good partner. And I respect that, really, I do! But, being down in Hell for a good few thousand years makes one a little selfish~. So, don't make me do this the hard way, Adam.
Adam: I... look. I don't... think... being pregnant would suit you- and I mean that in the nicest way- so how about you let me go and I'll get out of your hair- which looks fantastic, by the way- and be on my way.
He smiles at the Devil, who seems completely unphased by Adam's rambles, in fact, he looks more amused that anything.
But to Adam's surprise, he's able to slowly stand and start ascending up the stairs, keeping his eye on Lucifer the whole time.
As he reaches the top, he slams the door closed and starts running, or he would if he didn't break into an abandoned, nearly two hundred year old home.
Adam walked past a number of uninteresting rooms until he came to one that was flooded with red light, and it reeked of ash and smoke.
He could see something leaning against the wall, writhing and moaning. And against his better judgement, he slowly walked in.
Adam: T-The fuck...?
The light flickered as he got closer to whatever it was. The shape was unnatural, and the sounds it made were so strange that he couldn't imagine a human or any creature being able to make them.
He stopped in the middle of the floor. He felt like he was on auto pilot as the figure became clearer.
It was him. As a complete mess, gripping the wall trying to stand.
What what Adam noticed first was what 'he' was holding. 'He' was pressing something into 'his' stomach, making it look large and jutting out. But that's impossible. All of this is. So why couldn't Adam look away.
Even as something thick started to gush down 'his' legs, and pool on the floor. The strange sounds 'he' was making shifted into something that sounded too close to moaning.
When Adam saw something start to come out of the figure in front of him, his mind finally kicked and made his legs start working.
Walking backwards, he kept his eyes on the version of him in the bedroom. Adam wasn't sure if it was the fear brought on by the horror of what he was seeing or morbid curiosity, but he didn't turn and run away. He only stepped backwards slowly, and carefully.
He flinched when he felt something large and warm against his back, blooding his path. Nimble claws reached over his shoulders and dragged over his skin, pulling at his buttoned shirt. He only jumped when his shirt was slowly pulled open, his buttons flying who knows where.
Lucifer: Like what you see, Adam~?
His body felt like it was on fire, the heat front the Devil pressing into his back and the sight in front of him only adding to the heat.
Lucifer: I do~.
Sooo- Adam summoning Lucifer because he wants his girlfriend to get pregnant, but she's infertile. But instead Lucifer cages Adam up, makes him completely overcome by lust 24/7 and is made to birth Lucifer's children?
No one sees him again 🤷
I feel like my kinks are coming a lot...
But anyway. This.
LOL Adam just needing the Devil's dick all the live long day and even dreams about it 😆
-
Adam was looking at the spell book and up at the man in the pentagram that was dressed in a nice suit and tie, whites, reds, and gold accents to pull it all together.
Adam: I feel like I've been tricked somehow.
Lucifer: How do?
Adam: You are the devil right?
Lucifer fixed his tie: Last time I checked. I do have a name you know.
Adam: Lucifer, yeah I'm aware. Look, I'm well aware you're probably busy, torturing souls or whatever down in Hell so I'll get to the point. My girlfriend and I want to have a baby but I guess there's something wrong, lack of eggs or something the doctor spoke in many technical terms. You're all powerful right? You could help her be more fertile?
Lucifer blinked, well this was an odd request: I mean, yeah but don't humans have clinics for this?
Adam: Yeah but do you have any idea how expensive those are? And not a guarantee that we could have a baby. This would be.
The Devil looked the young man over, he couldn't be any older than 27, he was tall with brown hair and honey brown eyes and tan skin. Very attractive for human standards. And he should know, he was in Eden.
Lucifer smirked, he could work this to his advantage.
Lucifer: So, you want me to give you children?
Adam: Yes....?
Was he missing something?
Lucifer: Well, you gotta let me out of the little drawing of yours.~
Adam raised a brow: You can't do it from there?
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sehnsuchts-trunken · 6 months ago
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So Much Love in Oklahoma
Tyler Owens x fem!reader  7k words
summary: Tyler saves you from a tornado one day. The next, he shows up at your doorstep.
a/n: absolutely no clue about tornados. or oklahoma. don't come at me for inaccuracies
also!!! i'm currently working on some tyler smut too, but you are so definitely allowed to come request things (or just talk to me)! my inbox is wideeeee open, especially when it comes to mister owens <33
masterlist | twisters masterlist
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What happens that particular Tuesday afternoon should have been impossible. That's what goes through your head about a bazillion times in the following days. The chances of what happens even happening are about as close to zero, you think, as the possibility of you discovering a cure for cancer.
(They're not. Of course. But it feels like that.)
Because you're not even really in Oklahoma. You're just driving through Oklahoma. You're not from a place where they give you a 'How to Deal with Tornados' manual in school. You're entirely, completely, wholly unprepared for what's brewing as you drive down almost empty highways with the radio all the way up.
So when suddenly, you're in the middle of a storm, with the wind picking up until it drowns out your music and rain and hail slashing against your windows, you're absolutely terrified.
It forms within a few minutes, goes from barely grey skies to a horrible, horrible whirl of almost black clouds, and the insecurity you'd been feeling turns into the gut-churning realisation that you're unquestionably fucked.
Some part of your brain tugs out a deeply buried memory of cars being sucked into tornados on the news, so with your heart racing a few hundred miles per hour and your hands shaking so badly you can barely hold onto the steering wheel anymore, you maneuver your car onto the side of the road, just in time for you to be climbing out of the passenger seat as another car comes to a shrieking halt next to yours.
You're getting drenched within half a second, you're honestly not that sure whether your cheeks are wet from the rain or your tears, and on top of that, you almost trip as you set your trembling feet onto the ground below. The other car's driver bangs their door shut with a resounding thud that makes you flinch so hard you think your soul leaves your body. Your head shoots up as he shouts at you, already three steps away from his truck:
"What the hell are you doing out here?"
He's drenched, too - his hair sticks to his face and his shirt clings to his skin and his pants are stained at least a shade darker. But unlike you, he's not shaking, he's steady as a fucking rock, steady and quick, already reaching out for your arm before you can even begin to think. Your brain lags behind, foggy and cloudy and scared, so fucking scared. You're so terrified you can hardly open your mouth.
"I-", you stutter, then he's wrapping his big hand around your arm and tugging you away from your car, away from the road already.
"We need to get the fuck down!", he calls, pulling you with him onto one of those many, many fields that surround you. "There's a ditch over there, see that?"
You're wide-eyed, shaking, basically being dragged along by him - one foot in front of the other, that's what your brain's concentrating on right now, which is easier said than done. You trip over your own feet every other step. But the guy just wraps his arm around your waist and hurries further.
"Do you see that?", he asks again when you don't respond. Your mind races even faster than your heart does, but you force yourself to concentrate on his voice. The panic doesn't lessen, but his question shifts your focus. Ditch. Ditch. Not the storm raging around you, no, you're looking for a ditch. You're focusing on finding a ditch.
"Yeah", you breathe, your eyes finally catching on the ditch only a bit away.
"Yeah?", the guy shouts. "We need to get there. We need to get low."
With that, he picks up his pace once more and you stumble along, bumping into his side, watching the ditch come closer and closer and closer until your feet are drowned in dirty, muddy water.
"Alright, get down!", he shouts, unwrapping his arm from around your waist to help you into the cold, cold water. "Hold onto the ground!"
You aren't thinking. You can't think. Your brain has shut off completely. Panic numbs every part of you. All you can do, all you can possibly do, is concentrate on the voice of the man who's crouching down beside you. It's like his words have replaced your own thoughts, and like a marionette, you stretch out your arms and dig your fingers into the grass. Which is way easier said than done. You're pretty sure you feel one of your nails break as you try your hardest to find something, anything to hold onto. And then the wind hits.
If you'd thought you'd experienced heavy winds before, you were wrong. So wrong. No vacation in a surfer's town could possibly compare to this.
"Fuck!", you scream, instinctively dropping your head onto the moist grass below. The wind pulls and pulls and pulls at you and you imagine yourself being dragged by it - dragged away, away into certain death. But then an arm wraps around you, and the guy next to you is not next to you anymore but half on top of you, securing you in his arms, holding you close, pressing you to the ground.
"Stay down!", he shouts as you cling to the grass. "I got you."
I got you.
You replay that in your head like a mantra - he's got you, he's got you, he's got you. You're trembling, you're shaking, you're cramping, you're trying to hold onto the ground with all your might as the wind grows and grows and grows and pulls and pulls and pulls at you.
You want to scream. You think you're screaming. But it's so loud. It's deafening, the roar of the wind and the thunder. You can't hear yourself scream.
He can, though. He can. And he tightens his arms around you and repeats "I got you, I got you, I got you". And you believe him. You have to.
You're crying now, you're sure of that. Some part of you hurts. Maybe all of you hurts. You're scared. You're not just scared, you're terrified. It's loud, it's loud and it's everywhere, all around you.
And then suddenly - there's nothing.
It disappears within seconds.
There's no sounds. None. There's silence, deafening silence. Forget the calm before the storm - this is the silence after the tornado.
You take a few shuddering breaths. You're trembling, trembling from head to toes. You're soaked. You're cold.
"Alright, it's gone", the guy says - the guy that's still got his arms wrapped around you, who's still on top of you. "You did it."
He pulls his arm away from you and rolls onto his back next to you. Water sloshes around as he goes.
You don't move an inch.
You can't move.
You're stuck, you're frozen in place. Your fingers are cramped into the dirt and the grass and you're frozen.
The guy sits back up again and reaches out for you. He smooths his hand down your back, surprisingly warm against your ice-cold skin.
"Hey", he says softly. "You're okay. You can get up."
You pry your fingers from the ground one by one, flex your trembling hands and push yourself upright. It takes a few seconds for reality to sink in - you're in a ditch. In a ditch. You're soaked, soaked with muddy ditch water. Your shoes are drenched, your legs splattered with dirt, the hem of your dress soaked in brown. And you're cold. Ice-cold and trembling. And your legs hurt, your arms hurt, your fingers hurt. Three of your nails are cracked.
You're sitting in a ditch in the middle of Oklahoma and you'd just been through a tornado. A fucking ditch in Oklahoma and a tornado.
And a guy, a guy who's brushing his hand down your arm and eyeing you up.
"Alright, let's get you out of here, you're shaking", he says and for the first time, you turn your head and look at him. Actually look at him.
He's tall and he's blonde and he's drenched, too, drenched in that same dirty, muddy water as you. His hands are big, big and pleasantly warm as he grabs softly onto you and carefully maneuvers you towards him.
You don't really remember the next minutes. Not what you're doing, at least. It's a hazy, fuzzy passing of time - you barely remember that you're moving. You're cold and scared and still in shock and somehow, your eyes have locked onto him, onto this guy who you realise probably just saved your fucking life. Because when you come back to reality, he's wrapping a blanket around you - a dry, warm blanket - and the spot where you'd parked your car is empty.
Empty.
"My car", you whisper, staring wide-eyed at absolutely nothing. The guy wraps the blanket tighter around you before he looks over his shoulder and glances around.
"Your car's not that important", he reassures, even though his voice is heavy. Heavy and raspy, you realise. He's got a certain Southern twang to it that you hadn't noticed in all the chaos before. "Much more important is that you're alive."
You nod half-heartedly (he's right, some rational part of your brain shouts, while the practical part mourns the shit ton of money you'd just lost) and settle your eyes back on him.
You don't know what it is, exactly, but something about this, something about the warmth of the blanket and the way he's rubbing your arms, something about him, about his voice and his words, slowly peels away the layers and layers of terror that are clinging to your pounding heart.
You swallow hard, reach up to tug the blanket tighter around yourself and shift your focus. Not the car or the tornado or the fact that you're drenched in dirty ditch water - him. This guy in front of you, who's looking you up and down to check if you're hurt. It's easier that way. It's easier to calm down when you're not thinking about any of it. It's easier when you're staring at him, counting to ten, slowly regaining your sanity. And what's suddenly also easier is realising that this guy in front of you is very much easy to look at. Even though his hair sticks to his head, even though his jeans are stained brown. He's what you'd expect as a reference picture next to the word "handsome" in a dictionary.
All of a sudden, you're not as cold anymore. All of a sudden, you're rather flushed. Because if he's drenched and dirty, you must look about the same. And you don't think you want him to see you like that. You'd much rather meet him in a bar or something, when you're dressed up and clean and preferably not terrified.
"Thanks", you get out, a little too quickly as you tighten the blanket further around yourself. "For, uh, for saving my life."
The guy's lips quirk up and he grins, a lopsided, half-cocky grin that makes your heart leap.
"Anytime, sweetheart", he drawls, then reaches up as though he wants to tip his hat - just that he's not wearing one, so instead, he settles for brushing his hand through his hair, just a second too late to seem intentional from the start. "Why were you out here anyway? Half a mile back is a gas station with a basement."
"I didn't-", you start, hesitant to admit just how unprepared you'd been for what had happened. "I didn't know it was a tornado. I thought it was just a bad storm or something, I'm... I'm not from around here."
He nods at you, his lips already parting when you suddenly twitch away from him and sneeze - once, then twice. His grin has dropped by the time you look up at him again and excuse yourself. God, is this embarrassing.
"You need dry clothes before you catch a cold", he says, his eyes travelling down your soaked dress and your bare legs. "I've got a shirt in the trunk, give me a minute."
He walks towards the back of his car and opens up his trunk and you're hit with two thoughts at the same time. The first is more along the lines of goddamn, are his shoulders broad, but the second - arguably the one that should be more important - is why the fuck his car is still standing in the very same spot he'd parked it before the tornado had hit.
Especially when your car is absolutely nowhere to be seen. Your car and all your things inside it. Oh, god-
"Here you go", he says, holding out a dry copy of the shirt he's wearing, red checkered cotton. He's about to go on when you blurt out:
"Sorry, why's your car still... you know, there?"
His lips pull into that impossibly charming grin once more and he points at the underside of the truck.
"Tornado-proof", he explains, just the slightest bit cocky. You follow the invisible line he's drawing to two... what looks like giant screws? twisted into the ground below.
"Oh", you let out, not too intelligently - but really, what are you supposed to say?
He just chuckles and holds the shirt out for you again. You take it carefully, your fingers grazing his. He's so warm, so fucking warm. Meanwhile you're shaking even underneath the blanket he'd given you. Though that's also starting to get soaked.
"You can change in the car if you want", he offers, already pulling open the door to the passenger seat. You don't really have to think hard about it. You're drenched in the middle of nowhere, with no way to get home, and this guy has just saved your life. So you unwrap the blanket and give it back to him with a smile and a thanks.
It's tight and cramped inside the car, even as you roll the seat all the way back. You pry the drenched dress off of your body and only then remember to turn around and check if the guy is watching you (as handsome as he is, he's still a guy). But no, he's turned away, has his hands rested against his hips and is staring intently at the slowly clearing sky.
You turn back with a smile and get rid of your soaked bra, too, before you pull his shirt on over your head.
Damn, it smells good. He smells good. And it's very comfortable, you have to admit. Plus, it's dry, which is most definitely an improvement.
You take a few seconds to consider whether or not to pull off your shorts... but they're drenched, too, and the guy seems respectful enough to not risk a bladder infection for. So you take your shoes off, and your socks, and your shorts. And then you crack open the car door again and knock softly against the window.
"I'm done", you call out, loud enough that he can hear. He turns back and his eyes drag down your body - or what of it he can see through the open door - and even though he looks right back up at your face, you can't help but feel flustered. You ball your wet clothes up in your hands nervously.
"Alright then", he says, takes a step closer and reaches for the door handle. "You said you're not from around here, where were you driving?"
Ah, right, that part.
Honestly, with so much happening in so few minutes, you'd about blocked out everything else. Everything normal.
"My parents, uh-", you start, trailing off when you realise that's not much help for him. "About three, four hours from here."
"That's quite a drive", he chuckles. "I live maybe half an hour from here, how about I take you with me so you can eat and drink something? Maybe you can borrow a pair of Lilly's pants. And you could phone your parents."
Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and you narrow your eyes at him, taking a second too long to even understand all of what he's saying before taking another second too long to sort how you'll respond. Then you start with what you find most important.
"I've got my phone", you tell him, pulling it out from where you'd just deposited it in the centre console. "I had it in my pocket."
You'd taken it with you more reflexively than consciously when you'd stumbled out of your car - but truly, what self-respecting adult didn't take their phone with them when they left anywhere?
The guy just raises his eyebrows and glances at your phone.
"And it still works?", he asks, a little incredulously.
"Yep", you smile - for the first time, you realise, since the tornado. "It's waterproof."
More because you'd been scared you'd drop the love of your life into the pool or the ocean on vacation, but a tornado in the middle of Oklahoma worked as well. At least you now knew you'd spent your money wisely.
"Smart", he grins. You can't help but grin right back.
He's charming and he's respectful and he looks so goddamn good.
"Who's Lilly?", you ask then, because that had been the second thing you'd wanted to say. He hesitates for a half a moment.
"A friend", he says. You squint at him. He doesn't look like he's lying, but he does look like there's something you don't know about. God, if he turns out to be a cheater- "I'll introduce you if you'd like."
You raise your eyebrows. Alright, so not a cheater. And, if you're interpreting correctly, another invitation to come with him. Not that you'd been about to refuse the first one.
"Sure", you say, as casually as you can. "I didn't really feel like standing around half-naked on the street anyway."
...
A few minutes later, he's driving his weird car/truck with the screws on the bottom down the empty highway. Though 'empty' is the wrong description, really - here and there, trees, road signs and utility poles are scattered on the pavement.
You're driving in silence. Well, silence as in neither of you talks, not as in actual silence. Alongside the motor, the radio had turned on, playing one country song after the other.
"You never told me your name", the guy says suddenly. The very much stranger, who's very much right - you'd never told him your name.
"You never told me yours", you counter, because that's also the truth. He'd never told you his name. You knew his friend's name, but not his.
"Didn't think I'd have to", he mutters under his breath, so quietly you barely catch it. "It's Tyler. Tyler Owens?"
He says it like it's a question. You don't know why. So instead you just answer with your own name and Tyler, as you'd come to know, repeats it with a smile on his lips.
God, you don't think it's ever sounded that good.
"Pretty name", he says, all casual like that doesn't get your heart racing again. Pretty. He'd called you pretty. Almost unconsciously, you brush your hands through your hair.
"Thank you", you mutter. As if to distract yourself, you add: "So, Tyler, what do you do?"
...
Exactly half an hour later, Tyler takes your hand in his and helps you out of his car. His house - the one he's sharing with Lilly, you'd found out, with Lilly and the rest of his Tornado Wranglers - is big and inviting. It's a little way off from any other houses, which you personally think is quite nice. Not that you say that, though.
Tyler walks you inside without having to unlock the door. He takes two steps, then he calls out "Guys, we've got a guest", which immediately results in a surprised shout of "whoops" and the sound of a set of feet scurrying up the stairs. Tyler has barely pulled off his shoes (after politely asking you to wait just a second) when a head pops through the doorframe at the end of the hallway.
"Boone was naked", the woman grins before settling her eyes on you and throwing you a wave. "Hey there, I'm Lilly."
She glances down at your bare legs.
"A little cold there?", she asks and even though her words are sarcastic, her voice is anything but.
"A little", you answer truthfully, smiling at her as she steps out into the hallway.
"You want a pair of pants?", she asks, seemingly without giving a single thought to who you are or why you're standing half-naked in her hallway.
You glance at Tyler, but he's grinning and only shrugs at you, so you turn back to Lilly and nod at her. She seems sweet, really sweet, and very kind. She takes you with her to her room (up two sets of stairs, the fucking house has three floors and a basement) and shows you her closet, the very definition of unbothered even as you nervously rummage through her clothes.
"Hey, you can take a shirt too, if you want", she says, flopping down onto her bed and rolling onto her side to look at you.
"Oh", you let out and glance down at the shirt you're wearing - Tyler's shirt, that very country, checkered shirt that's way too big for you. "I'm fine, thanks."
Honestly, if it were up to you, you would never wear anything else ever again. Tyler's shirt is soft and comfortable and - most importantly - it smells like him. You really just want to tug the hem up to your nose and breathe in his scent (but that would be weird, so you don't).
"Alright", Lilly drawls. "Your choice."
...
Lilly shows you the bathroom, gives you the wifi password and tells you to come down whenever you feel like it. You realise half a second too late that you haven't told her your name yet and crack open the bathroom door to call out for her.
Honestly, you like her. You really like her. And you really like Tyler, too. He's handsome and he smells good and he's respectful and he's nice and he saved your fucking life today. You don't even want to think about what would have happened to you if he hadn't driven by.
In the bathroom is the first time you can really breathe. You throw some water at your face and blowdry your hair. Ten minutes later, you're walking down the stairs into the hallway again - this time, when you stroll through there, you're wearing comfortable pants, fuzzy socks and take your time to look around.
You'd already called your parents back in the car with Tyler. They'd been about as shocked as you'd expected, had needed a few minutes to even understand just what you were telling them, but then they'd offered to come pick you up immediately. Tyler had provided them his address and now here you are - knocking at the open door to the kitchen, where all of the Tornado Wranglers sit around the table. All of them, except for Tyler, who's leaning against the countertop and looks up at you with a grin when you step in.
"Hey there", he drawls, his eyes raking down your body once more today - you've tucked his shirt into Lilly's pants and you could swear his eyes linger on your waist. "Warm and dry?"
"Very", you grin back, then nod at Lilly. "Thanks again."
She shakes her head and waves you off.
"Hey, no big deal. Do you want some pasta?"
...
It's comfortable there, in the kitchen of these strangers who are feeding you pasta and lending you clothes. You've settled onto the countertop next to Tyler and now and then, when you're dangling your feet or he's taking a bite, your legs graze his arm. He's changed into dry clothes too, you realise as you brush against him for the first time, and he's even warmer now than before.
"Tyler's told us all about you", Boone says after a few minutes of easy conversation. You raise your eyebrows and turn your head, staring at Tyler from the side.
"Has he?", you ask, because you hadn't even told him enough about yourself to warrant any use of the word 'all'. Sure, you'd talked on the ride here - but mostly about him, because - as it had turned out - what Tyler Owens did wasn't a normal job like doctor or lawyer, but instead professional Tornado Wrangler. Which, of course, had then dominated the conversation for the rest of the drive.
"Yeah, like how you were driving to you parents and didn't know what to do in a tornado so you just kept on driving", Boone grins, scraping the rest of his pasta off his plate. "And how he made you go in that ditch and-"
"Alright, shut up, Boone", Tyler interrupts, even though there's no real malice behind his words. "She knows the story. She's in it."
"I'm just saying", Boone goes on, entirely undeterred as he puts his now empty plate down on the kitchen table. "If you'd filmed that, it would go viral for sure."
You have to snort at that.
"Yeah, because of all the indecent exposure."
...
When your mother rings the doorbell three hours later, you're in the middle of the second round of a boardgame Dexter had pulled from a drawer. You'd been paired with Tyler for the first round and - somehow not surprisingly - that had worked quite well. You'd won just so against Dexter and Dani (Lilly and Boone hadn't been too much competition) and Dani's "We never get to play this right 'cuz we're always five people" after Tyler had high-fived you with a victorious cheer had warmed your heart. At least they'd enjoyed themselves - at least you hadn't been a burden.
"I call dibs on her", Lilly had declared when the second round had begun, so Tyler had teamed up with Boone instead.
"Oh, oh, botany!", you call out, just as the doorbell finally rings. Lilly jumps up and high-fives you.
"How in the hell did you guess that?", Dani asks, sounding all but exasperated at this point as Tyler pushes out of his seat and walks towards the front door. You shrug.
"Pure talent", you joke, then you climb off the couch as well. "Alright, it was so nice meeting you all, but I think my taxi's out front."
They all hug you goodbye and tell you to come around again anytime - Boone even hands you one of those t-shirts Tyler had told you about in the car. You can hardly hold back a snort. Though Tyler had told you about the shirts existing, yes, he must have accidentally forgotten to mention that his goddamn face is printed on them, paired with the very... comedic phrase "Not My First Tornadeo".
You thread through the hallway with the shirt and your phone in your hands, only to be hit with the sight of Tyler hugging your mother on the doorstep. Or your mother hugging Tyler, more like. Either way, you're suddenly frozen in place.
But then your mother opens her eyes and sees you standing there and she lets go of Tyler with a sharp cry to come running at you instead. She throws her arms around you with so much vigor you're almost knocked off your feet. You meet Tyler's eyes over her shoulder - crinkled with lines of laughter as he smiles at you. Your eyes dart away again just as quickly.
"It's fine, mom, I'm okay", you reassure.
"Yeah, thanks to Tyler", she mutters into your hair. "I already told him we'll pay him whatever he wants for saving our daughter."
"And I already said I don't want any money", Tyler clarifies.
...
The next morning, you wake up comfortably late in a warm bed. You walk down the stairs in fuzzy socks and start the day with a simple cup of tea.
A simple cup of tea and Tyler Owens' YouTube channel.
You'd looked him and his Tornado Wranglers up the very second you'd sat down in your mother's car. Then you'd subscribed to every channel you could find. And then... you'd kind of got obsessed. You'd watched so many of their videos that by one am, you'd simply fallen asleep to one of them.
"Aunt May's gonna be here in half an hour", your mother informs you casually, a stack of plates in her hands as she rummages around in the kitchen. You're still sitting at the table in your pajamas, a spoonful of cereal in your mouth, your phone propped up against a water bottle in front of you, playing a Tornado Wranglers video from a year ago.
"Seriously?", you get out, chewing on your cereal before you can swallow it down. "Mom, I still have to shower and get ready and all."
She throws you one of those eyebrows-raised glances that immediately let you know she's judging you for something.
"We only let you sleep this long because you almost died yesterday", she says matter-of-factly, then she eyes your phone. "And if you weren't watching Tyler's videos so obsessively, you would be done by now."
"Really, mom?"
You let out a resigned sigh. She only shrugs and grins at you. She's a little bit right, anyway.
"He's good-looking, I get it", she says, then she strolls out of the kitchen, chuckling to herself while you curse at her. He is good-looking, fuck this. You need to get it together before the rest of your extended family arrives.
...
The doorbell rings for the umpteenth time that day, just as you step out of the bathroom and smooth down the front of the red-checkered shirt you're wearing. You call some version of "I got it", down the hallway, not too sure if anyone even hears - they're all in the backyard anyway. Then you open the door with a smile on your face, a smile that instantly pulls into a wide grin when you see just who's standing there.
Because it's not another aunt or uncle or cousin. It's no one in your family, not even close.
It's Tyler.
Tyler Owens.
"Hi", he says. Just that. Hi.
You lean against the open door and cross your arms. Your grin only grows.
"Hi", you echo.
His eyes rake down your body and it seems like whatever he'd wanted to say gets stuck in his throat as he realises that the shirt you're wearing isn't your shirt, really. You can't help but bite down on your lip.
Look, you hadn't expected this. You hadn't expected him. None of this was a scheme or a plan or anything even close. You'd just seen it lying there this morning, right next to Lilly's pants on your desk, and you hadn't been able to help yourself. It smelled so fucking good.
"Nice shirt", he grins, eyes snapping back up to yours.
"Thanks", you grin back. "I got it from this guy after he saved me from dying in a tornado yesterday."
Tyler chuckles.
"Seems like a great guy."
"So great", you agree. "Even though he prints his face on t-shirts."
Tyler is just about to retort something - all toothy grins and laughter lines - when your mother calls out his name, very obviously pleasantly surprised as she comes down the hallway. She smiles at him, big and wide.
"What are you doing here?", she asks, stopping next to you to ask the very question that had been on the tip of your tongue too when you'd opened up the door.
"Oh, I'm just bringing these back", he says and holds up his hand to show a stack of neatly folded clothes with your bra right on top. You have to bite down on your cheeks to stop from outright grinning.
Okay, so even if wearing his shirt hadn't been a scheme, and even if you hadn't expected to see him... You might just have done something to ensure you would see him again. But hey, he's about the most handsome man you've ever laid your eyes on, you'd be damned if you'd have to watch him on the screen of your phone for the rest of your life. So yeah, you may have accidentally 'forgotten' your wet clothes in his bathroom after you'd hung them over the heater to dry. You just hadn't thought he'd find them so quickly.
"And you drove four hours for that?", your mother asks, more baffled than you are. Tyler only shrugs. Your mother reaches out for your clothes, grabs them from him and puts them on the cupboard in the hallway. Then she looks at him.
"You're coming in, yes? We're having barbecue now and cake in a bit. I'm not letting you drive four hours here just to deliver her clothes."
...
Twenty minutes later is when you get Tyler alone for the first time. Your mother has schlepped him with you through the whole garden and introduced him to every single person there - "He's the guy who saved her yesterday!" (because, obviously, your story had been about the only topic anyone had talked about so far) - your father first and foremost, who hugs Tyler so tightly that for a moment you're afraid he'll break him.
You catch up with Tyler just as he finishes loading his plate with food, finally on his own after your mother has excused herself to go cut up more bread.
"How'd you find me?", you ask, sipping at your ice-cold coke and eyeing him up. It's the one question that had been burning in your mind for the past twenty minutes. How in the hell had he managed to find you? It's not like you'd left a note with your address next to your clothes (though in hindsight, you don't remember how you'd meant for him to bring them back to you).
He looks almost bashful for a second.
"Boone noticed you'd followed our account", he explains then. "He figured out your last name from your handle and searched the phone book of the city on your mom's license plate. And then he read out all the names until I recognised your mom's because she'd introduced herself to me yesterday."
Your eyebrows raise, further and further the more he speaks. You swallow. Silence falls for a second, then two.
"You know, some people would call that creepy", you say, but your lips tug up into an involuntary grin that gives away more quickly than you'd wanted that you aren't one of those people. Tyler grins right back at you.
"Personally I think it would've been more creepy if I'd kept your bra."
...
It's 9:20 when your mother comes over. You've long since switched from barbecue to cake, then to snacks. Your feet are tucked underneath Tyler's legs, propped up against the side of his garden chair and he's running his fingers up and down your calves.
You'd spent the afternoon chatting away and laughing, barely talking to anyone but him. Your 'family get-together' had turned into more of a date. You certainly aren't about to complain, though.
"Tyler, you're staying the night, right?", your mother asks, a fresh plate of chips in her hands that she puts next to the almost empty one on the table in front of you.
"I don't want to overstay my welcome", he says, all gentlemanly even as your mother rests her hands against her hips and stares him down.
"Young man, you're welcome in this house any time, for however long. I'm not letting you drive home four hours. You're staying the night." Then she points at you. "She's still got a couch in her room that you can sleep on. I'd offer you a guest room, but half the family's staying here and we're already out of air mattresses."
So an hour later, you're rummaging about your room, picking up clothes off the couch and stuffing them in your closet to make room for Tyler. He's leaning against your doorway, looking around, taking in the mess that is your childhood bedroom.
"Nice posters", he says, and you throw him a look over your shoulder that could be deadly. He's grinning all sarcastic, only chuckling as his eyes meet yours. "You could put up one of my shirts here."
You have to snort at that and before you can even really think about it, you've pulled the shirt Boone had given you yesterday from where you'd put it down on your desk. You throw it at him carelessly and he catches it with no effort at all, which - paired with that fucking grin - shouldn't be as attractive as it turns out to be.
"Knock yourself out", you say, then you turn back around to your closet and tug out bedsheets for him. "My old poster glue should be in one of the desk drawers."
You don't think he'll seriously do it, but you seem to have misjudged him. Badly. Because he gets to work immediately.
You watch him for a few stunned seconds before you decide to just leave him to it. So while you turn the couch into a makeshift bed for him, he glues that goddamn "Not My First Tornadeo" shirt to your wall.
"Fits perfectly if you ask me", he declares eventually, barely concealing the amusement dripping from his words. You smooth down his sheets before you look up at your wall. He's put the shirt up in one of the few empty spots, right between your Maroon 5 and Destiny's Child posters.
"Yeah", you snort. "Perfectly."
You give him a toothbrush and let him use your bathroom. While he's gone, you change into your pajamas, fold his shirt carefully and put it on a pile with Lilly's pants and her socks. Honestly, a little part of you already mourns the loss of it - but another part of you already has hope for another shirt. Maybe in a different context.
"What're you doing?", Tyler asks, shutting the bathroom door behind him. You don't look up as you fold the other clothes you'd thrown onto your desk yesterday.
"I put Lilly's things and your shirt there, you can take it back tomorrow", you explain, starting a second pile of your own clothes next to his.
"Keep my shirt", he says. That finally makes you look up at him.
Which isn't a good idea. Not at all. Because he's standing there in nothing but his briefs and good fucking lord-
You'd known he's handsome. You'd known he's broad. But you hadn't known he's fucking ripped. You shouldn't stare. You're very aware. You definitely shouldn't stare. It's incredibly rude to stare. It's very inappropriate to stare. But goddamn, this man is built so perfectly god himself must be jealous.
You have to forcibly blink yourself back to reality. You're definitely red in the face when you finally manage to meet his eyes again. And he's raised his eyebrows in a way that tells you he's reading your every emotion right off your face.
"Sorry, come again?", you croak out, brushing your hand through your hair and realising just a second too late that your eyes have travelled down too far again.
"I said you should keep my shirt", he repeats, a very, very obvious grin on his lips. "It looks better on you."
"Okay", you agree, a little too quickly. The heat in your cheeks comes from more than just the half-naked view of him now. He thinks his shirt looks better on you. You don't even care if that's a line. "I'll... I'll go brush my teeth real quick."
When you come out of the bathroom a few minutes later, Tyler has made himself comfortable on your couch. It's a little too small for him, you realise, but he doesn't seem bothered. He's pulled the covers up to his hips - you can still stare at his chest, to your delight. And he's put one hand under his head, flexing his bicep in a way that has you hurrying over to your own bed so you won't jump him right then and there.
"Alright, goodnight, Tyler", you breathe, adjusting your pillow and wrapping your blanket around your body as if grabbing at it will somehow ground you.
"Goodnight", he echoes, and then you turn off the light.
It's quiet. The only noise is the laughter of your family a floor below, all settling into bed themselves. It's quiet and it's dark.
And you're staring wide-eyed at absolutely nothing.
Oh, god. He's so fucking hot. He's so fucking hot you want to throw yourself out of the window. He's so fucking hot and he's on your fucking couch, barely ten feet from you. He's so fucking hot and he'd driven four hours here just to bring your clothes.
"Tyler", you say, barely two minutes after you'd turned the light off. He hums in response - still awake. You don't know what you'd expected. "Thanks again. For, you know, for everything."
"Anytime", he replies, and even though you can't see his grin, you imagine you can hear it. You nod into your pillow. Then silence falls again.
It lasts maybe another two minutes.
"Your family's nice", he says then. You can't help but smile.
"Thanks", you mutter.
"I like your mother", he says. Your smile only grows. You turn onto your back and stare at the dark ceiling.
"She likes you too."
It's the truth.
Tyler stays quiet. You don't even try to close your eyes this time - you can hear him breathe, deep and relaxed. It's calming. You're sure it could lull you to sleep. If you were anywhere near tired, that is. This way, you just blink at black nothingness.
"Were you really a Destiny's Child fan?", Tyler asks eventually, his sheets rustling.
"Yep", you say.
That's it for that conversation.
You don't know what it is, the darkness or the silence, but something pushes on your chest and weighs you down, warming your skin as it settles on your body. It's a tension, thick and heavy, one that had grown with every scrap of conversation.
"You know-", he starts again, but this time, you've got enough.
"Tyler", you interrupt, turning onto your side and pulling your covers with you. "Get up here."
You can't see him as he throws his bedsheets off himself, can't watch as he heaves himself up, can't look at him as he strides over to your bed - but you hear the rustling of his covers, you hear the couch creaking, you hear his steps on the floorboards. And you feel the mattress dipping when he finally sets his knees on your bed.
You don't wait until he's actually in there. You don't think you could possibly wait until he is. You just push yourself up, grab onto the first part of him you can get your hands on (his shoulders), cup his face in your palms and pull him into you.
Right into your kiss.
Tyler Owens kisses you for the first time in the darkness of your childhood bedroom. For the second time in the morning light in your bed. For the third time in your parent's kitchen, right as your mother walks in. For the fourth time in his truck, after your parents all but throw you out of their house and force you to go home with him. For the fifth time in front of his own house, where his crew watches through the window.
And after that, Tyler Owens loses count of just how often he kisses you. Because he kisses you every day for the rest of his life.
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irisinluv · 5 months ago
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Isekaied as the Yandere Villain!? PT 1
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All I could do was stare at my reflection. This had to be a joke. I was going to wake up in my bed, right this instant.
“FUCK!”
Ok, so, pinching myself hurts. That’s fine. This is like. Some sort of lucid dream. What do they say to do if you’re lucid dreaming? Oh, that’s right, put your finger in your palm, it’ll phase through!
I resist the urge to scream as my finger meets solid flesh.
You see, I’m not in the right body. Or the right world from what I can tell. No, I’m supposed to be back home, waking up in a panic as I realize my alarm didn’t go off cuz my phone died after I stayed up way too late reading manga.
But of course, I’m not late to work, I’m in a lavish bedchamber right out of the latest webcomic I’d been reading! And by the looks of it…. I’m the crown princes crazy fiancé! As much as I love reading about the Isekai trope, I never wanted to be in one! And come on- as the Yandere Villain!? Couldn’t this at least be original? There’s hundred of stories just like “my next life as a villainess,” why couldn’t I be like… a stable hand or something? Ugh. Ok. Think!
I need to get home. Do the protagonists ever get back home in the stories I read? I pace around my room and rack my brain over every webcomic I’ve ever read, every manga I waited in line for, every anime I binged, even the unfinished manhwas! I can’t think of a single fucking one where they get home?
Well this isn’t going to stop me. I have a cat who’s going to absolutely flip if she’s not given fresh kibble in the morning. She has enough in her bowl for another 2 days but she needs it topped off ok! She’s a princess! I can’t be stuck here! Who’s going to throw her pompom toy for her if I’m not there???
What did all these have in common? What’s the barebones trope layout? Ok let’s see
1) person either died or falls asleep and wakes up in a new world…. Check
2) person is the villain!…. Check
3) to avoid the characters terrible death, person tries to change the story, ends up being new protagonist…
Ohhh… hey…. Do these Isekai characters ever just…. Play along? Even the “reincarnated as a baby” ones, they only play along till they’re old enough to try to run away or rework the political structure of the entire city. Maybe that’s it. Make it to the books natural end, and you’ll wake up where you belong. It’s like when you get part of a song stuck in your head. Play the whole song, and it’ll get out.
Ok, I’ve trained most of my adult life for this- I can totally ace this trope! I just have to stalk the crown prince, act totally in love with him, and be a bitch to the female lead. Then my finance will leave me, I’ll do some crazy dramatic act to try to kill the female lead, and then I’ll be exiled or executed, and wake up to feed my cat. How hard can it be?
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Hard. It’s very hard.
Where the hell did he go!? My fiancé, the crown prince Eric, was JUST HERE. I swear! He turned that corner back there and then went down this hall… at least I think it was this hall? Ugh! This is impossible! For someone with such loud shoes and an armed escort, you’d think he’d be easier to follow! Now my feet just hurt. They don’t make these fancy shoes to run around the castle all day. They’re meant to daintily peek from beneath my many skirts as I host a tea party or some shit.
Ok. I’ve got this! I’ll just peek into each room until I find him, maybe I can get a better feel for the layout, or maybe find his office and see if he has a schedule or a day planner or something I can use to make this whole stalking thing easier.
I begin snooping, and it’s a bit of thrill to be honest! Back in my real life, I’m the kind of person to hide a wrapper deep in the trash can if I’m babysitting, sitting on the floor playing a game on my phone after the kid goes to bed rather than “making myself at home” the way the parents insisted as they showed me how to access Netflix. I’ve never been a snooper. Now…. Well. It’s totally on brand for this character! I’m not me, I’m a psycho lovesick fool! I giggle a bit at that as my fingers trail over a shelf of beautiful pottery in some sort of sitting room.
“What’s so amusing dearest?”
I practically screech as my heart leaps to my throat and I whirl around, and see the very person I’d been searching for has snuck up on ME…. That’s so unfair!
“W-what? O-oh! Nothing! I was just- uh, admiring the pottery?”
I stutter out as I try to recall how to act like a human being while simultaneously trying to stop feeling my own pulse in my ears. The idiot has the nerve to LAUGH! Full on snort and everything!
“What are you doing in this wing anyways? Weren’t you meant to be out riding today?”
Shit. I was so busy trying to figure out his schedule, I didn’t consider maybe the body I was shoved into had a schedule of her own. Ok. Play it cool- I’ve got this!
“Yes, well, I decided I wasn’t in the mood and wanted to stay in today instead.”
His brows furrow
“Oh, but you love riding? Are you feeling ill? I can fetch the royal physician for you if you-“
“No! That’s- that’s quite alright! I simply wanted a change of schedule, that is all. Um… what about you? What are your plans for the day?”
He looked a bit surprised at that, and a small smile danced on his lips.
“I was just going to the library to do some paperwork, boring stuff really, and then of course our dinner at its regular time.”
I nod like that means anything to me. Ok think, if I were crazy in love with this man, what would I say?
“Would you like some company? Reading in the library sounds really nice, maybe we could have some tea as well?”
Ok. I’m already fucking this up. He looks confused…. God damnit …. I knew I shouldn’t have skimmed over those early chapters- but the translation was shit ok!?
“Well… I’d actually love that. But are you sure? You haven’t exactly shown interest in reading, and you’ve never requested something like this before…. In fact I don’t think I can recall the last time we’ve interacted outside of dinner or a scheduled social event in… well. Ever.”
Wait…. What? Isn’t my character like goo-goo-ga-ga over him? Are you telling me she never asks to just… spend time with her lover? They only talk during dinner and parties or whatever?
“Of course, I think it’ll be relaxing! Just lead the way!”
My brain is working overtime as I smile politely at him as we reach the library and I pretend to browse for books. I’m missing something here. What is-
Oh. Shit. That’s right. I’m supposed to be really insecure and awkward about him. That’s why she stalks him- she spends all her free time obsessing over this man from the shadows, threatening the competition…. Yet chokes up when it comes to how to act natural. Her inferiority complex is what drives her entire character. And then to him, they’re just two nobles in an arranged marriage who speak on dull subjects like the weather and horse rides…. And who barely interact.
This must have been a real big shake up, she always stays out of sight, they never run into each other by chance. And she certainly never would ask to sit and read with him…. Maybe watch him do his work from a hidden keyhole somewhere, but that’s right…. She IS more of a traditional lady with her hobbies. She was raised to be the perfect noble wife, so naturally, her hobbies include things like dancing, needlepoint, and horse riding. The only studies she’s interested in are etiquette and things that noble ladies are supposed to know.
Well…. Shit. That’s so like me to already have fucked this up. But that’s ok. That’s ok- he’s going to meet the female lead and fall in love and so I just have to be the obstacle they need to overcome. Surely the details don’t matter too much…. It’s my first day in the job ok? Not everyone’s perfect!
I find a book that honestly actually sounds interesting, it’s historical, but it’s giving Hellen of Troy, the closest to a dark romance I think I’ll get from an academic personal library like this. I settle into what looks like the comfiest chair in the central area, and begin reading. The prince and I exist comfortably, the only sound being the scratch of his pen, and the occasional rustle of paper as he flips a document or I finish a page. We continue like this for several hours until he puts down his pen and clears his throat, getting my attention.
“I know it’s a long way from dinner…. But I was thinking I’d grab something light for a mid day meal and then take a walk about the gardens …. Would you care to join me?”
Honestly, some lunch and pretty royal gardens sounds like so much fun, so I agree. As we begin walking, I ponder how I can recover from all this.
You know what.. this can totally still go to plan. This is just me being the evil villain and sinking my claws into him! The female lead will appear, and I’ll reveal my true, nasty side to her! She’ll have to fight to save the prince from his marriage to me!
*insert evil laughter!*
“You’re smiling.”
“W-what?”
“A smile. It suits you. You’ve been doing that a lot today….. I like it.”
Ok and now I’m blushing. I go to reply when I suddenly find myself weightless for a moment, and then hit the ground with a hard thump.
“Ow! What the-!?”
My eyes snap up and glare at this pretty blonde girl who just rammed into me, and sent me flying
“Do you not know how to watch where you’re going!? Owww…. Ugh.”
Ok I’m sorry I’m usually a nice and understanding person but I’ve never been literally knocked over before! Who does that to a person?
Eric helps me to my feet and sends a reproachful glare toward the girl, asking me if I’m alright with most concerned look…. And the girl gasps and says,
“C-crown prince Eric! I apologize! I’d didn’t recognize you!”
She drops into a curtsy and lowers her eyes all demure and modest as if she hadn’t just bulldozed me. I send an incredulous look toward Eric…. She… didn’t see HIM? I’m the one she took out? He gives me an equally puzzled look and so I decide, you know what, fuck it. I’m this evil person in this world…. I need to act like it!
“And not recognizing his highness is an excuse for taking out the princess consort, soon to be crown princess? Are you blind or just daft?”
Oh my god I really just called someone daft! This feels like when you stay up late thinking all the witty comebacks you could’ve used against your high school bullies, except actually using them in the moment!
And Eric is being a sweetie and letting me handle this, waiting expectantly for blondie to answer me, just prompting her,
“Well?”
“Forgive me…. Princess consort…. You are right. My oversight in inexcusable. It appears neither of us were looking where we were going. I hope we can start fresh!”
I scoff- that’s it? Who does this bitch think she is? Yes, I was looking at Eric, but I was going a walking pace, who rounds a corner with so much force that you knock someone over?
Suddenly something clicks- oh shit! This is the female lead!!!! This scene happened in the story, just without the prince here. This is good, that means this is on track. Although I gotta say- I was much more on the female main characters side when reading it. Now, I just feel like she’s one of those mean girls in high school who’s not *technically* doing anything mean. Anyways- what was I supposed to say? That’s right.
“Yes…. Well. I’m sure we won’t be seeing much of each other anyways. If you’ll excuse me-“
Nailed ittttt…. Now her line?
“Well, actually…. My name is Lady Cressida, and I’ll be staying in the place for several months as my father is a foreign ambassador overseeing trade agreements with his highness the king. So I imagine we will be seeing *plenty* of each other. That goes for you too your highness! So please- forgive me, I look forward to getting to know each of you better!”
Oh that’s so cool, seeing her recite the lines from the story. But ok- I have a role to play as well. I scoff and grab Eric’s arm, pulling him behind me as I storm off, playing the part of entitled lover, stuck up and irritated at this ambassadors daughter who DARED to speak to my love.
Yea, this will work, Eric will think Cressida is a genuine sweetie, and see me as being the unreasonable bitch who’s refusing to accept her apology, or apologize for not looking where I was going either. And now I’m manhandling him- totally unlady like. God I’m killing this aren’t I? Minimum wage job and demanding cat, here I come!
What I don’t see, as I lead Eric by the arm, is the cold glare he shoots towards Cressida, before smiling down at our connected hands, an unreadable look in his eyes.
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Part 2
SERIES IS DISCONTINUED- sorry y’all, just not inspired to write this anymore and don’t wanna force it.
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shouyuus · 2 months ago
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counting stars
violet; 4,988 words; hurt/comfort, fluff, slightly suggestive moments, no "y/n", wlw (duh), self-indulgent to the point of lunacy, lots of kissing, mentions of bodily harm (not self-inflicted), teeth-rotting fluff mostly, popstar!reader x vi au
summary: when vi shows up at your door, what to do but to let her in?
a/n: bc nothing bad is allowed to happen to vi in my fictional world(s). and also im literally cackling ofc the fic that ppl r the least interested in posted first is the one that i post first; i guess i just like to be contrary but also i want to spoil vi and this is the only way i know how
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─── Ⅵ SHE SHOWS UP UNANNOUNCED, split lip and bloody knuckles, leaning against your doorframe on a thursday night; you answer the door in your sheer pink nightgown and fluffy slippers, a bottle of rose chilling in a bucket on the table.
“vi?”
“hey princess —” she clears her throat, her smirk going lopsided as she tries to hide a clear wince. a bead of blood seeps out the corner of her mouth as she sucks in a shaky breath, “miss me?”
your lashes flutter with worry as you step aside to let her through — there’s a distinct limp to her gait that she can’t quite hide with her usual swagger.
“what happened?” you ask, letting the door click shut, following half a step behind her as she drags herself into your penthouse flat, letting out a low whistle as she looks around.
“nice place you got here. fits though, pretty castle for a pretty princess —”
“violet…”
you reach out with delicate fingers, taking slow steps forward; she hisses out a breath, her eyes sharp and wild as a wounded lion’s, her mouth a blunt-edged slash as she swallows, gaze flickering between your fingertips and your face as if she’s unsure what you might do.
she winces as you rub a light thumb along her cheek; your finger pulls away red.
“sorry —” the word rips from her at your touch. her eyes drop, her whole body shakes. “i — i didn’t know where else to go — and i — i remembered seeing that stupid 100 questions video you did here for —”
“for the fashion magazine, yeah,” you say, your voice soft as a baby’s breath. your hand lingers, a palm against her cheek. she leans into your touch, the movement small as heartbreak, but just as heavy.
“c’mon, lets get you cleaned up.”
you let your hand trail down her arm till your fingers link, and you lead her to you expansive couch, pressing her down firmly even as she frowns at her grime-covered clothes against your pristine white sofa.
“i’d offer to pay for dry cleaning but —”
you cut her off with a sharp look.
“don’t you dare. and plus, i’ve been meaning to change up the upholstery forever.”
you grab a bottle of vodka from the top shelf and a box of cotton balls, plopping down across from her on the couch in a flurry of pink-colored satin, inching forward till you’re nearly parked in her lap.
vi’s eyebrows hike as you pop the top off the vodka bottle, a grin twitching at her lips.
you roll your eyes.
“it’s not for drinking —” you soak a few cotton balls in the vodka even as vi’s expression falls. you lean in; vi’s hands find their way to bend of your waist, settling there as you daub gingerly at the blotches of drying blood on her face.
“ouch —” vi winces dramatically as you press down on a particularly deep cut, her lips pushing up into a pout, “not even a little bit? might help dull out the pain —”
she cuts off as you swipe a thumb along her bottom lip, breath hitching as you frown slightly, making to tug away for a fresh cotton ball.
“don’t — don’t leave —” her voice comes out harsh, desperate. you still, expression softening impossibly.
“i’m not,” you say, patient. she finds her fingers digging into your hips but you only smile. “i’m not going anywhere. promise. but i do need another cotton ball.”
she worries at her bottom lip, and already, you can see the fresh blood collecting in at the corner of her mouth. you press back into her space, wiping the blood away. her entire body slants towards you, her shoulders tight, her arms flexed, as if she’s bracing for a punch or a kiss.
you nudge her nose with yours, lifting up ever so slightly to press your lips to her forehead.
the dam breaks — all the pieces falling, her head tipping forward onto your shoulder, her hands wrapping around you tight, and then tighter. you feel yourself being hauled into her lap as she buries her face in the crook of your neck, a sound caught halfway between a gasp and a sob wrenching from her throat.
“f-fuck — shit —”
there’s heat to her skin, the roughness of her bandages, fraying at the edges, the worn-in material of her pants, the damp streaks of her hair tickling your cheek. her breath is uneven as it splays out against your collarbones, and when she finally tugs away to wipe at her face with the back of her hand, looking anywhere but at you, her lashes blink away wet.
“sorry — god this must be real sexy, right? mm — fuck —” she sniffles, shaking out her hand, her other one coming up to caress your cheek. her gaze is unfocused even as she skims her fingers over your skin. “god, you’re so soft. it’s like you’re made of — of marshmallows or something —”
you catch her hand with a tiny sigh, letting your gaze flicker over the bloodied bandages before you rub a thumb along an unmarred patch of skin.
“and you can be too. if you ever wanted to learn.”
she goes quiet then, the bravado bleeding from her as you continue your quiet work of cleaning all her varied injuries, disinfecting the cuts and bandaging the bruises. for the most part, she stays quiet, offering up the bloodied parts of herself for your perusal without resistance. it’s only when you shift back or make to tug away for a second that she jerks forward, resolute in her all-consuming need to keep you close.
“there. that’s about as much as i can do right now,” you say, heaving a sigh as you brush away several strands of black-pink hair from her face, letting your thumb skim over the tattoo on her cheek.
“thanks.” her voice comes out slightly hoarse, her eyes cutting away from you for a second before flickering back.
“i’d say it’s nothing but…” you let your thumb trail down the line of her jaw, tracing over her fluttering pulse as you work your slow way down her neck, “i mean —” you let out a soft laugh, hiccupping slightly as she takes the chance to tug you even closer, pressing you to her, chest to chest, so that you have to brace both your palms against her shoulders just to keep steady. neither of you mentions the fact that her arms are shaking.
“it was a bad night,” she says. and it’s all she offers for a few minutes, but you don’t push her, content to rest against her, let her run circles into your skin with her fingers against the small of your back, her breaths evening out till she looks back up at you with a wry grin.
“let me guess,” you say, linking your fingers behind her neck, “you should see the other guy though, right?” you drop your voice in a mocking imitation; it sounds nothing like her but it manages to draw out a laugh, the sound ricocheting between the pair of you like an echo till it dissipates, leaving the air somehow slightly warmer than before.
“yeah. somethin’ like that,” she murmurs, leaning forward to nudge your nose with hers, eyes going dark.
you cup her cheeks and let her kiss you, lips on lips and gasping breaths, till her fingers are inching up the thin material of your night dress, bunching it up, her thumbs tracing the ridges of your ribs, the weight of her body pressing you back into the plush couch, far too big for the pair of you —
“v-vi — wait —” you gasp away from her, fingers tangled in her oil slick hair, her mouth trailing hot and wet down the side of your neck. she makes a grumbling sound, nipping at your collarbones before resting her chin on your sternum, her hands still grazing further and further up your nightgown.
“c’mon princess — you got to play doctor, so now lemme pay you back proper —“
“vi.” the sharpness to your voice jolts her, and a frown creases her forehead as she blinks up at you with her gunpowder eyes, her fingers now still against your skin. you puff out a breath, pushing yourself back up to cup her cheeks, squeezing them slightly between your palms.
“i don’t want you to ‘pay me back’ for anything.”
hurt and confusion chase each other in a butterfly-wing flutter of emotions across her eyes before she pulls back.
“you don’t want this?”
you fight back the urge the roll your eyes as you sigh, reaching out to tug her back, this time, it’s you crowding into her personal space, leaning in to kiss her solidly on the lips. you feel her go soft against you, her hands cupping the ridges of your ribs once more.
“of course i want this,” you murmur against her lips, “but i — i don’t want it as ‘payback’ for anything. i…” your breath catches as vi leans in to nip at your bottom lip, heat pluming up the back of your neck, cresting into your chest as you blink at her, “i want this… if you want to give it. and — and i want it because — because i want you.”
she makes a strange, pitched noise in the back of her throat as she crushes you to her, her mouth slotting over yours so desperately that your teeth clack, but when she pulls back, she’s shaking her head, resting her forehead against yours with a sigh.
“shit princess — you can’t say shit like that and not expect me to lose my fuckin’ mind — fuck —“
you let out a tinkling laugh, fingers now massaging the cords of muscle at the nape of her neck. a shiver runs through her, her lashes a sweep of ink and shadow.
“relax… i’m not going anywhere. promise,” you remind her even as she tips into you once more, a whine working from her throat into yours as her fingers dig into the supple skin of your waist, dragging you down the length of the couch till you’re pinned beneath her thighs.
she pulls away panting, your own chest a staccato rise and fall. but your eyes are steady when she finds them again and you reach up to trace her cheek.
“when’s the last time you’ve had a bath?”
the question catches her off-guard, making her jerk back slightly, a frown ticking down between her brows.
“what?”
you giggle, “a bath. like, a proper one.”
one of her eyebrows kick up, “you sayin’ i smell or something?”
you sigh, yet again fighting the urge to roll your eyes as you push yourself up onto your elbows, your pink nightgown rucked up to your thighs, your hair falling out of the messy bun you’d twisted it up into earlier that evening.
“no,” you let your voice linger on the word, pinning vi with a look, “but you do taste like the inside of a paint can so.”
her eyes narrow but she lets you wiggle out from beneath her, your fingers trailing down her arm to tug her behind you as you lead her into the master bathroom. the light clicks on and vi scoffs.
“wow.”
“pick a bubble-bath, any bubble-bath — my favorite’s the —”
“rose one?” she finishes, lifting up the nearly empty bottle of light pink bubbly water displayed on a white marble shelf full of multi-colored liquids.
you allow yourself a blush as you shrug, twisting on the taps and testing the temperature, drying off your hand before turning back towards her.
“so i know what i like. sue me.”
vi smirks in honest this time, uncapping the bottle and wafting it beneath her nose.
“mm, delicious.”
you don’t miss the licentious lilt to her voice, nor the flicker of dark, hungry light in her eyes.
you turn away, leaning across the vast bathtub to grab a white can.
“if you think that’s delicious — wait till you see the sugar scrub — oh!”
a pair of arms snakes around your middle, pulling you back against abs and a bandaged up chest. vi’s voice is hot by your ear as she noses into the side of your cheek.
“yeah? is it gonna make me taste less like the inside of a paint can?”
“mhm,” you say, letting your free hand rest naturally over both of hers, the other hand dipping into the sugar scrub to swipe a dollop of sticky white crystals onto her nose. she gasps, jerking back for just a second, going slightly cross-eyed before a mischievous expression eclipses her features and she hoists you up into her arms, holding you suspended over the slowly filling bathtub.
“don’t play this game with me, princess — there’s only one way it’ll end.”
you let out a bright peal of laughter that echoes around the soft marble walls, looping both your arms around her neck.
“try me.”
for a second, she makes as if to drop you, but she pulls you back into her chest at the last second, cradling you against her.
“alright princess, let’s see how good this bath is,” she says, her voice soft as she sets you back down on your feet. you lean up to give her a quick peck before taking the rose-scented bubble bath and pouring it into the swirling water.
by the time the tub is filled, the room is filled with a thin gauze of steam, and when you turn, you find vi standing awkwardly behind you, watching with one hand on her opposite elbow, rocking on the balls of her feet.
“in general,” you say, pushing to your feet, “people take baths with their clothes off.”
vi’s cheeks go blotchy, and her eyes skitter about the room.
“what, i’m just supposed to strip here and —”
her words cut off abruptly as you turn your back on her and tug your night gown from your body, stepping into the bubble-filled water, glancing over your shoulder.
“you coming?”
vi nearly trips out of her tight-fitting pants, tugging haphazardly at the bandages wrapped around her torso. when she finally steps into the water opposite you, she drops down with a soft splash, a loud groan rolling from her as her eyes flutter shut.
when she forces them open again, it’s to find you watching her with your round doe eyes, a sweet, knowing smile perched over your very kissable lips. she wonders at the heat in her cheeks, at the way it prickles at her skin, thinks to herself that it must be the steam, must be the hot water currently melting away at the knots that had braided themselves into her muscles the past few weeks, but she when she feels your calf nudging against her’s she can’t help the way her breath skids inside her chest.
“c’mere,” you motion, and vi blinks at you for a second before shifting till you’re face to face, her hovering uncertainly between your legs before you jerk your chin for her to turn around.
the bathtub is more than big enough to fit the both of you, and for a while, a comfortable quiet settles as she leans her back against your chest, your fingers dancing up the length of her arms, trailing warm water along her shoulders, tangling in the rapidly lightening tips of her hair.
the dark dye runs off her, pluming in the water like spilled ink. you steadily work your fingers through her tresses, smoothing out the knots, occasionally letting your nails scrape against her scalp.
“holy fuck that feels nice…”
you smile, washing as much the dye out as you can before rubbing your thumbs into her shoulders, feeling the tightness coiled there like springs. she grunts, shifting beneath your touch.
“y-you don’t have to do this y’know —” she tries to pull away, only to have you click your tongue impatiently and tug her right back.
“lemme know if i’m hurting you, okay?” is the only thing you say as you continue to massage her shoulders.
she softens, letting out a long sigh and a small chuckle.
“you’d have to try real hard to manage that, sweetcheeks.”
you puff out a tiny breath before digging your thumb into a particularly tender knot, her entire body buckling away from you.
“ow!” she twists around, eyes wide, even as you cast her a look that has her turning back again, but not before she flicks a bit of water at you, her other hand resting easy on your knee, bent next to her hip as she leans against you once more.
“this is the first thing they teach you how to do in a brothel,” you say, your voice light as you slowly work the tightness from each of vi’s muscles, applying gentle pressure, using the bubbles as lubricant.
“wait what?” she tries to turn around again, only for you to pinch lightly at one of her loosening knots, tutting.
“stay still and i’ll tell you the story.”
she stills, though her breath is still short, and the hand that had so recently been lolling against your knee is now stiff, her fingers wrapped around your limb as if to brace herself for what you’re about to say next.
“most people don’t know this, but i’m actually from the undercity — all my earliest memories are of the brothel, the girls there braiding my hair, or letting me sit on their vanities, smearing bits of lipstick on my cheeks as rouge. i think my mother must’ve been one of those girls once but… i never knew her. and it didn’t really matter anyway — i think… i was one of the lucky ones. at least i always had water and a hot bath when i wanted it.”
vi’s fingers tighten on your thigh before she lets up her grip, sighing as she presses her back more firmly against you.
“i’m sorry.”
you shrug, shifting a bit of hair from one shoulder to the other as you continue to dig your meticulous fingers into her weary muscles.
“don’t be. like i said, i was one of the lucky ones. but… i always knew that we were living a hard life. sometimes, one of the girls would vanish and… we’d never know where she went. sometimes, a guest would get a bit too rough and —” you let out a tiny laugh, “well i got pretty good at patching up cuts and bruises.”
you flatten your palms against her skin, running them along the expanse of her shoulders before pushing down her arms to squeeze at her firm biceps.
“there. how’s that feel?”
vi sits up, rolling her neck and shoulders with a loud groan.
“damn. that feels amazing but —” her expression softens as she reaches for you, running tender thumbs along the bend of your cheek.
“you — you don’t have to tell me this if you don’t want to.”
“i know.” you catch her hand in yours, fingers curling in. all around you, perfumed mist hangs light in the air, hazing out the already diffused lighting. “but i want to.”
vi smiles, nodding.
you take another breath. your interlaced fingers sink into the murky water.
“when i turned thirteen, they started teaching me the ropes — massages first —”
“thirteen,” vi’s voice is harsh in the mist-hung room, the syllables cracking as they reverberate against the slick tiles.
you lilt your head, “how old were you when you ran your first job?”
vi stares, her mouth agape, “b-but — that’s — that’s different!”
“is it?”
she sputters for a few more seconds before deflating, shaking her head, tugging her hand from your grasp to splash water into her face, running both hands over her eyes with a groan.
somehow, she could picture it perfectly, you with your sweet smile and darling eyes, running deft fingers over the shoulders and necks of the unnamed girls at babette’s as they talk you through how to press just so, how to lull someone into your lap, and later, into your bed.
“but like i said… i was one of the lucky ones. really, really lucky — because one day, while i was refilling the water and tidying up the rooms, a guest heard me singing and… he offered me a gig topside.” you let yourself sink into the slowly cooling water, your hair flowing in a soft halo around your shoulders.
vi watches you with an inexplicable expression on her face — half-sadness, half-wonder.
“and the rest, well —” you flick a bit of water towards her; she blinks it away before pulling you into her chest, “you know the rest. or, i mean, i don’t know if you watched that entire 100-questions video —”
“i did.”
vi loops her arms around you, hooking her chin over your shoulder.
and once again, the quiet settles around you both, hanging solid in the air like so much dissipating steam.
“all that to say…” you murmur, turning slightly to face her, searching her eyes with your own, “you don’t have to pretend with me. not with me. not when it’s just the two of us.”
you watch her eyes widen ever so slightly, watch as her lips part and she hesitates over the words hanging at the tip of her tongue.
“thanks,” she finally manages, “for… for telling me this.”
you smile, pulling back to reach for the white can, unscrewing the top.
“okay. sugar-scrub time.”
by the time the pair of you leave the bath, the water’s cooled to a tepid chill at best. you offer vi a fluffy towel, wrapping one around yourself as you pad from the room in search for some clean loungewear.
you return with a large t-shirt and some shorts, which vi eyes for a second before pulling on, her cheeks darkening as she sees you watching her.
“quit looking at me like that…” she huffs as you tug on a loose shirt yourself, pulling on a pair of pink, lace-trimmed panties.
“like what? like you deserve to be looked at?” you ask, voice even as you run a towel over your damp hair. vi crinkles her nose, frowning down at her dirty clothes, piled in a lump on your bathroom floor. you shrug.
“leave it. that’s a tomorrow-problem. c’mon, bed-time.”
vi sighs, ruffling at her hair with the white towel, staring at the gray streaks she leaves behind. she glances up to find you standing by the bathroom door, a hand outstretched behind you, waiting.
she licks her lips before tossing the towel over her pile of clothes and reaching out to take your hand.
your bedroom is dark, lit only by the scatter of city lights from beyond your windows. through it, the city is a pulsing maze of tiny lights and spectral towers. you pause, glancing towards the skyline with a sigh.
“it’s a beautiful view,” vi says, coming up to stand behind you, looping an arm around your waist. you lean into her touch, her warmth, turning slightly to find her eyes just as faraway.
“yeah,” you grin, reaching up to touch her cheek, “you are.”
she turns, blinking at you for a second before your words register. she groans even as you laugh, the sound fizzling through her till her skin prickles with warmth and goosepimples.
“c’mon. bed.” she says, and you grin, allowing yourself to be led to your own bed, pulling back the silken covers, slipping beneath and watching as vi inches in next to you, pillowing her cheek on her arm. you angle your body towards hers, letting out a long, steadying breath.
she mirrors you — one breath, then another, then another.
“thanks, princess,” she says, after a few long moments.
you shuffle forward beneath the blankets, reaching out to wrap an arm around her waist. she closes her eyes, bending her head till you’re nose to nose.
“for what?”
vi lets out a puffed laugh, her lashes fluttering open again.
“for… letting me in.”
you press you lips, your eyes searching her’s. and here, in the dim moon-lit night, her eyes shone like twin stars, bright as firelights. you inch just a bit closer, letting your foreheads press as she shifts an arm to slip around your waist as well.
you hook your ankle over hers, shimmying till you’re hip to hip, your bodies arched into each other, bend for bend. she bites down on her lip, if only to stop it from quivering. you graze your hand up her arm to rest on her cheek.
“you know you’re always welcome here.”
vi laughs, the sound strangely watery as she blinks away the hot prickle biting up the back of her throat. it’s been so long since she’s had anywhere to come back to. and here you are, offering it up to her on a gold-gilded platter.
“yeah?” she says, even though her voice shakes and she has to swallow hard over the lump in her throat as she coaxes your chin up, angling your lips towards hers, “careful… i might actually take you up on that.”
“whatever’s mine is —” your breath hitches high as vi tugs you into her, crushing your lips to hers, a thick groan working it’s way through her chest. you taste salt on your tongue, even as she trails her mouth along your jawline to suck a dark, blossoming hickey into the side of your throat.
“— yours.” you finish, spearing your fingers through her hair to pull her back, your eyes soft in the gathering darkness. vi lets out a tiny, pitched whine as she buries her face in your chest, her body curling in on itself. you rock her against you, letting her grapple her fingers into your nightshirt, clutching you to her even as you sooth your palms over her head and neck, shushing her gently.
“fuck, princess…” she says, her voice slightly muffled, “you’re tryna spoil me rotten, huh.”
you smile, letting her pull back just far enough to catch a glimpse of your face.
“well, someone’s gotta do it.”
vi chuckles, the sound rumbling from her chest to yours.
“yeah well… i’m glad you’re the one angling for the job, sweets.”
you hum, letting your eyes fall shut as vi’s grip on you loosens, and the pair of you sink into the liquid warmth of each others bodies.
vi shifts, tucking you deeper into her arms as you content yourself with sighing into her skin, and it’s an almost automatic spin-click of both your bodies, your limbs settling into and against each other, your torsos turning to just the right spot, just the right angles to fit against one another.
you settle, and feel the world settle around you — time itself seems to breathe and slacken, the evening-shaped seconds and minutes ticking each into its own place, like the teeth on a set of cogs, catching one rung into another, spinning one after the other till everything starts to hum into place.
sleep slips its gossamer gauze over your eyes and vi shifts, her lips ghosting your forehead.
“whatever gods up there that put you in my life…” she whispers, her voice tight, you make a soft noise, like a question, or perhaps a confirmation, leaning up to level your faces once more. your eyes open and vi finds her own reflection staring back at her, the shape somehow softened by your gaze, and she wonders, not for the first time, what you see in her, what you’ve always seen in her, that makes you so…
“there’s already a shrine set up for them in the living room,” you murmur, and for a second, vi stares, her own mind quiet for the first time in a long while. you smile sleepily at her confusion, nuzzling her nose with yours, “what, you didn’t know? i’d been thanking them for you since the first day we met.”
vi makes a sound like a hiccup, shaking her head as warmth bubbles through her, a champagne-colored shake-fizzle-pop of emotions welling up behind her eyes, making her head spin.
“well shit —” she grins, tugging you ever closer, “you’re always one step ahead of me, aren’t you princess?”
you hum, carding your fingers through her hair as she settles against you once more.
“mhm,” a tired little yawn, “and maybe tomorrow morning, if you’re feeling up to it —”
“yeah?” vi’s voice is soft, is sweet, is almost reverent as she kisses the skin of your sternum, her lips lingering right beneath your collarbones.
“i could show you some of the other things i picked up at the brothel.”
vi groans, her fingers digging into your hips at the tantalizing thought.
“mm, you mean other than giving people amazing shoulder massages?”
you laugh, and outside, a large neon sign flickers off, tossing the room into a deeper, richer dark.
“yep. but for now…”
“sleep?” vi asks.
you nod, watching as her eyelids flutter shut, and you let yours do the same. your fingers find hers beneath the blankets; your palms press and she gives you a tiny squeeze. you squeeze back and smile.
“sleep.”
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thexsilentxwordsmith · 4 months ago
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Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader
Fandom: Call of Duty
Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader
Summary: A bout of insomnia keeps you awake, so you decide to go for a midnight walk. To your surprise you find that you aren't the only one still up as the sound of the shower running in the communal bathroom catches your attention. Who is it and what are they doing in there? Why does it sound like your lieutenant and why is he moaning your name?
Word Count: 5.6 k
Warnings:
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Hot water from the shower runs in snaking pathways over the bulky muscles of the lieutenant’s back as he leans himself against the wall, his forehead resting on the bit of his forearm that is propping his body up while his engorged cock is tightly locked in his clenched fist. Furiously he strokes the length with eyes closed and mouth agape, grunting deep and guttural the tighter he squeezes around that throbbing appendage as he desperately works to ease the ache that has kept him from getting sleep yet another night in a row. 
The military base is hunkered down for the evening, most of the personnel fast asleep as he should have already been, but his mind is too full of thoughts…thoughts if you… that sleep is unattainable at this point unless he does something about them. He knows the risk he’s taking doing this in a communal space, but he hopes that it’s late enough that no one will be around to disturb him until he’s done.
It’s been another long, rough day of having to watch you from afar but not touch, follow you with his dark, hungry eyes while knowing he will never get a chance to taste your sweetness, and he needs a release before he does something foolish. Never has another gotten under his skin the way you have, never has he struggled so hard to keep his desire from consuming him whole like he has to every single time you are near, and lately it is becoming near impossible. 
There's only so much that even a trained professional can take before all that self-discipline goes right out the window and he is reaching his limit with each passing week. If this keeps up he is bound to slip up somehow, you will notice, and he cannot let that happen. He can’t do another desperate sleepless night and be sane enough to face you again the next day, so here he finds himself. 
Behind closed eyes he recalls the images from earlier during training of you sparring with one of the other recruits. The way your body moved and contorted as you took down your opponent, the sweat that glistened and rolled in large drops down your chest and into the top of your shirt, the look of cocky determination in your eyes, and the heavy breaths you took through parted lips was enough to set him off something bad. His hands had to be firmly crossed over his crotch even after you had finished and walked off to hide the stiffy he was suddenly sporting so it wouldn't draw attention from any wandering eyes. 
God, the way he wishes it had been him that was pinned beneath you on that mat instead of the recruit that you took down and makes him stroke even more furiously. Why can't it be your sweet, soft pussy he is thrusting into instead of his rough palm? He’d sell his soul to Satan himself just for a moment spent in your bliss.
Lt. Riley braces his feet wider in the shower to steady himself as a wave of pleasure surges through his limbs and nearly knocks him over as he continues stroking. There is so much sloppiness in his rhythm now; he’s getting closer and soon he’ll be able to think more clearly… at least for a little while. 
“The things I'd do to ya, sweetheart,” he mutters to the vision of you in his mind’s eye, the need overwhelming every sense until he can’t see straight. “Fuck, I just want tha chance ta make ya come. I’d make bloody sure ya would only ‘ave eyes for me from then on.”
His teeth clench behind his parted lips as a bit of salty precum dribbles out of the tip of his cock only to quickly get washed away by the water raining down over him. Fucking hell, this is a problem that doesn’t seem to have an end in sight; this isn’t the first time he’s had to jack off to get a moment of peace and he knows that this will only be a temporary fix. There’s only one thing that can satisfy him for good, but it is the one thing he isn’t allowed to have.
At least he tells himself over and over that you’d never give him the time of day and so he keeps his agonizing distance. So, as the rest of the world around him slumbers, he has to do what he must to get by…and even though he thinks himself the only one awake and trying to work out demons under the cover of night, he couldn’t be more wrong.
At the other side of the barracks, you stare up at the dark ceiling of your room just as you’ve done for the past hour now. You have tried to relax your limbs, clear your mind, close your eyes, but no matter how hard you push yourself, sleep keeps evading your grasp. Why? You know the answer plainly even if you don’t really want to accept it. 
His eyes had been on you again today, Lt. Riley’s. That intense dark brown gaze that always makes your pulse race each time you catch it lingering had been plastered on you even before you stepped up to your sparring partner during training earlier. It was as if he was trying to bore a hole through your body the way he wouldn’t look away. The ache that settled itself in your core at his undivided attention nearly distracted you enough that you about lost the fight and now that you are lying in the dark with nothing to keep you occupied it’s all your desperate mind can focus on.
Does the lieutenant even know what his attention does to you? Would he care even if he did?
What would he think if he knew that just his gaze alone makes your body burn, how you can’t ever seem to get enough of the way you can so easily capture his focus, how it fuels all of your fantasies and daydreams until it’s impossible to be in his presence without your breath quickening and feeling that familiar ache between your legs? Goddammit, if you had your way you would have those eyes glued to yours as he thrusts inside and makes you his for the first time, but you know that’s not a possibility.  
No, it’s got to be pure coincidence, something entirely innocuous, a superior surveying the progress of one of his soldiers. He is the unofficial second in command around here, of course he would need to take account of those that are under him. You’d have to be a fool to think it’s anything more than that, that someone as experienced and weathered as him would ever go for an underling like you, but it doesn’t change how it makes you desperately want to get closer to the serious and intimidating officer.  
Why does the one thing you want have to be so fucking far out of reach?
Your heartbeat is starting to race again and your fingers are too sore to go another round down below, so you give up with a sigh of defeat and get up out of bed; if sleep isn't coming then there's no point in lying here to only get more frustrated that you can’t let those salacious fantasies go. 
Maybe a walk will tucker you out enough that sleep will stop avoiding you, at least it’s worth a try. Better than lying in the dark trying to stroke out the overwhelming thoughts, trying to imagine the feeling of his weight pressing you into the mattress as his cock stretches you out. No, staying here is only going to do more damage. Slipping on some shorts with your tank top and grabbing your shoes, you head out of your room and begin your trek through the barracks headed towards the outside. 
You pass by the quiet rooms of your sleeping teammates, nothing but silence filling the halls that causes each soft step you take to sound louder than it should. Room after room passes by the same as the last as you make your way through the long stretches of hallway. All that's left is the showers coming up on your left, then the doors to the outside and you’ll be free to mosey about in the cool air while the music of the night gives you something else to focus on. 
But it isn’t the crickets, frogs, and other nocturnal animals outside that you hear now, nor is it those of the nightwatch making their rounds. It’s something else that grabs your attention.
The closer you get to the communal bathrooms, the more your ears pick up noise out of the stillness. At first it is only the distinct sound of running water hitting off the titles that cover the floors, but soon you catch the muted echo of a voice reverberating inside. Whoever is in there it sounds like they are in distress and curiosity gets the better of you. It's probably nothing, but it's best to check just to be sure. You'll pop your head in, make certain everything is alright, and then quietly leave without anyone knowing. 
Silently you creep up to the door and slowly creak it open so that the hinges won’t squeak and give you away just in case your worries turn out to be unfounded. The ambiguous noises become more clear and you realize it is the heavy masculine grunting of someone in the shower. It takes you a second to place why that sound is so familiar, but after a few seconds it finally clicks and you become embarrassed to have stumbled upon this private, intimate moment.
You move back from the door and almost let it fall closed when you catch the person inside saying something unexpected. Under the sound of the shower head running and heavy panting you swear that you hear the voice moan your name and instantly you are frozen in your tracks, unable to leave as planned.
You know that particular voice. 
Shit, you've heard it so many times over the course of your stay here that it is permanently burned into your psyche. The voice repeats the same and now you are sure that it is your name being moaned and a shiver runs up your spine. There is no mistaking it now that you detect that recognizable thick British accent. 
It's your lieutenant, that masked enigma himself, Simon Riley.
Instantly your cheeks feel like they are on fire as he repeats it again this time in more of a whimper. Is he really…? This has to be your overstimulated mind playing tricks on you. And yet there it is again, his deep voice grunting your name with more urgency as if he is intoxicated by the way that it rolls off his tongue and suddenly your head is spinning so that you aren’t immediately aware of what you’re doing.
Stop, you hear your inner thoughts swirl around the chaos inside your skull. What the hell are you thinking? Why are you going inside?
Even as you internally ask the questions, you can’t stop your feet that seem to have a mind of their own now and force you further inside the empty bathroom and over to the source of all those delicious sounds. The countless restless nights, the endless cravings for his presence that leave you desperate, the infinite amount of times you’ve touched yourself to the thought of him…your body needs this and it isn’t going to let you walk away until you see for yourself if this is real. 
If there is a chance…
The grunts come faster now as the lieutenant is about to blow when something catches his attention out of the corner of his eye. There is a shadow on the other side of the curtain that hadn’t been there before, a dark mass of a figure standing stock still just outside the thin plastic veil hiding him from the rest of the room. His blood runs cold, anger taking hold as he is forced to stop and confront whoever it is that has decided to disturb him with their presence. 
Who the fuck could be up at this time at night anyway and why now when he was nearly finished? He pulls back the curtain in one swift, irritated motion just enough to poke his head out and confront the bastard, but to his surprise who should be standing there then the one person he doesn’t need to come face to face with in this intimate moment. You stare back at him with wide eyes brightly shimmering in the fluorescent lighting overhead. 
“The fuck ya think you’re doin’?” he barks harshly, flustered by the awkward position you've found him in. “Do ya know what fuckin’ time it is? Ya should be down for tha night instead a skulkin’ about. I suggest ya get out and head back where you're supposed ta be.”
You hear the jarring response: should move, leave, follow his order, but you can't. The sight of the water glinting off his husky chest, beads of condensation sparkling through the light brown hair covering his sternum and down his abdomen, is too delicious a sight for you to pull your eyes from. You always knew that the lieutenant was a mass of muscle, it’s clear even through his bulky tactical gear, but to see it all in the flesh is another story. How are you meant to walk away from all that tantalizing, slick, heated skin?
Without even thinking, you step in closer. “I …don’t want to go.” 
“What?” The question comes out as a surprise.
You swallow. “I said I don’t want to go,” you reiterate.
You wrestle with yourself on what to do now that you’ve gotten here as he stares back at you in confusion, sensing how the air has suddenly seemed to shift all at once. Do you reveal the truth and tell him everything, including that you heard his desperate pleas? Will that be enough? Or do you do something else entirely? What if he rejects any advances just to save face? 
“What're ya…?” he starts to ask, only to lose the end of his sentence as you move in until the thin plastic curtain is the only thing keeping you apart. 
Screw it, you’ve come this far and that throbbing ache between your legs is ruling your actions now. This is a terrible idea, but that is the only type available at this time of night. Your heartbeat is in your ears as your gaze locks to his and your fingertips grab at the hem of your tank top to slowly drag it up over your torso and pull it off the top of your head. The skimpy bit of fabric hangs idly from your hand almost sweeping the floor as you stand there bare chested staring back at him. 
If this doesn’t make your intentions clear, then nothing will, and hopefully the temptation is enough to sway his actions.
Simon tries to inhale, but the wind has been knocked from his lungs and he can’t seem to get it back. Composure is his calling card and yet right now being in control isn’t an option anymore, not with the way you look like the most perfect treat he’s ever laid eyes on. He releases a shuddered breath that he didn’t know he was holding onto. There is a heat in his chest and it’s spreading through his limbs like a wildfire, ready to consume all the common sense he has left. Watching that hardened man break gives you new found confidence and you find your voice amidst the dibilitating rise in your blood pressure.
“I don’t want to go anywhere,” you manage to say without faltering. “Not after what I just heard.”
Fuck, he really has been found out.
“Do you think I haven’t noticed the way you can’t take your eyes off of me, sir?” you continue, the truth spilling out like the water from the shower. “You might think yourself slick because of the mask, but I swear whenever we’re near each other I can feel your gaze lingering on me. It’s not the same one you give the others, this one is different… and do you know the worst part?”
You let the question hang in the air for a moment even though Lt. Riley doesn’t even try to answer it; he can’t, he’s too overwhelmed. “The worst part is that I can’t get enough of it.”
The lieutenant’s vision is tunneled in on your sweet lips as he listens to your words, the desire to grab you and drag you to him spreading throughout his limbs at your confession. A few stray droplets of water drip down from the cropped tips of his dirty blond hair and hit the top of your shoes as he struggles to speak.
“This is a bad idea, luv,” he says as his final attempt to give you an out. “Ya should go ‘fore ya do somethin’ ya regret.”
You shake your head. “The only thing I’m going to regret is leaving. I can’t take another sleepless night. And it sounds like you can’t either.”
As you speak, you quietly slip your feet out of your shoes and toss your shirt haphazardly away and it crumples to a heap on the ground. “I need you… so bad. I can’t take it anymore. Please, don’t send me away.”
That’s it, all sense is completely gone as Simon Riley is no longer in control of his actions, not after hearing you plead for him to take you. Ripping open the curtain all the way, he silently pulls you into the shower and shoves you back into the tiled wall. Your big doe eyes peer up at him as the water mists from the showerhead above you and trickles off your eyelashes. 
He watches the droplets collect and sparkle like diamonds as they fall onto your delicate cheek, his bare chest heaving up and down laboriously with each panted breath as he takes in all he can now that he has the chance. His large hands glide over your arms as he truly contemplates the consequences of his actions, but there is no reprimand, no amount of punishment in this moment that can make him fight off the brunt of his attraction.
You stand in his presence only able to look on, mesmerized by finally being able to take in the enigma you’ve only rarely ever seen in bits and pieces and never this up close. Goddammit he’s handsome. All those stark, chiseled features, the light covering of brown stubble along his jaw, those brilliant eyes that are even more gorgeous now that they aren’t shadowed in his mask steal your breath away. Old, faded scars are speckled across his visage and trail down the length of his body, but even those take nothing away from his looks. 
Husky, bulked out muscles from years of hard physical labor, outline and glistening with water meet your gaze the further your eyes travel. The sheer girth of his body is enough to make your mouth salivate as you wait in anticipation for it to be molded into you, dwarfing yours in comparison. 
“Wanted this for so fuckin’ long, luv,” he breathes as his sight drifts down to the beautiful pair of naked breasts nearly pressing into his chest, bringing you back from your supor as you admire. “I need to hear ya say it, that I can ‘ave my way with ya.”
Anything, you’ll say anything to break that short, agonizing distance between you. “Fuck me,” you say, lips left parted as you wait for him to take the lead and break the tension.  
There is a ringing in his ears as if the entire world has suddenly fallen silent as the brunt of his suppressed desire floods immediately to the surface, overwhelming everything in a blink. Without a word he urgently cups both of his palms around either side of your head just behind your ears, thumbs resting along your jaw so that he can draw your face to him as he leans down into your face. He has to kiss you now; the need is suddenly so strong it’s like he is choking on it. You barely have a second to take a breath before he crashes his lips on your own.
He captures those soft bits of skin over and over again in desperately feverish waves, stealing the balmy air from your mouth to sustain the connection so that he doesn’t have to break it just yet. The last thing he wants to do is destroy this overwhelming magnetism that draws you both together and by your way you grab onto the meat of his hips to pull him tighter to you, he knows you feel it too.
Has anything ever felt more euphoric than the way your full, soft pout feels? Has anyone ever tasted as sweet, has he ever been more instantly hooked on the sensation of someone else’s mouth pressed to his? He can’t remember anymore. There is nothing else outside of you in this desperate moment. 
Releasing your face, his rough fingertips follow the curve of your spine down to roundness of your ass where he grabs handfuls to massage. So absorbed in your taste, the feeling of your lips, the heat of your breath, that it takes minutes for him to realize that there is still a barrier between your bodies: the shorts now damp from the shower still hopelessly clinging to your hips. They have to go as they are very shortly going to get in the way.
“Wanna get these fuckin’ things off,” he murmurs against your lips as he pulls the fabric down, miserably removing his mouth from your own so that he can help you step out of them. They are quickly tossed past the shower curtain and before they even can hit the ground he is harshly pressed back against you once again to steal your mouth and devour your kiss. 
Your moistened bodies slip across each other as the pressure builds and the movements become more desperate, him pushing his hardened cock into your pelvis as he grinds against you and shoving a thick thigh between your parted legs to give you something to hump. He fills your mouth with a muffled groan as the silky lips of your pussy connect with the skin; it’s better than he could have ever imagined it feeling and he cannot wait to get inside and be constricted by your walls squeezing around him, but there’s a little more he has to explore first.
Patience, he’s going savor this moment like it’s the only one he’ll ever get.
“Tha’s it,” he encourages in a short burst, trailing his lips down to your jaw towards your throat as you roll your hips hard to catch your clit on the muscle. “Fuck, ya do need it bad, don’t ya? I wanna hear it, tell me how bad you’ve needed it, luv.” 
Those hungry lips reach the side of your neck and start to suck, puckering the skin into his mouth and you struggle to remember how to talk through the sensitivity hazing your thoughts. “Everytime I have to see you… f-fuck…  can’t sleep. Have to keep … uuughh… t- touching myself for relief.”
His mouth continues to trail lower and lower down the contours of your body, leaving warm, moist kisses along the skin of your collarbone and over the side of your chest. “Keep going,” he orders.  
You gulp down another moan as his burning lips lock to your breast, suctioning to the areola while that agile tongue flicks over the very tip of your nipple until it’s stiff. God, your tits are like heaven, so soft and juicy as they fill his mouth.  His hand palms over the other breast and begins to play; he won’t leave that one to not receive any attention.
“Can’t…focus,” you stammer, “can’t think of anything except you. Begging into the dark for you…to take me…to make me yours.”
“Think ‘a my cock a lot, luv?” he asks amused as he switches sides and takes the other breast into his hungry mouth.
The heat in your face makes your cheeks feel swollen. “I…do,” you admit as if you both aren’t already naked and humping each other. 
“Wonderin’ what it would feel like?”
“Wanting it inside me,” you add.
His hand leaves your chest and moves between your bodies to grab yours and bring it down to wrap around the girth of his shaft. “It don’t ‘ave to be a mystery anymore, sweetheart.” 
Goddammit, he’s big. You’d barely had time to register the look of it before his mouth was plastered to yours and though you can feel it grinding into you, now that it is in your fist it makes your breath hitch. “F-fuck…” you moan as your hand slides up and down the length.
Simon’s cock twitches as if in response to the ache in your voice and you can feel its heartbeat. The thrill to know you have a strong grip on such a man as the lieutenant, that it is you he wants, it’s you he needs, that his cock is hard just for you makes you grind against him with eyes closed trying to make yourself come.  
“Gonna stuff ya full,” he groans from the pressure you apply as you continue to work him. “Stretch out your sweet pussy.”
“Yes,” you whimper. “Please.”
The steam billows around your conjoined bodies, condensation enfolding you in a layer of mist as if you’re stuck in a dream when he finally emerges hastily from your chest with lips puffy and red from the suction. He rips your hand from around him as the pressure has almost reached the point of no return and aggressively he picks you up as if you weigh nothing; he’s stronger than you realized to be able to lift you almost effortlessly. 
“Put your legs ‘round me. Now,” he barks sharply and you do as you’re told. He braces your back up against the wall for leverage as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and his sight drifts down between your bodies. 
“Ready for me?” he asks, but it doesn’t sound like a question. 
A nod is all he is going to get, the inside of your mouth tasting like copper as you bite your cheek to keep quiet as his swollen tip slips through your petals to find the opening, rubbing up against your swollen clit. Your slick coats his cock, a clear sign that he’s good to go. It takes him only a moment with a slight adjustment of his hips to align with his target.
“Deep breath, sweet girl,” he says as he raises his gaze to peer back into your eyes and with a thrust the fat tip pushes through the threshold of your aching, throbbing core, stretching it wide as it takes him in.
Instantly you choke on the moan that stuffs your mouth full and you have to clamp your lips shut to keep it from escaping. The lieutenant does the same, but you can feel the bass vibrate through his chest as his steel-like grip digs harshly into your waist.
“Goddamn, sweetheart, you’re so fuckin’ tight,” he says breathily through a lustful chuckle, fighting off the urge to blow his load before he’s even gotten all the way in, “but ya can take more, can’t ya?”
Another nod, more enthusiastic this time and again he thrusts past the tip down his veiny shaft and reaches the base. You can’t hold it in anymore, the way his cock fills you so full makes you lose yourself. Eye closed, you can’t stop the loud moan that you let out and the sound reverberates off the walls of the cramped space until it is amplified. To think you were ever going to satisfy yourself with only your fingers when all of this was waiting for you to discover seems almost comical now.  
The lieutenant’s large hand rushes to cover over your mouth. “Gotta be quiet for me. Don’t need anyone comin’ in and ruinin’ this. I’m not done with ya yet, luv; gotta make ya come for me first.”
The shine in your glazed-over eyes gives him your answer and he removes his hand with a nod as he knows an even better solution to keep you quiet. He leans back in and his lips pull yours into their secure embrace before he risks slipping in his tongue to wrestle with yours; can’t make much noise with your mouth so full.  
There’s no way he is going to calm down enough now to stave off his orgasm for much longer and so with your mouths connected he starts to thrust, dragging himself nearly out of your core before slamming back up into you. Every thrust strikes up into your pussy shoving him in as deep as he can get, your body shaking from the force as your back is dragged up and down along the wall. The moisture on the walls keeps the friction low so you can move easily with his percussive hits into your body.
So fucking wet, so goddamn tight, how is he meant to not fall apart? Simon can’t help rutting into all that goodness like an animal hell bent on capturing every bit of pleasure he can. Lost in the feeling his rhythm wavers, but breaking from your mouth and taking a few deep breaths he gets himself right back on track. As he bucks wildly up into you your arms hold on tightly around the back of his neck and you notice how the muscles tense with each of his strong thrusts. 
“Need ya ta come for me… need it so goddamn bad…” 
There is no hiding the desperation in his words. He has to know that your body belongs to him now, that after tonight you won’t ever even think of straying from him. You’re his, his, and after all the agony he’s endured before getting here, he has to make sure of it. 
That burn deep in the muscle starts to shoot through his thighs, but he doesn’t slow and the more he works the more that warmth gathers in the pit of your stomach. You’ve dreamed of moments like this for so long it becomes overwhelming: the feeling of his skin against yours, his cock buried deep inside you, his honeyed words conveying everything you’ve wanted to hear; it’s euphoric.
You whimper and quickly breathe it out. “Fuck, gonna come.” 
“Tha’s it, sweetheart. Almost there,” he coaxes, secretly knowing that at any moment he is going to come too. “Jus’ let go and come for me. Let me feel it, pretty girl.” 
It’s there, it’s so close. That sweet release is within reach. “A-ah…fuck… almost there…”
“My good girl,” he grunts, “come on my fuckin’ cock.” 
Your heart is beating out of your chest as the pleasure builds until all at once, like the flick of a switch, your core contracts and all of that intensity explodes in a blast of warmth that flows through your limbs. Leaning forward, you bury your face in his shoulder and whimper as you ride out that wave of ecstasy.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he groans behind clenched teeth at the feeling as your core constricts around him, sending him over the edge. 
Wrenching his cock out as fast as he can, he angles it up between your bodies. You regain some composure, enough to instinctively reach for it to stroke him the rest of the way through. His hot, milky cum dribbles onto your stomach in short bursts while his upper body twitches as you work out all you can. Finally, he falls in against you and places his hand on top of yours to force you to stop.
The sound of the running water conceals the sound of your combined breathing as you both come back down from that high and he can set you back on your feet carefully. Back on solid ground you both just stand there quietly taking in the moment and all that just happened until the lieutenant breaks the silence.
“Think you’ll be able ta sleep now?” he asks as his fingertips caress over the heat in your cheeks.
You nod with a smile spread across your lips. “But I’m not sure about tomorrow night,” you say with a glimmer in your eyes. “Might be up again.”
Biting his lip he tilts his head away as he tries not to show how much it excites him to hear you say that, rubbing his hand over his head to slick back his short hair. “Well, we can’t have that,” he says. “Right now, though, I got a mess ta clean up.”
There is one last, deep kiss waiting for you before he gently pulls you under the showerhead to wash away the evidence of what happened here tonight. As he watches the water run down off your delicious curves and flow down the drain, he realizes that this is going to become an even bigger problem than he had before… but fuck is he ready for it.
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lightseoul · 4 months ago
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cw. worker!reader, prohero!katsuki, aged-up (25), some more pining, cussing (bkg-typical), mentions of food, we're finally meeting the bakugous!, angst (if you look closely)
words. 4.8k (see why i had to split it...)
a/n. we have one more chapter to go, y'all! i'd love to hear your thoughts about the series so far, as well as how you think it's gonna end <3
masterlist | part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 9
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It doesn’t elude you that the air entering your nostrils and lungs through the shaky inhale you take is nothing short of crisp.
It’s early evening in the suburbs where Bakugou’s parents live just in the peripheries of Musutafu. The sunset that graced you through the man’s car windows on the way over was now nowhere to be seen, having been replaced by the sight of the waning gibbous with a sprinkle of stars dotting the night sky.
Something you rarely see in the city, you think to yourself.
Your head craned towards the infinite ceiling, you continue to admire the view, or at least try to do so—the act seemingly becoming more and more impossible by the second, what with your nerves shot and your stomach churning with anticipatory anxiety.
Bakugou must have noticed your wobbly breathing, because the man side-eyes you for a beat before finally speaking. “What are you, nervous?”
You turn your head to look at him, taking in the sight of your boss in a dark brown sweater with a white collar peeking out at the top in an effort to ground yourself, although you find you’re not feeling any calmer.
You hesitate for a moment, before heaving another jittery, somewhat resigned, sigh.
No point in hiding the truth now.
You shrug, “Yeah…”
“Don’t be,” he promptly replies, catching you off guard. His voice is serious and deceivingly firm when he finishes it off.
“They’re gonna like you.”
You don’t get the chance to think about how to respond, let alone react instinctively because the front door opens as if on cue, and out comes a relatively tall woman with ash blonde hair, followed by a slightly taller brown-haired man.
You’ve barely gotten a word in when you get scooped into the arms of the woman you now identify as Bakugou Mitsuki, and when she pulls away and keeps you at arm's length—beaming, no less, in what you hope is happiness—it takes everything in you not to gawk at how stunning the woman is.
“…You’re overwhelming her, honey,” you hear the man, who you assume is Bakugou Masaru, say worriedly at your right side.
“Oh, right,” Mitsuki hurriedly releases her hold of you and retracts her hands, flashing you a bright albeit apologetic smile right after. “Forgive me, it’s just that I never thought this day would come!”
At that, she shoots Bakugou, who’s standing beside your left, a pointed look before turning back to grin at you, “I can’t believe Katsuki has finally brought a girl home!”
You don’t have to look at the man beside you to know he’s sporting a scowl. “Watch it, old hag,” he growls.
“You watch it, child. Mind how you talk to your mother in front of your girl.”
You can’t help the chuckle that escapes you as you watch the exchange, inadvertently catching the two blondes’ attention, their gazes drifting toward you at the sound. After a brief second, and to your relief, Mitsuki starts laughing along but Bakugou only looks away in what you think is irritation.
“Well, this girl is grateful for the invite, Mitsuki-san,” you start, mustering your most thankful smile. “But I hope I’m not imposing on your family…”
Mitsuki is quick to respond with a wave of a hand, “Not at all! You’re our guest of honor. Please, make yourself at home!”
Masaru nods in agreement, extending his right hand for you to shake, which you happily do. His smile is gentle—a stark contrast to Bakugou’s default expressions, you note—when he finally invites the both of you in. As you do—eager to escape the cold—you glance at Bakugou behind you, who’s apparently already been looking at you, although he averts his gaze when your eyes make contact.
Again with that solemn expression.
That unsettling expression drops down to the bottom of your list of priorities, however, when you enter the threshold of their home. You’re immediately hit with a glorious combination of fragrances emanating from what you think is the kitchen at the far side of the room.
“Everything smells great, Mitsuki-san,” you offer, hoping the sincerity can be heard from your tone.
You think it must have because the woman instantly lights up at the comment, “Why, thank you! Every day’s not Thanksgiving, after all.”
You nod, following them along into the living room, taking a seat on the corduroy couch opposite Mitsuki upon Masaru’s wordless invitation. “It’s so nice how you guys go all out to celebrate the holiday.”
You note how Bakugou, who’s planted on the armrest beside Mitsuki, frowns at the compliment.
“What?” you ask him before you can stop yourself, curious.
“They don’t really celebrate it,” he grunts, before tossing his mother a borderline disgusted look. “The old hag is just using it as an excuse to invite you over.”
That quip grants him a smack in the head from the said “hag”. Bakugou doesn’t yelp or cry in pain, although he does let out a slight hiss. You, again, can’t help the smile that creeps on your face as you watch them.
Mitsuki is facing Bakugou as she tuts in what you think is a warning, before turning to regard you again, a grin now having replaced the reprimanding expression that had just been on her face a second ago.
It grows even wider when she says: “What do you say we leave the rest of the cooking up to the boys and we go through Katsuki’s photo albums?”
“S-sure!” you quickly respond, the entirety of the suggestion not registering for a beat until it does, your head whipping to look at the man as you blurt out: “Bakugou, you can cook?”
At that, Mitsuki’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, eyes darting between the both of you. “Wait, are you saying he’s never cooked for you before?” Mitsuki asks, incredulous.
She then turns to her son, who now has his arms crossed in front of his broad chest like a petulant child, “Young man, what have you been doing?”
“God, relax,” Bakugou groans as he stands up from where he was seated, rolling his eyes as he makes his way to the kitchen. “We’ve just been busy with work. No time for that shit.”
“Busy with work, my ass,” she calls out to him, before once again turning to face you. “And honey, there’s no need to be all formal around us. Go ahead and call Katsuki by his first name—there’s really nothing to be shy about.”
Before you can think against it, your eyes widen in surprise for a fraction of a second before you school your face into what you think is an appropriate enough expression. “R-right, sorry.”
You chance a glance at the man, who’s now hacking away at the green onions like a madman albeit quite expertly, what you think is red creeping up his face in nothing else but scornful exasperation.
“So,” Mitsuki starts, and you turn back to see her wiggling her eyebrows at you, “about the photo albums?”
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Just as Mitsuki suggested, you busied yourself with photo albums filled to the brim with close documentation of Bakugou growing up while the two men finished up in the kitchen. It didn’t come as a surprise that Bakugou was a cute kid, a signature boyish grin decorating his face in the few pictures where he isn’t scowling or glaring at the camera. You greedily took in the seemingly mundane details of Bakugou’s childhood as Mitsuki narrated the backstory of each photograph, smiling and even laughing along when she cracked a joke about how her son must have been born as the proverbial grump based on how early he learned how to glower.
Bakugou didn’t say anything the entire time you pore over the albums, probably used to his mom mouthing about her only child to friends and family who are willing to listen. Before you know it, dinner is eventually served, and the dishes that Bakugou and Masaru would bring from the island countertops to their hardwood dining table looked nothing short of scrumptious. It didn’t take long for you to conclude that they tasted exactly how they looked.
“Everything tastes incredible, but the miso ramen is glorious, Mitsuki-san,” you piped up in the middle of dinner.
The woman only tossed you a pleased, somewhat knowing look. “You’ve got your boyfriend to thank for that, dear.”
You must have looked like a deer in the headlights, because the man of the hour’s parents laugh at your expression. You stole a glance at Bakugou, who only slurped at his bowl in silence, face schooled into a rather neutral countenance.
A steady conversation gradually enveloped the four of you as you went ham on dinner, and you now find your shoulders relaxing, the tension from earlier leaving your body. You discuss current events, which then leads to Masaru asking Bakugou about how the agency is fairing in light of the recent spikes in crimes. The topic then drifts to you, like what’s your family like and what your parents do for a living; it shifts afterward to how work is going for them in the fashion industry, to the couple's retirement plans, with Mitsuki waxing poetic about how they really need to be there for each other when they do retire because Bakugou doesn’t visit them enough. To that, the man only scowls, mumbling something about how he does, in fact, visit them enough, and that the “old hag’s” definition of enough is stupidly skewed.
“But enough about us!” Mitsuki completely disregards Bakugou’s retort, shifting in her seat to address you, “I’ve actually been dying to ask you this question since you arrived. I know our Katsuki isn’t the easiest—”
“Hah?”
“—guy to be around, and so I’m really glad he was able to find someone as lovely as you. So,” Mitsuki tosses you a playful look, “what do you like about Katsuki?”
You barely stop yourself from choking on the maki roll lodged in your throat, quickly swallowing it rather painfully as you scramble for the proper way to react and respond. From the corner of your eye, you see Bakugou shift uncomfortably in his seat, but he doesn’t say anything to shut down his mother or even shift the topic of the conversation.
“Uh—” you start lamely, “What do I like about… him?”
At that, Mitsuki laughs good-naturedly. “Surely there has to be something, right? Please, indulge this old lady!”
You chuckle along with her, albeit rather awkwardly, before clearing your throat.
The only way to make it out of this conversation alive and relatively unscathed is by lacing your answers with the truth.
And so you do.
“Ba—” you start, catching yourself in the nick of time, “K-Katsuki—” you pause again, hating the way you uttered his name so tentatively like it’s something obviously foreign, “—is the most dedicated person I know.”
Mitsuki only nods in encouragement, as if urging you to go on.
And right now, you find that you’re nothing if not a people-pleaser.
“He’s admirable—there’s a reason why he’s risen to the top this quickly and stayed there,” you nod, pleased at what you think is certainty bleeding into your tone. “I don’t have any problems at all leading the HR department, what with him being the best example of what an outstanding work ethic looks like.”
The room falls into a lull, and as the seconds tick by with no one saying anything, you’re starting to think you said the wrong thing when Mitsuki finally speaks up.
“That—that’s great to hear, dear, really.” She seems to hesitate for a moment before holding your gaze again, and you brace yourself for what she’s about to say next.
“…But what about outside of work?”
There it is.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Uh—” you parrot again, mentally slapping yourself for stuttering when you can just keep your mouth shut while you think of an acceptable reply like a normal, sane person.
You glance at Bakugou, who’s now looking at you in what you think is anticipation.
Despite yourself, you feel yourself flush.
Yet you’re unable to break away from his gaze when the words finally come to you.
“…He cares,” you manage to miraculously get out while Bakugou’s crimson eyes bore a hole into you. “…Deeply. And, he makes sure it shows in his actions.”
You watch as Bakugou studies you for a few more seconds as if he’s searching for something—you don’t know what—hidden amidst your features, eventually averting his gaze back to his plate.
You follow suit, looking down at your half-finished ebi tempura, suddenly feeling too self-conscious and oddly vulnerable.
It’s Mitsuki’s soft voice that causes you to look up again.
“That’s… everything I wanted to hear,” Mitsuki almost whispers, and you think if you squint hard enough you can see tears pooling in her eyes.
You shoot her a tight-lipped smile, sensing an unusual sense of uneasiness blooming in your gut.
Thankfully, and to your relief, Mitsuki doesn’t ask any more equally humiliating questions after that, the conversation having been steered to more shallow and light-hearted topics, primarily by Masaru. Without you noticing, dinner time reaches its conclusion and it’s now time to clean up.
You stand up from your chair and start gathering leftovers to stack the plates right after when Mitsuki reaches across the table and pries them off your grip. You look at her in confusion, but she only shakes her head.
“We’ll handle the cleaning, dear.”
Behind her, Masaru nods in agreement, and you’re about to open your mouth to protest but Bakugou beats you to it.
“No use arguing with the old hag. Just give it up.”
At that, you sag in disappointment—you really wanted to pay them back, even if it’s just through helping out with cleaning—but obey nevertheless, putting down the cutlery you were just about to gather into a bunch.
Now with nothing to do with your hands, you stand at the edge of the table awkwardly, watching the couple swiftly clearing out the area. Masaru seems to notice your discomfort because he speaks up.
“Hey, Katsuki,” he starts, “why don’t you show her around your bedroom?”
Almost immediately, Mitsuki beams at her husband, evidently enthralled by the proposition. You fight the strong urge to furrow your eyebrows in worry. “That’s a good idea, honey. I bet she’d love to see your childhood knickknacks, Katsuki!”
You steal a glimpse of Bakugou—or his back, really—who’s now seated on the couch with a leg propped on it.
He’s not saying anything.
Why isn’t he saying anything?
You gulp despite yourself, shifting to face Mitsuki with a grimace-smile. “It’s okay, I don’t want to make him uncomfo—”
“Come on.”
You almost get whiplash from how fast you turn to look at Bakugou, who apparently isn’t giving you a chance to argue, already walking up the stairs to the second floor. You look back at his parents, who only gesture you to go on.
Well.
You guess you’re going, then.
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You trail behind Bakugou in silence, your footsteps echoing through the stairway as you go up, one step at a time. Once you land on top of the staircase, you follow him as he turns to the right, down to the door at the end of the hallway, which you now identify as his bedroom.
He pauses a few feet away from the entryway, reaching forward for the knob and turning to face you right after, an indiscernible expression etched on his face.
“Don’t fuckin’—nose around,” he grumbles, voice gruff, “or some shit.” Despite his half-hearted warning, he opens the door, leaning back against it so you can squeeze in and enter.
Typical of the King of Consistency, Bakugou’s childhood bedroom is as impeccable as every other personal space of his that you’ve got the honor of visiting. The gray walls are pristine and are only disrupted by posters of pro-heroes, mostly of All Might, but also like that of Best Jeanist and Endeavor. Piles and piles of books line the shelves at the room's corners, speckled and lightly decorated with figurines and what you think are older gaming consoles. You study the rest of the arrangements, and before you can think against it, you find yourself smiling as you survey the room, feeling a paradoxical sense of comfort blanket you.
“…What’re you fucking smiling about, dumbass?”
At the call out, the expression on your face immediately falls. You glance back at the man who’s now leaning against the doorframe, arms once again crossed in front of his chest.
“N-nothing,” you immediately retort. “It’s just that your room is so clean and well-kept.” You pause, hesitating to say the next thing, but ultimately decide to go for it. “It’s very… you.”
You don’t know what you expected him to say or do in response—an eye roll, or a lazy scoff, or a challenge, daring you to expound on what the fuck you mean “it’s very him”, maybe?
But again, Bakugou doesn’t say anything; he simply grunts.
Against your will, you feel a wave of disappointment course through you.
“…Your parents seem like such great people,” you muse, finding yourself wanting to salvage the conversation as you continue to take in the endearing details of your boss’s childhood bedroom.
Bakugou grunts again, only this time you think it’s in agreement. “They’re alright,” he grinds out, “can get a bit overbearing at times, though.”
You hum in reply, sensing a seed of happiness blossoming within you at the thought of him opening up. “I get that. But I can clearly see they love you very much.”
The man hums back, sounding deep in thought.
Your fingers absentmindedly trail the backrest of his desk chair. “Your mom said you don’t really visit as much. Is that true or was she just pulling your leg?”
At that, Bakugou heaves such a heavy sigh, that it catches your full attention. “I haven’t been here since around early this year.”
You gawk, “Seriously?”
He shoots you a glare, although there’s not much bite to it. “Don’t look at me like that. You know how it is at work.”
You nod, “…You do put in an alarming number of hours.”
“Well, it’s not like I have a choice, do I?” he immediately retorts, although the question seems more rhetorical.
Despite that, you steel yourself to answer back this time. “I think you actually do. I know of so many heroes who treat their jobs like the typical 9 to 5. Believe me, I hear things at work, too.”
“…What are you trying to say?”
His voice is so uncharacteristically small, it catches you off guard.
In return, you try to make your voice as gentle as possible. “I’m saying I meant what I said earlier during dinner. It’s admirable—the work that you do. I think that’s what really sets you apart from all the others, putting aside your flashy ass quirk.”
You take a gamble and toss a smirk Bakugou’s way.
If you didn’t know any better, you’d think the man was at a loss for words.
Well, there is a first for everything.
Suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed over the bold move you just pulled, you take advantage of the silence, walking a few steps towards the other wall. You carefully brush your hand against what looks like a vintage-looking All Might poster above the headboard of his bed.
“I didn’t know you liked All Might this much.”
His reply is almost instantaneous: “He’s only the best hero to exist ever.”
You, again, fail to restrain the smile that breaches your face. It’s adorable how defensive he’s become in a split second, having transformed into the diehard fanboy that he apparently is.
“Is he the kind of hero you aspire to eventually become?” you ask, curiosity bubbling in your head.
He shifts on his feet, taking a few steps in your direction. “Yeah,” he pauses, before continuing, “the kind that always wins.”
“Oh, now I know where that line from before came from.”
As if immediately knowing what you're talking about, Bakugou flushes in what you think is anger, but the more you stare at him, it becomes clearer that it’s more akin to embarrassment.
“Shut up.”
You snort, “So the philosophy you gleaned from All Might—that applies to all aspects of your life? Including being your underling’s fake trophy boyfriend?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
You can’t help the giggle that erupts from you as you watch Bakugou stew in what you think is shame, squirming from where he’s standing as if he’s itching to jump and strangle your frame. The man, once again, glares at you, but if anything, you can tell he’s more frustrated with himself than with you.
Still, you find yourself feeling bad. “Sorry,” you start, fighting the urge to chuckle, “I was just kidding.”
“You’re a fucking handful, you know that?”
At that, you pout, the words tumbling off your mouth before you can rein them in. “Sorry, sir.”
“Don’t—” Bakugo splutters, “fucking—stop calling me sir, dumbass. And,” he frowns, “stop calling yourself as my underling. That shit sounds fucking demeaning.”
“Okay, okay,” you laugh, flashing him a grateful smile. He doesn’t return it, opting to roll his eyes and look away instead, but the corners of his lips are twitching like he’s fighting them from curling upwards.
An abrupt thought crosses your mind at that very sight of him.
And before you can talk yourself out of it, you blurt it out.
“I’m glad.”
Bakugou meets your gaze, an eyebrow raised in question. “You’re glad what?”
You shrug, fighting down the self-consciousness. “I’m glad to see you seem more relaxed and comfortable. I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I’ve noticed you’ve been extra scowly lately—if that is even a word.”
“I have not.”
“Yes, you have. The other workers at the agency have noticed, too.”
“Who the fu—”
“I’m not dropping any names,” you interject, “but some have approached me asking if we were, you know, okay?”
You peer at the man, who’s now refusing to look at you. You brace yourself for what you’re about to ask. “Are we? Okay?”
Bakugou, again, conveniently decides to be mute.
“Did I do something wrong to slight you, or something? Or have I crossed a line during that get-together with your friends that one time? Because if I have, I want you to know that I really didn’t mean t—”
“I thought you didn’t want to come over,” he cuts you off.
You freeze. “What?”
He finally meets your gaze, a frown now seemingly permanently etched on his face. “Here. To my parents’. And you’ve been acting all weird around me, stuttering and stuff.”
Shit.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Bakugou huffs, “Am I making you uncomfortable, or some shit?”
You can only gape at the man who looks so pained, as if this conversation is physically hurting him, which, it probably is, knowing him. You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.
He seems to notice this, because his frown grows even deeper. “What, am I?”
“No!” you exclaim, thankful to finally have your voice back. You vigorously shake your head, “No, please don’t think that. I—just—I just have a lot on my mind lately, that’s why. Explains why I’m all jumpy and stammering and all over the place.”
To your relief, Bakugou doesn’t prod any further, although you can sense a bit of suspicion emanating from the man despite your answer. He stares at you for another beat before shaking his head in resignation, opting to check his watch instead.
“It’s getting late. Let’s go downstairs and tell them we’re leaving.”
And just like that, Bakugou turns his back towards you and exits the bedroom.
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Right after you followed Bakugou down to the living room where Mitsuki and Masaru were enjoying a glass of red wine, you informed the couple that you were leaving. The brunette immediately got to work, packing viands into Tupperware for you to take home despite your silent protests. Mitsuki, on the other hand, tried to convince you to stay for another hour or so, but Bakugou wasn’t hearing any of it. After finally accepting that she was getting nowhere with her case, Mitsuki called on her husband to see you out by the front porch.
With a bag of aromatic dishes in one hand, you stand in front of their doorway, not knowing what to say for the nth time in one night. You chance a glance towards Bakugou’s direction, the man having entered his car already, starting up the engine in preparation for the drive back home.
But you apparently don’t have to say anything because it’s Mitsuki who fills the air.
Her smile is so gentle and motherly that you can’t help the painful throb your heart makes at the sight. It’s quickly followed by the now-familiar feeling of uneasiness that has been revisiting you again and again since the evening started.
Still, you manage to smile back. At the sight of it, Mitsuki’s expression grows even brighter.
And her voice is low when she finally speaks.
“Don’t tell Katsuki this, but I’m glad you’re the one he’s decided to finally come meet us.” She reaches out to rub your shoulder, her smile not faltering, “I can see why.”
Thankfully, Mitsuki scoops you into another hug, sparing you the embarrassment and burden of having to react and respond with some intelligible reply to such a groundbreaking statement one can receive from any guy’s mother, no less.
At the couple’s request, you promise to visit again soon, and before you get to break character and admit to your mountain of lies in a crying heap, you beeline to the car and hop into the passenger seat.
Voice gruff, Bakugou nods at you. “Ready?”
You swallow thickly.
“Ready.”
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The car ride home was silent. It felt long—longer than an hour, at least, your brain buzzing with unpleasant thoughts and stomach churning with anxious feelings the entire duration of it. You couldn’t seem to fall asleep no matter how much you tried. Eventually, you gave up trying to mid-way, opting to stew in whatever the fuck is going on with you instead.
You were so engrossed in your brooding that you didn’t notice Bakugou pulling into your apartment complex’s driveaway.
At the sound of his voice announcing your arrival, you sit up in your seat in alarm before promptly gathering your things, saying your usual quick goodbye and thank you, and stepping out of the car.
To your surprise, however, he puts the car in park and follows suit, stepping out of the vehicle himself.
You hesitate for a moment before starting the short trek toward the entrance, acutely aware of Bakugou trailing behind you.
When you get to the entryway, you finally turn to regard the man, whose eyes dart down to look directly at you, hands in his pockets.
In spite of yourself, you gulp. “Thank you… for today, Bakugou.”
He merely shakes his head, expression neutral. “I should be the one thanking you. You didn’t have to come with and suffer through all that with me, yet you did.”
“I didn’t suffer,” you’re quick to correct him because you didn’t. “I actually had a really nice time. Your parents were so kind to me, and I just—I…”
“What?”
You shake your head, unsure how to accurately phrase what you’re feeling. “I just feel bad, you know? You could be bringing home a girl that you actually like to meet your parents who they can fawn over instead of me, yet here you are presenting a decoy and fooling the people who raised you all because I—”
“Hey—”
“I roped you into pretending to be my boyfriend and now look at the mess we’ve made. And I know—”
“Stop it.”
His voice comes out so commanding that there’s nothing you can do but obey.
Bakugou frowns. “You didn’t ‘rope’ me into doing this, okay? I— We—” he hesitates, mouth opening and closing then opening and closing again before he finally just shakes his head in defeat. “I entered this arrangement willingly. You don’t have to blame yourself for anything.”
“But—”
“End of discussion.”
At that, you huff in irritation, but you know better than to argue with your notoriously stubborn boss. Nevertheless, and despite yourself, you can’t help but feel the gratitude that blooms in your chest at Bakugou’s reassurance.
“Now get in there,” he gestures to the apartment, “It’s getting way too fucking cold.”
As if on cue, you involuntarily shudder, which grants you a wordless ‘See?’ from the man. With a final nod, you reluctantly follow his orders and enter through the doorway, although you don’t immediately go to the elevator hall. Instead, you stand by the windows, finding yourself wanting to make sure Bakugou doesn’t get jumped on his way back to the car.
And as you watch Bakugou’s receding backside, the guilt that you’ve been tirelessly suppressing the entire night finally breaks free, threatening to swallow you whole.
This can’t go on.
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˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 they make such a huge, huge difference! have an awesome day ( ˘ ³˘)
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h0neylevi · 5 months ago
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Levi Month - Day 21 (Post-War: Children)
cw: canonverse/post-war, written with fem!reader in mind, suggestive sexual content, established relationship, mostly domestic fluff
word count: 857
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“I found condoms in Falco’s room today.”
You peek over the top of your book to find Levi frowning in the bathroom doorway.
He had quietly retreated into the room several minutes ago for his usual nighttime routine, leaving you with the job of locking up and shutting off the lights. If relinquishing that task hadn’t been enough to clue you in that something was wrong, the familiar little scrunch of concern that is now etched between his eyebrows says everything. He’s worried.
Despite his obvious displeasure, the revelation still makes you smile. It isn’t the news necessarily–that isn’t as shocking to you as it apparently is to Levi. You’ve witnessed enough by accident of Gabi and Falco hurriedly pulling away from one another in the empty kitchen to know that something was going on.
But the second bedroom–first door on the left down the hall–is actually a guest bedroom. In the years since you and Levi have relocated and the restoration project began, a number of people have used it–Connie, Jean, Onyankopon, even you–but it seems that Levi has subconsciously deemed it Falco’s. It’s so like him to reveal his feelings in such an unintentional way. It’s cute.
You decide to tuck away that knowledge instead of antagonizing him for once and shrug.
“At least they’re being responsible,” you reply and return to your book.
Quietly, Levi crosses the room, a look of dissatisfaction still polluting his expression as he sinks onto his side of the bed.
“You’re not worried about it?” he asks.
You turn, meeting his concerned gaze with a sardonic tilt of your head. “Tell me you weren’t thinking about sex at his age.”
His lips purse slightly, and you know you’ve made your point when the tips of his ears begin to turn a faint shade of pink. “I wasn’t acting on it,” he says as if that makes any real difference.
You laugh. “Well, I think that was more because of your circumstances than anything else.”
He doesn’t say anything to refute what you say. Instead, Levi settles into his side of the bed, propped upright on the pillows next to you. With a slow sigh, his hand finds your thigh much like it does almost every night. It’s an idle touch, one that you’re not even sure he realizes he does anymore, but it still causes you to scoot closer, seeking out his warmth.
“That doesn’t mean they should be having sex. They’re kids,” he continues, seemingly still preoccupied with the topic. “Maybe we should talk to them.”
“Gabi and Falco are almost eighteen, Levi,” you point out, not looking up from your page. “I’m sure their parents have already had that kind of talk with them. Pretty soon they’ll have little ones of their own running around. And that’s what we fought for anyway, right? For people to live and fall in love. Have families, grow old.”
He doesn’t reply.
For a few minutes, you sit like this, absorbed in your book. Coaxed into comfort by the slow caress of Levi’s thumb on your skin. Some nights, Levi will read over your shoulder, and you think that’s what he’s doing again tonight, until–
“Have you ever thought about it?”
You don’t look up when you ask, “About what?”
“Having kids.”
Your eyes stutter on the page before freezing entirely. Any attempt to recall anything you just read is impossible, so you carefully bookmark your place at the end of the chapter and set the book aside.
Levi is already watching you when you turn, the expression in his one good eye now open and passive.
“I have,” you tell him slowly. “But never seriously. Never thought I’d get the chance to.”
He nods to assert he knows what you mean. It’s difficult to dream for a future when each day feels like it may be your last. It’s a feeling you’re both well accustomed to.
He keeps his gaze fixed and even in a way that makes your heart flutter. “And now?” he asks.
You swallow.
An implication sits in the air that you’re sure is intentional. You’ve been by Levi’s side as a comrade for almost a decade but as his partner for only a fraction of that time, only revealing your feelings a few months after the battle at Fort Salta. Thankfully, he had reciprocated.
And now, he’s asking if you want children with him.
Scenarios immediately flash through your mind. Ones of Levi holding a little boy with his eyes and your nose. Others of a little girl with both of her parents wrapped around her finger.
It conjures an indescribable feeling, but if you had to choose, you think joy might be the closest thing to it.
“I’d like that,” you finally say, eyes focusing on him once more. “But we’re not exactly young anymore. We’d have to start trying soon.”
There’s a small twitch of his mouth upwards–the tiniest of movements that you’ve come to recognize as the precursor to mischief. So when he reaches to pull you in for a kiss, you’re not surprised when he says, “We can start trying right now.”
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whatswrongwithblue · 8 months ago
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Imagine Angel Dust questioning you on your sex life with Alastor
Part 2
“C’mon toots, you gotta give me something!”
“I absolutely do not,” you say stubbornly, turning away from the spider demon but he just scooted closer to you on the couch, practically looming over you.
“Pleeeaaase. I can’t figure the guy out. He’s all flamboyant and goofy one minute and then terrifying and menacing the next. How does that translate in bed? Is he a bottom? A switch? A top?” Angel leaned impossibly closer, his voice taking on a more conspiratorial tone. “Does he let you peg him?”
“Angel!” you exclaimed, leaning over the side of the couch to get away, “that is really none of your business! And he would rip your arms off if he heard you asking such things.”
Angel Dust huffed, frustrated, and folded both sets of arms across his chest, practically pouting.
“This is just unfair. I tell you so much about my work, I don’t hold anything back.”
“I wish you would,” you mumbled, recalling the last disturbingly detailed conversation you were forced to listen to. You still shuddered when you thought about your friend participating in “sounding” or “donkey shows.”
“Alright, well you gotta at least tell me this much,” he said, sitting back up and holding two hands up in front of him. “How big is the guy?”
You shook your head, trying to pull out your phone and ignore him.
“This big?” he asked, holding his hands out about 8 inches apart. “Or this big?” His hands got a couple inches farther apart. “Or, I know, he’s gotta be like THIS big, huh?” Angel’s hands were now over a foot apart from each other.
“Oh my God, don’t be gross Angel, that wouldn’t even fit inside of me.”
“Okaaaaaay,” Angel said with a smirk, “so not as big as some of the Hellhounds I gotta take up the ass.”
“Please stop,” you groan, burying your face in your hands.
“Not until you tell me something juicy about your boyfriend.”
“Ugggghh, seriously, fine,” you say, defeated, and Angel sat forward eagerly, “I mean you’ve obviously seen him shape shift into taller forms. So, let’s just say . . . he’s as big as he . . . or I . . . want him to be.”
“Hmmmm,” Angel said, raising an eyebrow. “That’s not a lot to go off of but I think I like your way of thinking. So, like this big then?”
You didn’t even look over to see how far apart Angel’s hands were now.
“What’s the record for how many times he’s made you cum in one night?”
“Angel, you said you would stop!” you yelled, feeling a blush begin to heat up your face.
“A lot huh? Because that, my friend, is the face of a woman who’s lost count,” he said with a knowing smirk.
“I am not dignifying that comment with a response.”
“I’m just sayin,’ I’ve seen you first thing in the mornings. You have the look of a gal who’s well satisfied.”
“Well, I am,” you say, “but that’s all decency will allow me to say. Alastor is a very private man and you should respect that.”
“Decency Schmeecency,” Angel said, throwing himself back into the couch cushions and picking up his own phone, looking bored with the conversation now. “This is Hell, there’s no such thing.”
Relieved he seemed to be dropping the subject, you pick up your own phone and enjoy a couple minutes of silence to scroll through your Sinstagram feed.
“Oh fuck me!” Angel exclaimed, startling you and making you drop your phone.
“What?!”
“That guy has got tentacles!”
There was no stopping the rush of blood to your face then . . . or the little smirk you just couldn’t seem to stop, though you did try and look away.
“Ooooooooh, oh doll face, you can’t hide that look from me,” Angel said, practically crawling over the couch to invade your space once again, “he has totally used those on you, hasn’t he?”
You turned to look at Angel, another retort about privacy ready on your tongue, but your eyes widen in horror as you see two shadowy tendrils raising up behind your friend’s back.
Angel registered the look on your face and sat back an inch.
“Wha-“
The tentacles grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him back to his side of the couch, and holding him down.
“I believe the lady said something about decency,” Alastor’s staticky voice said from somewhere behind the couch and then his shadow rose up from the ground before solidifying into the full glory of his demonic form. His body unnaturally long, antlers spread out wide, he towered over the spider demon he had pinned to the sofa.
“S-s-sorry man,” Angel said with a loud gulp, “I was just kidding around, you know,” he tried to chuckle nervously. “I-it was just girl talk.”
“Alastor,” you said, unbothered by your lover’s terrifying demonic appearance, “let him go. He’s harmless.”
“Hmmm,” Alastor said, tilting his head, eyes glowing brighter as he put on a show of considering the prey he had trapped in his tentacles. “Fine.”
Alastor dropped the tentacles from around Angel and within a blink of an eye, was back to his usual form, straightening his bow tie and brushing off the sleeves of his jacket.
“Ready for our lunch date?” you said, bouncing up off the couch and coming to stand by Alastor, who smiled down at you and looped an arm through yours.
“Sounds lovely, darling,” he replied, guiding the two of you around the back of the couch and towards the front of the lobby. “I’m positively starving.”
At the word “starving,” Alastor leaned over the couch, his glowing, toothy expression letting Angel know just how close he had come to being the cannibal’s lunch.
Angel sank deeper into the couch cushions in submission, eyes wide and fixed on Alastor, as the two of you headed for the front doors.
Alastor opened the door, but you paused after stepping through, grabbing the handle and shooting your friend a mischievous smile and wiggling your eyebrows in a suggestive manner at him. It was your own way of confirming his last line of questioning before Alastor had interrupted. You watched Angel’s jaw drop open and then closed the door, leaving him to his imagination.
Husk, who had been silently watching the entire thing from his place at the bar, began laughing.
“Yeah, he totally fucks her with those things,” he said, before taking a swig from his beer bottle. “Did you see the way she looked at them? She was almost jealous when he had you pinned to the sofa.”
“Jesus Christ,” Angel said, still panting a little. “Yeah, I don’t blame her. That was hot as fuck.”
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hello-sweetheart · 3 months ago
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You know that trope where Person A thinks Person B is just being nice but they’re actually flirting. What about the opposite? Person A misreading their behavior and being the only one falling impossibly in love.
Clumsy in Love Part 2
It’s hard to listen to Eddie talk about this guy the same way Steve wished he did about him. Eddie, already so full of life and words, doesn’t seem to need to take a breather between his praises.
“Can’t believe this guy is actually into me, did you see him? Oh my god!” He groans and smacks his palms against the steering wheel, literally bouncing in his seat.
The van swerves a bit to the left.
“He’s just my type, too. Those eyes, prettiest eyes that have ever graced human existence, and they were looking at me. Me! Wow! The darkest green— I don’t think there’s any precious stone that can compare actually.”
He beams at him and Steve’s traitorous heart still flutters like a wounded bird helplessly flapping its broken wing. Eddie is smiling so hard his cheeks must hurt, eyes crinkled at the corners and teeth on full display.
Steve will close his eyes at night and replay these words, pretending that this excitement and instant adoration is about him. That Eddie’s love-struck smile is for him.
“And, to top it off, he’s a geek. A fucking nerd. He actually knows DnD! What are the chances, Stevie? I’m no religious man, but an angel must have heard mine desperate pleas.”
His name is Adiel, Eddie’s perfect guy.
Steve spends that night feeling the need to cry, the hurt is right there at the base of his throat refusing to spill.
Steve kind of wishes he did, maybe letting everything out would leave him feeling empty instead impossibly full of heartache.
Adiel is blond, a dirty blonde that means he must’ve had light locks as a kid. Face slim and cheek bones prominent, but his features are soften by button nose. Maybe Eddie is right, he looks like the angels depicted in stained church windows, but whereas angels are depicted in white, Adiel wore exclusively black.
He wasn’t decorated in rings and chains like Ed, only a few silver piercings in his ears and a couple on his lips. But it was evident they had much in common, even just by looks. More than Steve could ever say about him and Eddie.
Over the next couple of weeks they share their music, intrinsically understanding what it means to one another.
Getting it.
Getting it the way that Steve never could, even with hours of Eddie breaking it down for him. Maybe Steve never understood, but he loved those moments shared between them. Wonders if Adiel cherishes those moments too. If he takes it for granted.
They share everything with each other and Steve hears every little detail gushed between sickly sweet sighs. He’s trying to be a good friend, to listen and share Eddie’s happiness, but something inside him grows bitter. Angry. He hates feeling this way.
“I met his friends already, they’re a really cool bunch. I really think you guys would get along. They know all the best spots for people like us. There’s a whole world out there, Stevie—“
Stevie. His breath stutters.
“Of people like us with places for us. We could take Robin and Vicky and be surrounded by people that won’t, that won’t think we’re… wrong. And who knows,” he nudges Steve’s side with a suggestive smile, “maybe you’ll meet the one there, huh Stevie?”
“Stop. Just, just stop!”
Steve doesn’t mean to yell. He just can’t take it anymore. Everything that has been building up inside him has reached a point where he just can’t. He pushes Eddie away from him who looks startled. Offended and bothered and confused.
“I don’t want to meet his friends, or least of all him. I don’t get it, okay! I thought—“
What did he think? That one day he would confess to Eddie or vice versa? That they’d kiss and go on double dates with Robin and Vicky? That he would fall asleep each night in love and loved? It seemed plausible at some point. That’s what hurts the most.
“Hey, Stevie—“
“Don’t call me that! You don’t get to call me that anymore.”
“What? Your name? You don’t want me to call you by your name?”
A bitter laugh, “yeah. My name from your mouth.”
“I, You’re not making any sense!”
Steve knows. He knows. But Stevie, Big boy, Ozzy… even his own name, can’t bear to hear them. Not from him. Can’t bare the way his heart squeezes.
Eddie’s looking at Steve with furrowed brows and down turned lips, standing still. Has Eddie ever been still before in his life?
Once. When he was still and pale and red. His chest gone quiet for the most terrifying seconds of Steve’s life.
Steve looks at him, his eyes burn. Steve’s breath from his own chest brought Eddie back to them. Eddie’s lungs still carry his desperation. His ribs healed but the cracks must still be there from the palm of his hands. He’s tasted Eddie’s blood before from his mouth—
He’s kissing him. Steve, dumb stupid in-love Steve, has his lips on Eddie’s once more, but this time they’re warm and full of life and his ringed hands are on him and,
They’re pushing him. Away.
“Eddie,” his sight is blurry, eyes hot, and breath stuttered. “I, it hurts. You with him. I can’t—I just can’t.
And Eddie looks, terrified, dark eyes searching Steve’s face. For what, he does not know. Sincerity, maybe. Truth. Maybe looking to see if he’s really shattered inside.
“I’m sorry, I… I didn’t…I don’t…”
And Steve?
Steve smiles. It’s watery and his lips quiver.
“I know.” And that’s the problem, isn’t it. It’s always the problem. “I know, Eddie. I’m sorry. It’s, it’s okay.”
Eddie leaves Steve there in the living room.
There’s still two cans of Coke half full on the coffee table but only one person left in the room.
Part one < 💛 > Part 3
Tagged: @bananahoneycomb @margaglitterdeath
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dreamwritesimagines · 5 months ago
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Theory of Gravity
Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female!Reader
Summary: Making small talk can be difficult with a crush.
Word Count: 1234
Genre: Fluff Oneshot
Content: Drinking, reader being awkward because she has a crush, flirting
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Contrary to popular belief, snitching on the whereabouts of a very dangerous mobster in the bar you worked in and possibly getting killed or maimed in the process was not a good plan for a Friday night but to be completely honest, you had done worse things over a silly little crush.
Like back in college freshman year when you pretended to be into music biopics just so that the hot guy in your elective would think you two were meant to be.
So if anything, this was a pattern.
“Logan?” you said as you put his drink in front of him. “Can I ask you something?”
“Hm?”
“What was Galileo like?”
He blinked a couple of times, the familiar scowl that seemed to be etched on his handsome face getting deeper and you tried to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat.
“Please tell me you’re joking,” he said. “I will lose all the belief I’ve never had in the first place in this country’s education system if you’re serious.”
You gave him a bright smile. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“I figured it was better than asking how the public took it when Newton came up with the theory of gravity.”  
The look on his face couldn’t be described with anything but complete horror and you let out a laugh, then went to serve another customer before quickly making your way to him.
“I’m just messing with you,” you said, leaning against the bar as you stole a look at the mobster sitting by the table with his men, then to Wade who was very, very busy with Vanessa by the corner.
“You look nervous,” Logan pointed out, making your head whip up before you cleared your throat.
“Nah, not at all,” you said. “I’m just thinking that if I die tonight, I’ll die doing what I love.”
“Which is?”
Gazing at older men who couldn’t look less interested in me.
“Being surrounded by drunk people who want to give me money,” you said. “Not a bad way to go.”
He scoffed into his drink before taking a sip while you nibbled on your lip, shifting your weight.
“Nothing is going to happen to you,” he said, his voice gruff. “We’re just waiting for his partner to show up, then we will deal with them both.”
You nodded your head. “Yeah. Sure, I know.”
“Do you?”
You nodded again, absentmindedly reaching out to play with the cocktail straw on the counter, painfully aware of his gaze on you that made your face burn.
“How’s grad school?”
…He remembered.
He remembered you saying that the last time he and Wade were here.
One simple observer would’ve thought he was on his knees proclaiming his undying love for you with the way your heartbeat went insane and his eyebrows rose as if he could hear it, but you quickly casted the thought away from your mind; that was surely impossible.
“Oh it’s going well!” you said, your voice going high-pitched for a moment. “Came for the hot professors, stayed for the education—I’m joking,” you added in a haste, waving a hand in the air. “I’m a very…very deep and intellectual individual.”
“Uh huh.”
“And none of my professors are hot,” you muttered and wiped at the damp spot on the counter with a napkin. “They should put that on the brochure if you ask me, it’s important information.”
“So you’ll be a doctor?”
“If by some miracle my dissertation goes through the jury,” you pointed out. “How about you? How’s your roommate situation with Wade going?”
He only grumbled something under his breath and you bit back a smile, then topped his drink.
“Thanks sweetheart.”
If there was one thing you hated the idea of more than dying was proving Freud right but it looked like you were going two for two tonight.
“So uh,” you said, trying to ignore the goosebumps rising on your arms because of his deep voice. “Hey, at least you have the place to yourself sometimes, no? When Wade is with Vanessa? Should give you some time to…bring someone home.”
And I volunteer as tribute.
He raised his brows, his unwavering gaze pinning you to your spot and you cleared your throat.
“Or—or someones,” you stammered. “Sky is the limit if you’re into that sort of thing. Now that it came up by the way, are…are you?”
“Am I bringing people home?” he asked as if he wanted to make sure that was what you were asking and you shrugged your shoulders, your face on fire.
“I’m just asking because, you know,” you began the sentence without having a clue on how you would finish it as usual. “I’m great at giving relationship advice, so if you were in a relationship I could be your own personal relationship coach.”
He pulled his brows together in confusion and you reached out to get the bowl full of peanut shells from his right just so that you could keep yourself busy, then turned the bowl over the garbage can.
“I’m not,” he said and you swallowed thickly.
“Who has the time for that these days, am I right?”
“Do you have—”
“Yes I have the time!” you cut him off, nodding your head in enthusiasm, your heart beating in your ears but he had already finished his sentence;
“…ice?”
You hoped to God tonight was the night you’d die because if that mobster in the corner didn’t shoot you, you were going to have to ask Wade to do it just to save you from this embarrassment.
“Oh,” you said after a beat as he stared at you. “Yeah—yeah I have ice, sorry.”
You rushed to get some ice and put it into his whiskey, biting inside your cheek and he cleared his throat.
“You don’t want to go out with me sweetheart.”
Well good news was that you had already made a fool of yourself so one could think the bar for your self-respect couldn’t get any lower, but boy oh boy you had already brought your metaphorical shovel.  
“I disagree,” you said, taking a deep breath. “I would very much love to if you were interested.”
“You think I’m not interested?”
“I feel like I’d have a better chance at proving you’re not interested with dates and references than my own thesis,” you pointed out. “And that’s saying something—”
“I am interested,” he cut you off, making your eyes widen and you gawked at him, frozen in your spot. “Trust me, that’s not the problem here.”
“Am I getting the I’m too dangerous for you speech?” you heard yourself ask through disbelief. “Because screw that speech. Honestly, the only thing I’m focused on in here is if you—fuck!”
He pulled his brows together. “If I—?”
“No no!” you said as you pointed at the back door where two men were dragging Wade through. “Wade!”
Logan cussed under his breath as he shot up from his stool.
“Don’t go anywhere, we’ll talk about this later,” he told you and made his way to the back door while you heaved a sigh, leaning back to the counter as he stepped outside and you caught the sight of him grabbing a man by the neck before the door slammed shut. You pressed a hand over your chest, then tilted your head back with a groan.
“Alright,” you muttered to yourself. “That was smooth.”
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dollishmehrayan · 1 month ago
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# CHRISTMAS TREE DECORATING AND CHAOS ── .✦ ( decorating trees with batboys ‘separated’! ⋆౨ৎ )
a/n: I literally feel so happy genuinely now, I guess my mental health is getting better && anyways i have 64 requests to get to… i truly need to speed run through these but some I can’t do sadly 😭 so sorryy ᥫ᭡, tags: (batboys x fem!reader)
© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )
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DICK GRAYSON ── .✦
The king of enthusiasm: As soon as you suggest decorating the tree together, he’s all in.
“We’re going for the most extra tree Gotham has ever seen!” He wants it tall enough to touch the ceiling and glittery enough to blind someone.
He’s the guy who insists on climbing to the very top to put on the star, even though he wobbles dangerously on the ladder.
Sings Christmas songs (terribly off-key he’s also like tone deaf and beat deaf it’s a curse to hear him sing something at karaoke) while you decorate, complete with dramatic twirls and spins around the tree.
Accidentally tangles himself in the lights at least twice. “I’m fine, I’m fine! I was just… testing the durability!”
Insists on taking a million photos of you with the finished tree, calling you his “Christmas angel.”
When it’s all done, he dims the lights, wraps an arm around you, and whispers, “This might be my favorite Christmas ever.”
JASON TODD ── .✦
He pretends to be indifferent. “Decorating a tree? Sounds boring.” But the second you start, he’s invested.
He’s surprisingly good at untangling lights and getting them perfectly spaced on the tree. “What? I’ve got steady hands.”
Jason leans into more minimalistic decor deep reds, dark greens, and gold accents but he lets you take the lead. “You want glittery ornaments? Fine. But I draw the line at tinsel.” (he’s like those sad beige moms but with like dark traditional Christmas colors…)
Complains about how prickly the tree is the entire time but still helps you string popcorn garlands because he knows it makes you happy.
TIM DRAKE ── .✦
He’s excited about decorating but is terrible at it. Tim tries, but he’s way better at figuring out the tech side of things (like synchronized tree lights) than actually hanging ornaments.
Spends 20 minutes untangling lights and another 20 trying to figure out why one strand isn’t working. “It’s science! There’s a method to this madness.”
He’s the type to sneak a caffeine break halfway through while you keep decorating. “What? I need fuel to focus!”
Insists on hanging some nerdy ornaments—little Batman logos, Star Wars-themed ones, or even a tiny Robin figurine.
When you get frustrated with his lack of artistic flair, he pulls you close and says, “Hey, at least I’m good company, right?”
After it’s all done, he insists on dimming the lights and turning on the synchronized tree music. “Look at that. A masterpiece.”
DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦
Initially acts like it’s beneath him. “Why would I waste time decorating a tree?” But he ends up being surprisingly good at it.
Damian has an eye for symmetry, so every ornament has to be perfectly spaced. “No, that one is too close to the red one. Move it.”
If you mention that decorating the tree is a nostalgic tradition for you, he softens immediately. “Fine. But this had better be worth it.”
He refuses to wear a Christmas sweater, but you catch him smiling when you put on a ridiculous reindeer headband.
Titus gets involved, carrying around ornaments and wagging his tail, which Damian pretends to be annoyed by but secretly loves.
When the tree is finished, he stands back with his arms crossed, pretending not to care. But when you beam at him, he quietly says, “It looks… nice. I suppose this wasn’t a complete waste of time.”
BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦
(He buys like 40 ft Christmas trees for the main ball in the manor and like that’s almost impossible to decorate without professionals)
The ultimate perfectionist. He has a very clear vision for the tree, but he tries to let you take the lead. “It’s your tradition. I’ll follow your lead… mostly.”
Insists on using the tallest tree that will fit in Wayne Manor and hires a team to bring it in.
He’s all about elegant, classic decorations white lights, glass ornaments, and a tasteful tree topper. But if you want colorful lights or quirky ornaments, he’ll indulge you.
Offers to lift you up to reach the highest branches instead of letting you use a ladder. “I don’t need you breaking your neck before the gala.”
Alfred brings hot cocoa and cookies halfway through, smiling at how relaxed Bruce looks around you.
When the tree is done, he turns to you and says, “It’s perfect. Just like this moment.” Then he pulls you into a rare, heartfelt kiss under the twinkling lights.
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rootedinrevisions · 2 months ago
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No Nut November...or Not
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SUMMARY: When a harmless bar conversation turns into a bet about who can last the longest during No Nut November, the stakes are set. They both assume they can outlast the other without breaking a sweat. What they don’t anticipate is you–their mischievous partner–who takes it as a personal challenge to make the month as impossible as humanly possible. Because why should they get to have all the fun?
A/N: Thank you so much to the Nonny who sent in this request! This one is a little more outside my comfort zone than what I normally write, but I think it turned out okay. Please let me know how you feel about it!
WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI. SMUT. (Lingerie, Spanking, Slight Dom, Unprotected Sex (be responsible people), P in V (reverse cowgirl), Voyeurism/Exhibitionism (not sure if this counts in a poly relationship but including it in case)
WORD COUNT: 6.1k
TAG LIST: IN COMMENTS
If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.
Glen Powell: Himself (RPF), Characters He's Played
Twisters: Tyler Owens, Boone, Scott, Javi
Top Gun: Maverick: Rooster, Hangman, Bob
Marvel/MCU: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers
WWE/Wrestling: Cody Rhodes, Corey Graves, Damian Priest, Drew McIntyre, Finn Balor, Jimmy Uso, Jey Uso, Kevin Owens, L.A. Knight, Pat McAfee, Roman Reigns, Seth Rollins (if there is someone you're thinking of from WWE and they aren't on the list feel free to ask! There are so many guys on the roster that these were the ones that came to mind.)
The Hard Deck was alive with its usual hum of chatter and laughter, the jukebox belting out an old rock anthem. You leaned back in your chair, nursing a cold beer as you watched Jake and Bradley settle into their usual rhythm.
Jake smirked, his signature cocky grin firmly in place as he tipped his bottle toward Bradley. “Face it, Bradshaw, you just can’t handle the pressure. That’s why I’m better at pretty much everything.”
Bradley rolled his eyes, though the twitch of his jaw betrayed his annoyance. “You keep telling yourself that, Bagman. Last time I checked, you couldn’t keep up with me in the air…let alone other places.”
His gaze then shifted to you and he shot you a wink. You hid your smile behind your bottle, enjoying the way their bickering played out like clockwork. It was endearing in its own way, how the two of them always seemed to push each other just to prove who could come out on top.
“Alright, alright,” you interjected, setting your drink down and tilting your head at them. “What’s it going to be this time? Another darts match? Arm wrestling in the middle of Penny’s bar?”
“Don’t even think about it boys,” she interjects from behind the bar causing your lips to curve into a smirk.
Jake turned to you with a gleam in his eye, his grin widening. “Nah, that would be too easy, sweetheart. I’m thinking something better. Something that requires real willpower.”
Bradley scoffed, but there was a flicker of curiosity on his face. “What are you thinking, Hangman?”
Jake leaned forward, bracing one elbow on the table. “No Nut November.”
The words hung in the air for a beat before you burst out laughing, nearly spilling your beer. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I’m dead serious.” Jake looked over at Bradley, his eyes glinting with challenge. “Think you’ve got the guts to keep it together for a whole month, Bradshaw? Or are you gonna fold like you always do?”
Bradley narrowed his eyes, his lips curving into a slow, confident smile. “You’re on. But don’t come crying to me when you lose after, what, three days?”
“Three days?” Jake repeated mock outrage in his tone. “I’ve got steel discipline, Bradshaw. You’re the one who’s always got his head in the clouds.”
“Oh, this is good,” you said, shaking your head in amusement. You could already tell where this was headed, and it was going to be entertaining, to say the least
“What’s the wager?” Bradley asked, his eyes not leaving Jake.
“The usual,” Jake said with a shrug. “Loser has to do whatever the winner says. No complaints, no excuses.”
Bradley nodded, extending his hand across the table. “Deal.”
They shook on it, their grips firm and their gazes locked in mutual defiance. You snipped your beer, biting back a grin as an idea began to form in your mind.
If they were really going to go through with this, you might as well make it interesting. After all, wasn’t it your duty as their partner to keep them on their toes?
“I hope you two are ready,” you said, your voice deceptively sweet as you leaned forward, resting your chin in your hand. “Because I’m not about to make this easy for either of you.”
Jake arched a brow, his smirk faltering just slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, you’ll see.”
Bradley’s eyes flicked to yours, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension flashing across his face. But neither of them had the chance to respond before you stood, finishing the last of your drink and setting the bottle down with a soft clink.
“Good luck, boys,” you said, giving them a wink before walking away.
Behind you, you could hear Jake muttering, “What the hell does that mean?”
The next evening, the glow of the Hard Deck’s neon lights and the buzz of competitive banter were a distant memory. In their place was the soft hum of music drifting from the living room speaker and the warmth of home-cooked comfort filling the air.
Jake and Bradley’s off-base apartment had always been a haven of sorts—a space where the three of you could unwind, trading the chaos of your days for shared laughter and easy companionship, and a lot of physicality. Tonight was no different.
You stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up and a grin tugging at your lips as you recalled the way Jake and Bradley had shaken on their bet the night before, each so sure of their resolve. It was all in good fun, of course, but watching them try to outlast each other was going to be a source of endless entertainment. Especially if you had anything to say about it.
The smell of garlic and herbs filled the cozy apartment kitchen as you stirred a simmering pot on the stove. Bradley leaned beside you, chopping vegetables with steady precision, while Jake stood at the counter, tossing together a salad. It was a rare quiet evening for the three of you, the kind of domestic tranquility that felt all the more special amidst the chaos of naval schedules.
You glanced at Bradley out of the corner of your eye. He was focused on his task, the rhythmic thwack of the knife against the cutting board filling the space between the three of you.
Setting the spoon aside, you turned toward him, brushing your hand lightly along the small of his back as you reached for the bowl beside him. “Thanks for helping out,” you said, your voice casual but laced with a subtle warmth.
“No problem,” Bradley replied, his tone as calm as ever. He didn’t look up from the cutting board, his focus unbroken.
Undeterred, you let your fingers linger a moment longer than necessary before pulling away, casually brushing against his forearm as you leaned over to grab a kitchen towel. Still no reaction—though you noticed the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
From across the kitchen, Jake chuckled softly. You looked over your shoulder to find him watching with a smug grin, one eyebrow raised as if to say, “Really? Is that all you’ve got?”
Game on.
Turning back to Bradley, you stepped closer, reaching for the bowl of chopped veggies just as he finished. 
“Let me get that,” you said, letting your fingers trail along his wrist as you took the bowl from him. This time, there was the faintest flicker of something in his expression, but he quickly masked it, his lips curving into an almost imperceptible smirk.
“Thanks,” you said sweetly, placing the bowl on the counter and brushing past Jake on your way to the fridge.
You could feel his eyes on you, but he didn’t say a word, his hands continuing to toss the salad with deliberate nonchalance. Smiling to yourself, you opened the fridge and retrieved a bottle of wine, taking your time as you returned to the counter.
Jake didn’t react when you sidled up beside him, leaning slightly against his arm as you reached for a corkscrew. But when your fingers brushed his wrist—lingering just long enough to feel the warmth of his skin—his hands faltered, sending a stray piece of lettuce tumbling onto the floor.
“Oops,” you murmured, hiding your grin as you grabbed the corkscrew and stepped back. You almost painfully slow, bent down to pick up the lettuce, making sure the skirt you were wearing slid up giving Jake just the tiniest glimpse of the frilly lace of your underwear peeking out at him.
Jake shot you a look, his smirk slipping for a fraction of a second before he composed himself. 
“Careful there, darlin’,” he said, his voice smooth but with a slight edge as his hand moved to your hip.
From the corner of your eye, you caught Bradley glancing over, his smirk now firmly in place. “What’s wrong, Seresin? You’re not getting distracted, are you?”
Jake’s jaw tightened just enough for you to notice, and you bit back a laugh, turning your attention back to the wine. 
“Oh, don’t tease him, Bradshaw,” you said innocently, pouring three glasses with careful precision. “I’m sure he’s fine.”
Jake’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but he said nothing, instead focusing intently on his salad as if it were the most important task in the world.
You smiled to yourself, setting the glasses on the counter. This was going to be even more fun than you thought.
Dinner was ready not long after, and the three of you settled at the small dining table tucked against the window. The kitchen lights cast a soft glow over the scene, the faint hum of music still playing in the background. Plates were filled with the fruits of your collective labor: roasted chicken, sautéed vegetables, and a fresh salad that Jake had insisted was “restaurant-quality.”
You took the first bite, savoring the flavors as they hit your tongue. But instead of keeping the reaction to yourself, you let out a quiet, almost breathy moan, closing your eyes as though the simple taste of the meal was enough to send you to heaven.
When you opened your eyes, you caught both Jake and Bradley staring, their forks paused midair. Their gazes flicked to each other in a brief, wordless exchange before they simultaneously looked down at their plates, the muscles in their jaws tensing as they focused a little too intently on their food.
Suppressing a grin, you stabbed another piece of chicken with your fork, dragging it slowly through the sauce before taking another bite, this time pulling the utensil from your lips with an exaggerated slowness. You made sure the movement was subtle enough to seem natural—just enough to plant the idea without making it obvious.
The effect was immediate. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jake shift in his seat, adjusting his posture in a way that suggested he was trying to ignore you. Across from him, Bradley chewed with deliberate focus, his expression unreadable except for the faint tightness in his jaw.
“Everything okay?” you asked innocently, looking between the two of them.
“Fine,” Jake said quickly, his tone light but clipped. He took a long drink of water, his eyes trained firmly on his plate as if it held the answers to all of life’s mysteries.
“Yeah, fine,” Bradley echoed, though his voice carried a hint of strain as he reached for the salad bowl, pretending to busy himself with serving more.
You leaned back in your chair, letting the silence settle for a moment before leaning forward again, your fingers brushing against the edge of your fork. There was a bit of sauce clinging to the tip, and instead of reaching for a napkin, you raised the utensil to your lips, your tongue darting out to catch the stray droplet.
It wasn’t dramatic—barely more than a flick—but the tension in the room crackled like static electricity. Jake’s fork clattered against his plate, and Bradley muttered something under his breath, though neither of them said anything directly.
Satisfied, you straightened in your chair and continued eating, keeping your movements deliberately slow and casual. You were playing the long game, after all, and the night was still young.
The evening stretched on, the kind of Saturday night that carried the promise of an easygoing, relaxed vibe. But the air between the three of you had changed. Every glance, every subtle movement felt charged, as if all the teasing from dinner was quietly simmering beneath the surface, waiting for something to tip it over the edge.
As the game time drew near, you decided to take a break, excusing yourself with a casual, “I’ll be right back. Gonna get comfy for the game.”
Jake barely looked up, his attention already focused on the TV screen as he pulled up the Longhorns' game schedule. Bradley nodded absently, taking another sip of his beer.
You made your way toward Jake’s bedroom. His closet door creaked open, and you moved quickly, your fingers brushing past the shirts hanging neatly in a row until you found it—the burnt orange jersey. You had no intention of wearing it the traditional way, though.
Next, you turned your attention to the bottom drawer of Jake’s dresser. The one that, over time, had become a place for a few of your things—your stuff from nights spent at their place, the clothes you didn’t mind leaving behind. You sifted through the familiar pile, your fingers grazing the fabric until you found what you were looking for. The lacy black thong with the satin bow on the back, a gift from Bradley on your birthday last year.
A smile tugged at your lips as you stripped out of your clothes, quickly slipping into the thong and then pulling the jersey over your head. The fabric settled comfortably against your skin, the oversized fit doing little to hide the outline of what you were really wearing underneath.
When you emerged from the bedroom, your eyes met the living room where the guys were settling in. Jake was already lounging on the couch, the TV lighting up his face as he focused on pulling up the game. Bradley was standing near the fridge, mid-drink when he saw you. His hand froze, the bottle of beer almost slipping from his grip. His eyes widened, his throat bobbing as he took in the sight of you in nothing but the jersey.
Jake’s gaze flickered over to you, eyes widening for just a moment before he cleared his throat, his focus shifting back to the screen as though it was the most important thing in the world. But you could see the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers tightened against the remote as if it were somehow anchoring him.
Bradley, on the other hand, had a harder time hiding it. His eyes followed you across the room, the surprise quickly turning into something unreadable, but not before his lips parted as though he might say something—until he caught himself. Instead, he looked down at his beer, taking a long swig to steady himself.
You smirked, casually flopping down on the couch beside Jake, making sure to let the fabric of the jersey shift just enough to give him a better view of what you were wearing—or, more accurately, not wearing underneath.
You knew exactly what you were doing.
Jake’s hand settled on your thigh, warm and heavy, sending a shiver through you that had nothing to do with the cool air from the open window. You smiled, resting your head against his shoulder, and wrapped your arms around his arm for good measure, leaning in close to him.
As you shifted your position, tilting your knees slightly, you felt the jersey ride up a bit higher, just enough for the lacy black thong to peek out from beneath the fabric. It was a calculated move, knowing full well that Bradley would notice.
Sure enough, when he finally settled back onto the couch on the other side of you, his gaze flickered down. His hand, perhaps on autopilot, reached out, brushing against your nearly bare skin, and you couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at your lips. Bradley’s fingers squeezed the flesh there, just a little too long, a little too possessively, before he quickly pulled his hand away, his eyes darting up to meet yours.
You tilted your head back into Jake’s side, letting out a soft, content sigh, and allowed yourself to sink into his warmth. The move was deliberate, a subtle taunt that made Bradley’s jaw clench and his nostrils flare. He tried to look away, but he couldn’t quite keep his eyes off you, and you reveled in the power you held over the two men tonight.
“Enjoying the game?” Jake asked, his voice low, as if he didn’t want to break the spell you’d cast. His fingers tightened on your thigh, pressing just enough to remind you of his presence.
“Mmm,” you replied, letting the sound linger in the air, your breath warm against his neck.
Jake leaned in closer, his lips brushing your temple as he whispered, “You know, you’re really playing a dangerous game, don’t you think?”
You looked up at him, your expression innocent, the tease in your eyes impossible to hide. “Maybe,” you replied coyly, “but I think it’s one you’ll both enjoy losing.”
The game continued, but the real action was unfolding right in front of Jake and Bradley. You could feel their eyes on you—the weight of their attention was undeniable. Jake’s hand had barely moved from your thigh, and Bradley’s fingers lingered there, giving you little indication that he had any intention of stopping. They were both wound tight, and you were enjoying every minute of it.
As the Longhorns scored a touchdown, the roar from the crowd on the TV mixed with your own excited gasp. Without thinking, you jumped to your feet, the burst of energy sending you bouncing up and down in celebration. You felt the jersey ride up as you raised your arms, the fabric lifting just enough to expose the small, barely-there thong underneath.
Your ass swayed with each bounce, the thong almost completely exposed, offering a perfect view of your bare skin to both men. The sensation of their eyes locked on you was intoxicating, but you didn’t stop. You made sure every movement was deliberate, a tease designed to keep them both hooked.
Finally, you turned around, your back to them now. The jersey hung just low enough to cover your front but did nothing to hide the thong from their view. You felt their stares burning into you, the tension between the three of you palpable in the air.
With a grin, you smirked over your shoulder, catching their eyes before saying, “Man, I love football.”
Jake shifted uncomfortably, his hand now tight around the beer bottle in his lap, but he didn’t say anything. Bradley, on the other hand, couldn’t hide his reaction. His jaw clenched, his lips pressing together in frustration. His hand moved to the front of his jeans, adjusting himself. It was as if he couldn’t stop himself, like every instinct he had was telling him to do something more.
The tension in the room was unbearable, and you could practically feel the moment when Bradley’s restraint finally snapped. As you smirked over your shoulder, still reveling in the heat of their gazes, you noticed the way his hands tightened into fists at his sides. His jaw was locked, his body rigid as he tried—unsuccessfully—to stay composed.
Then, without warning, he shot up from the couch. “Screw this,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and rough, filled with frustration.
Before you could even react, he was on you. One moment, you were standing in front of him, and the next, he had you hoisted effortlessly over his shoulder. You gasped in surprise, but the only response from him was a determined growl.
You kicked your legs slightly, but it was no use. Bradley had you completely at his mercy, carrying you down the hallway toward his room with a purposeful stride.
Jake called out from the living room, his voice laced with disbelief. “Bradshaw—what the hell are you doing?”
But Bradley didn’t even look back, his focus solely on you as he carried you down the hall, ignoring whatever punishment Jake might throw at him. The bet? The consequences? They didn’t matter in that moment. All that mattered was the desire that had been building up in him, the need to finally act on everything he’d been holding back.
When he reached the door to his room, he kicked it open with one swift motion, stepping inside and slamming it shut behind him. As soon as it was closed, he dropped you onto the bed, his eyes dark with intensity.
“You’ve been teasing us all night,” he growled, voice thick with desire. “I couldn’t take it anymore.”
You smirked, already knowing that you had pushed him too far. But that didn’t stop you from playing along, feeling the thrill of victory in the way you’d slowly unraveled him.
Bradley didn’t care about the bet anymore. All he cared about was you, and right now, that was enough.
As Bradley moved over you, his hands working the black thong off of your body with an urgency that matched the heat in his eyes, you felt a sudden shift in the atmosphere. The door swung open with a creak, and there, standing in the doorway, was Jake. His smirk was wide, his eyes gleaming with that same cocky confidence, but there was a sharpness to it now—a flicker of something darker beneath the surface.
He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, clearly enjoying the scene unfolding before him. His eyes shifted between you and Bradley, taking in the sight of the thong being discarded carelessly to the side. The silence that followed was thick with tension, an unspoken challenge hanging in the air.
Bradley’s fingers paused for a moment, as if sensing Jake’s presence, but his focus quickly returned to you. The momentary distraction was all Jake needed. Without breaking his smirk, Jake pushed off the doorframe and strode confidently across the room.
“Bradley, step back, baby,” Jake’s voice was low, filled with a knowing taunt. He sat on the edge of the bed, eyes still on you as he placed a hand on your waist, guiding you down across his lap.
You gasped, a mix of surprise and excitement flooding through you as you found yourself positioned across his strong legs. Your heart raced, but the smirk never left your face.
“You’ve been a naughty girl, haven’t you?” Jake’s voice was suddenly darker, his tone shifting as he ran a finger down your spine. “You think you can tease us both, and get away with it?” He gave you a playful, but firm tap on the back of your thigh, the sting shocking you.
He leaned forward slightly, pressing his lips to your ear. “Well, it’s time somebody put you in your place.”
Bradley watched, still breathing heavily as he stood at the foot of the bed, his hands flexing with restrained hunger. The game had changed entirely. You had crossed a line, and now, both men knew it was their turn to take control.
Jake’s grip tightened around your waist, pulling you closer as he positioned you more firmly across his lap. He traced a finger across the curve of your backside, his voice rough as he said, “This isn’t over, sweetheart. Not by a long shot.”
The first smack comes without warning, a startled cry leaving your lips as you feel the sting of Jake’s hand.
“That’s one. You’ve got nine more. Think you can handle it?”
You nodd, but Jake just makes a tsk tsk tsk noise with his mouth before delivering another smack to the same spot.
“Use your words. We’re back to one. I can do this all night.”
“Yes. Yes, I can handle it.”
You hear Jake let out a low chuckle before saying, “Damn right you can, baby.”
The final smack echoed through the room, sharper than the rest, and you couldn't suppress the gasp that left your lips. A wave of heat rushed through you, a mix of sting and longing building in your body. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, the tension of the moment overwhelming.
Jake’s hand lingered, resting gently on your sore skin, the warmth of his palm contrasting with the burn of the smacks. For a brief moment, there was silence. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the weight of his touch seemed to calm you, despite the ache.
"Good girl," he murmured, his voice softer now, but still full of command. His hand moved slowly, rubbing circles into your tender skin, soothing the burn as he spoke. "You did so well for me."
You could hear the pride in his voice, and feel the shift in his demeanor as he leaned down to kiss the top of your head. It was a small, almost gentle gesture, but it spoke volumes in the context of everything that had just transpired.
His fingers traced along your back now, his touch lighter, almost tender. "I know you can take it," he continued, his tone warm. "You’ve been so good for us tonight."
The praise was enough to stir something inside you—something that made the lingering sting worth it. He could still dominate you, but in this moment, you were his, and he took care of you in a way that felt like both power and care.
“Now, here’s what’s going to happen next, sweetheart,” Jake says. “Bradley here is going to lay on his bed, and you’re going to ride him, reverse cowgirl so he can watch that pretty ass bounce as your ride him. And so I can watch your perfect tits bounce.” You involuntarily squeeze your thighs together at his words. “And I’m going to stand at the end of the bed and I want your eyes on me the whole time. You understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good girl,” Jake says before helping you up off his lap.
The moment you lift yourself off Jake’s lap, there’s a quiet shift in the room. The tension in the room grows as you crawl up the bed, hovering over Bradley, who’s now lying back on the bed, his eyes dark with hunger but also something else–softness, a trace of tenderness mixed with the primal need.
As you settle above him, the weight of your body supported by your hands on either side of his chest, Bradley’s hands reach up to pull you down. He doesn’t waste a second, his lips finding yours with an intensity that makes your heart race. The kiss is almost electric, his lips hungry, but gentle enough to make you melt against him. The urgency fades slightly, and you find yourself losing a bit of control as you sink into the warmth of his embrace. His hand moves to the back of your neck, holding you close as if he doesn’t want to let you go.
The kiss deepens, and for a moment, everything else falls away. It's just the two of you, your bodies pressing together, the soft sound of your breathing filling the space between you. You feel his heartbeat against yours, steady and warm, grounding you in this moment. It’s different with Bradley—there’s a tenderness there, something that contrasts with the more commanding side Jake showed earlier.
When you pull away, your lips still tingling, you can see the quiet satisfaction in Bradley’s eyes. His hands slip down your sides, tracing the outline of your body as if committing every inch of you to memory.
“You’re incredible,” he whispers, his voice rough with desire, but there’s a softness to it, a reverence that makes your chest tighten.
You smile, leaning in to kiss him again, but this time it’s slower, more deliberate, and you can feel the shift between you—less about the tease, less about the game, and more about the connection.
You shift, moving so that your back is now towards Bradley, and your gaze finds Jake’s. The electricity between you three is palpable, the air thick with the kind of unspoken connection that runs deep. You can feel Bradley’s hands on your waist, steadying you, but it’s Jake’s eyes that hold your attention now—dark, intent, but filled with something else. There’s a depth in his gaze, a silent understanding, a promise that whatever happens next, it’s about the three of you as one.
You reach down, tugging the burnt orange jersey off, letting it fall to the floor in a fluid motion, leaving yourself exposed before them. The vulnerability stirs something within you—both exhilarating and grounding at once. With each passing second, the trust between you grows stronger, the knowledge that you're not just being seen, but truly understood, is almost overwhelming.
You pause, locking eyes with Jake, and the tension rises again. His presence is commanding, but it's the gentle weight of his gaze that gives you the confidence to continue. Slowly, you begin to lower yourself, the movement calculated and deliberate, not just for them, but for yourself. 
Bradley’s hands guide you, steadying you as you move closer to him. Your eyes flutter close as you feel the stretch of Bradley as you sink further and further onto him.
“Uh uh. Eyes on me, baby.” Jake reminds you.
You nod and open your eyes, yours immediately find Jake’s green ones. They’re darker than normal, laced with desire and need.
“You’re perfect,” Bradley whispers, his voice thick with emotion. You can feel the weight of his words, not just in his tone, but in how his hands trace over your skin, grounding you in this moment.
You stay locked on Jake’s gaze, the intensity of his eyes grounding you in the moment. The air between you two feels thick, like a promise that’s been quietly building, waiting to be fulfilled. His face softens, but there’s a quiet strength in it that makes your heart race. 
Bradley’s hands move to your waist, his touch steady and sure. He guides you gently, helping you find your rhythm as your body begins to move, slow and deliberate. His touch is a contrast to Jake’s silent command—Bradley’s touch is soft, like a grounding force, holding you steady.
You feel the heat rising, your chest tightening as the tension builds. But through it all, Jake’s eyes never leave yours. There’s something magnetic about the way he watches, as though he’s seeing you—every part of you—in a way that makes you feel both vulnerable and safe, all at once. His jaw tightens as he shifts, the intensity in his gaze never faltering.
With every small movement, every shift of your body, you feel the pressure building. Your breaths come quicker, your heart racing as Bradley’s hands guide you.
“S-shit,” you hear Bradley mutter from beneath you, causing you to clench around him.
Bradley’s hands move to your back, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns against your skin. His touch is tender, guiding you closer, helping you reach a place of intensity that feels almost overwhelming.
And then, it comes—like a wave crashing over you. You can feel the pressure building, the world narrowing down to the feeling of Bradley’s hands on your skin, his body beneath you, and Jake’s steady gaze pulling you deeper. Every part of you is alive, connected, and entwined in a way you’ve never experienced before.
Your breath catches as the moment hits, your body trembling as you reach the peak. Your eyes never leave Jake’s, and for a brief moment, everything else fades away. There’s nothing but the bond between the three of you—the love, the trust, the unspoken understanding that this is where you’re meant to be. 
“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit.” Bradley grunts as you feel ropes of his seed release into you.
You collapse on the bed against Bradley, your body spent and trembling, Jake’s smile softens, a quiet satisfaction in his eyes.
“You’re incredible,” Bradley whispers, pulling you into him, his hands still on your back as he kisses the top of your head. His voice is filled with a tenderness.
“You’re perfect,” Jake adds softly, his voice low and comforting.
Bradley shifts beside you, his fingers brushing against your skin as he looks over at Jake. There’s a quiet moment between them, an unspoken understanding passing between the two. With a soft chuckle, Bradley pushes himself up from the bed, his gaze lingering on you for a second longer before he speaks.
“I’m gonna head to the bathroom. Jake, you wanna take care of her while I’m gone?” he asks, the affection in his voice evident.
Jake’s response is immediate, his eyes softening as he watches you. “Of course,” he says, his voice low but filled with warmth.
As Bradley moves to the bathroom, Jake crawls onto the bed beside you, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. His presence is a steady, comforting weight as he shifts closer, opening his arms for you. You don’t hesitate, scooting over to him, seeking the comfort of his embrace.
You curl into him, your body instinctively leaning into his warmth as your head rests against his chest. The steady beat of his heart is a calming rhythm beneath your ear, and you let out a soft sigh of contentment, the tension of the last few minutes slowly ebbing away.
Jake wraps his arms around you, pulling you in closer, his hand gently stroking your hair as he settles against the pillows. His touch is soothing, almost protective, and it fills you with a sense of security that you can’t quite put into words.
“You did so well,” Jake murmurs, his voice soft and tender. He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his fingers tracing light patterns on your back. “You’re incredible, you know that?”
You smile against his chest, the words washing over you like a balm. You can feel the warmth of his body, the affection in every movement, and it’s all you need right now. The bond between the three of you feels unspoken but undeniable, and in this moment, everything feels right.
As you settle more comfortably against Jake, his arms holding you close, you allow yourself to fully relax, your body melting into his embrace. The soft sound of Bradley’s footsteps in the bathroom fades into the background as you lose yourself in the warmth of Jake’s care.
The world outside this room doesn’t matter right now. There’s only the three of you, your trust, and the quiet love that lingers in the space between. And for the moment, that’s all you need.
As the warmth of Jake’s embrace settles around you, the exhaustion from the long day and the intensity of everything that’s happened begin to catch up with you. Your body feels heavy, your mind slowly unwinding as the last threads of wakefulness start to slip away. You’re so close to falling asleep, the soothing rhythm of Jake’s heartbeat lulling you deeper into comfort.
But then, there’s a soft rustle of movement. You feel the bed shift slightly, and soon, Bradley is back. He’s holding a warm washcloth, the scent of soap and something faintly floral filling the air as he gently presses it against your skin. The touch is tender, careful, as he begins to clean you up, his fingers moving gently over you.
“Let me know if I’m being too rough,” Bradley murmurs softly, his voice a whisper in the quiet room, his gaze focused on his task. There’s no rush in his movements, only a quiet affection, as he takes care of you.
Once he finishes, he places the cloth aside, his hand lingering for just a moment before he pulls back. You feel the bed dip as he moves around, and then, in the next moment, he’s crawling onto the bed beside you. His arms slip around your waist from behind, pulling you into him, and you easily melt back into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against your back.
You’re trapped now, but it doesn’t feel like a prison. Bradley’s strong chest presses against your back, his arms holding you securely while Jake, still on the other side of you, continues to hold you close. The two of them surround you, their presence comforting, and you can’t help but feel safe in their arms.
“Comfy?” Bradley murmurs against your ear, his breath warm against your skin.
You nod slightly, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Wouldn’t want to fall asleep any other way.”
The steady sound of their breathing, the warmth of their bodies, and the quiet intimacy of the moment all wash over you. You can feel yourself drifting, your body sinking into the bed, the pull of sleep becoming harder to resist.
Just as your mind starts to fade, you hear Jake’s voice, light and teasing, cutting through the soft lull of the room.
“So, Bradshaw,” Jake begins, his tone dripping with playful mockery. “Not even twenty-four hours, huh?”
Bradley chuckles softly behind you, his fingers idly tracing circles on your waist as he gives a quiet, amused grunt. “Yeah, yeah. Shut up. I don’t need to prove anything to you.”
Jake snorts, a low, amused laugh slipping from his lips. “Right, but it’s nice to know you’re still a little bit predictable.”
You can hear the affection in Jake’s voice, his teasing not mean-spirited but filled with that familiar bond that the three of you share. As the sound of their laughter and gentle banter continues, the exhaustion pulls you under, and you finally surrender to sleep, the two men’s arms around you the last thing on your mind as you drift away.
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oppopotamus · 4 months ago
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The other hashiras have been noticing that sanemi has been less agressive the past few days and they start to wonder not knowing that sanemi gets his stress fucked out of him whenever he's home by his hubby that was married assigned to him by kagaya 🙀😽
Can be a Req if you feel up to it!!
first time seeing bottom sanemi truthers out here
De-stress
omg this was so yummy thank youuu
Warning: NSFW, spanking ig?, rough-ish sex,
"Haven't you noticed?" Mitsuri whispers in Obanai's ear, they were eating lunch together, watching from afar as Sanemi was training.
"What do you mean?" Obanai asks, raising one of his eyebrows, Kaburamaru sitting lazily on his shoulder.
"Sanemi, of course! He's been so... normal," she says, sounding completely confused even at her own words.
Truthfully, Sanemi has been a lot more normal lately, or at least a lot nicer. He didn't yell or scream so much, unless somebody actually deserved it, which was pretty rare.
All the Hashira have noticed, it was extremely obvious since Sanemi was just so... polite.
Nobody knew why, except for Sanemi and his husband, of course.
Any time Sanemi was home, he enjoyed his time with his husband, he adored him so much... at first he didn't, considering Kagaya had practically forced them to get married, 'it would be good for you' is what Kagaya said to Sanemi, Sanemi disagreed at first but eventually gave in and accepted.
He quickly fell deeply in love with you, much to his, and your, surprise.
Now, he had just returned from a long mission, he had been gone for about two weeks until he was finally able to return home.
The second he walked inside, he let out a sigh of relief as he saw that his husband was already home from his own job.
"(Name)..." Sanemi muttered as he dropped his blade and kicked his shoes off before practically collapsing into your chest.
"Hello to you too," you said with a small chuckle, almost immediately wrapping your arms around Sanemi, placing a kiss on the top of his head. "Miss me?" you joked.
"Missed your dick, yeah..."
You let out a surprised laugh at Sanemi's vulgar words, not at all expecting them. "Wow, you really did miss me, huh?"
"Mhm," was all Sanemi mumbled, snuggling impossibly close to your chest, as if he were trying to melt into you.
"Okay, okay, come on," you said, holding Sanemi tightly as you walked him backwards to the couch. Sanemi fell back onto the couch and looked up at you.
For the rest of the night you two simply snuggled on the couch together, doing nothing more than relaxing and spending time together. It was completely peaceful until the next day when you woke up to Sanemi angrily yelling in the kitchen.
"What the hell going on right now?" you asked as you stepped into the kitchen, looking Sanemi up and down as he angrily shouted about something as he searched through the kitchen cabinets.
"What?" he snapped, spinning around to face you. "Oh, only the fact that I have another fucking Hashira meeting and I can't find my fucking sword!" he shouted, his own hands gripping his hair and tugging it in frustration.
You sighed and walked up to your husband before grabbing his waist and spinning him around, then bending him over the kitchen countertop.
"Wha- get the fuck off of me!" Sanemi shouted angrily, squirming in your grip in a weak attempt to break free. "Not a chance," you began, holding onto the back of his head with one hand, keeping him squashed against the kitchen countertop.
"You need to calm down, and don't you worry, I know exactly how to help you relax."
It wasn't much later when Sanemi was still bent over the kitchen counter, now naked with you pinning his hands behind his back as you fucked in and out of him, his moans and cries filling the room.
"Mm- ufgh... t-too- too m-much...!" he called out, his voice broken and needy as tears of ecstasy spilled down his cheeks, his eyes rolled back into his skull.
You huffed and tightened your grip on his wrists which were held down by your right hand, your other hand on Sanemi's shoulder, keeping him in place.
'U-Umph..! P-Please!!" he cried, his body being pushed back and forth against the countertop with each of your thrusts, the edge of the countertop pushed against his stomach uncomfortably, but he barely noticed it, his complete attention was on the rough, unforgiving thrusts as you pounded into his tight hole.
You let out a breathless laugh, your thrusts getting slightly sloppy as you got closer and closer to your climax. "Haah- you love it rough, dirty boy," you groaned and removed your hand from Sanemi's shoulder to spank his ass, watching the flesh jiggle.
"Ngh-!" he whined and his thighs trembled at the spank, it hurt, but he loved it, it was so hot to him whenever your hand came down on his ass.
"Mph- m' g-gonna come-" he whined, his fists clenching and unclenching with each thrust. "Yeah? Gonna come for me, baby doll?" you asked, earning a quick nod from Sanemi.
"P-Please... lemme... tell- tell me-" he began, getting cut off with a loud moan as you gave a particularly hard thrust, he couldn't even finish his sentences anymore.
You knew exactly what he wanted, or needed rather. "Come for me, baby," you ordered, giving him permission to come, to which he eagerly did, cum spurting from his cock and onto the kitchen counters. You followed not long after, finishing in his tight little hole, filling him up just how he liked.
Sanemi had finally calmed down once again.
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ennabear · 5 months ago
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hi ennabearrrr...im back at it again...poppin in your inbox with a request for more loser!abby fluff if u want! 💙 i need her to be all blushy and squishy and i literally want to just EAT HER WHOLEKELFKTO love your writing soso much, it brightens up my day every time!
ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ HIIII SWEET PLUTOBEAR!!!!! i love having you in my inbox don’t worry 🫶 i’ll build you a comfortable little nest so you can enjoy your stay and come back sometime... HEHE ANYWAYS making fun of this fucking loser again but she’s actually just me in another universe… nsfw at the end but i swear it’s cute!!! 18+
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can’t stop thinking specifically about loser!abby falling asleep in front of you for the first time when she comes back from patrol completely wiped out. the trudge back to her room feels like it’s never ending, her whole body is sore and aching but she’d rather pass out in bed than on these concrete stairs. you’re sitting in her bed waiting for her— sheets freshly washed and pillows fluffed— when she clambers through the door. she doesn’t see you at first, yelping and almost falling backward when she realizes there’s another person in her bed.
“abby, it’s me.” you laugh, staring at her panting and hunched over form.
“jesus fuck, never do that again.” she sighs, holding her face in her hands.
you beckon her closer, opening your arms to make room for her. she flops right down on top of you, completely crushing you as her muscles relax. “how was patrol?” you prompt.
“mmmh, it wasn’t great.” she groans. “we almost lost a guy because he got shot in the leg. he was losing so much blood, saying shit like ‘tell my family i love them’ and it kinda freaked me out, you know how i am.”
“he’s gonna be okay though?”
“yeah. at least i think so. i just pray that never happens to me.”
“it won’t.” you assure her. “i love you too much to let it happen. plus, i wanna see what you look like with gray hair and wrinkles.”
she giggles softly into your neck, wrapping an arm around you and settling down. before long, her gentle breath turns into soft snores, and her soft snores turn into her sounding like a fucking chainsaw with a puddle of drool dripping down your neck.
you laugh again at your loser of a girlfriend, letting her exhausted cacophony of snores lull you to sleep like some sort of evil white noise. this was the first time in a while you fell asleep with such a smile on your face.
or… loser!abby oversharing to you while she’s drunk. you’ve never questioned why she was so sentimental about certain things, like how she could remember how and when she got every coin in her collection, but would never let you touch them. as soon as she got some alcohol in her system, she felt like it was impossible to shut up. (although she frequently felt that way, sober or not.)
it didn’t really cross your mind that she’d lost someone so close to her. sure, you’d lost your own family and friends a few times. the world is cruel but we adjust, we learn to grow around the grief, changing into bigger and better versions of ourselves. that’s what abby was good at.
she was so sweet, so confident, sometimes even a little bit of a badass although she’s a true dork at heart. so when you hear the story of her fathers passing, the brutality of it absolutely wrecks your heart. the fact that she was in the building when it happened, letting the mysterious murderer escape right under her nose, leaving her with a giant hole in her heart that could never be filled.
“i’m sorry…” she giggles through her waterfall of tears. “we were supposed to have fun tonight and i killed the mood. again.” you frown at your girlfriend, pulling her in for a tight hug and letting her sniffle into your shoulder. yeah, it’s true, she did technically ruin the mood. but how could you be mad at your baby? at least you know her better now, and she’d probably find another way to ruin the mood if not this one.
on a happier note, walking in on loser!abby masturbating... she’s actually had a great day today, and she wants nothing more than to be pleasured by her girlfriend to end it. she just doesn’t know how to ask for it. after giving you a quick parting kiss in the cafeteria, she showered and returned to bed, deciding to finally do something about the ache in between her legs. should she go get you? what if she just rubs one out really quick and then forgets about it? should she wait until you get back?
fuck it, she decides, and she’s instantly shoving two fingers into her weeping hole. the stretch is easy, she’s used to it by now. she whimpers as her fingertips graze her g-spot, reaching up to tug at one of her nipples. “abby?”
“oh, jesus!” she gasps, clamping her hand over her mouth as her cheeks redden. “you have got to stop doing that!”
“having fun?” you tease, watching as her blush spreads from her cheeks to her ears. “yeah… well, no actually.” she sputters. giggling, you climb on top of her and tug your shirt off, then lean forward to place a sweet kiss on her nose bump. “would you like some help?”
as soon as you get her approval, your lips are suckling onto her clit with two of your own fingers pumping in and out of her. she’s breathing incoherent praises like “gah, fuck! oh- it- i’m !!!” as you slide in and out of her, pausing repeatedly to lick up some of the slick that’s dripping down your hand.
once she tips over the edge, you rub her thighs in encouragement, mouth too occupied sucking up all of her cum to praise her verbally. when you pull away, she’s staring up at you with doe eyes. her lips, cheeks, nose— fuck, her whole face— looking more kissable than ever.
“i’m sorry.” she sighs once you have her wrapped up in a warm blanket, guiding her head to rest on your chest.
“for what?”
she ponders this for a second. she’s so used to apologizing for embarrassing herself that she forgot you’ll love her no matter what, even if it’s as awkward as walking in on her with her hands down her pants. “uhh, actually, i dunno anymore.” she smiles. “i love you though.”
you crane your neck down to kiss each of her eyelids as they flutter shut for the night. “i love you too, silly.”
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shouyuus · 7 days ago
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sry sry blame @vifilms for showing me a pic of vi's back and now i can't stop thinking about just... lying behind her, or even sitting over top of her waist, tracing your fingers gently over the shape of her back tattoo as she lies on her stomach, her cheek pillowed over her crossed hands.
"these are beautiful..." you say.
she chuckles, "i guess they are but... i didn't feel beautiful when i got them."
you run your index finger along the light curls of powder blue smoke.
"doesn't make them any less so."
she laughs again, shifting slightly beneath you, letting her eyes fall shut. and as you run your fingers down each of the designs, she begins to talk --
"i had two brothers once, too -- i dunno if i ever told you that."
you shake your head, before realizing that she can't see.
"no, you haven't. i thought powder -- jinx -- was your only sibling."
vi hums, "yeah, we had the same mom and dad but mylo and claggor... they were family too."
your eyes drop to the pair of twin keys notched at the base of her spine, the teeth carved into the shapes -- m and c. you touch them gently and she shivers.
"down in the lanes... family just means the people you watch out for, and the people who watch out for you."
you laugh, walking the tips of your fingers up the length of her spine, tracing the dark cogs that turn against her skin.
"i think that's how family works everywhere, vi. you're born with one... and as you grow up... you can choose another one."
her eye peaks open as she glances at you over her shoulder, her gaze impossibly soft.
"yeah... guess so..." she shifts slightly beneath you as you trace up to the swirls of blue smoke twisting over her shoulders.
"and i'm guessing these are for..."
"jinx," vi answers, her voice faraway, "or i guess... she was still powder to me then."
you draw your fingers along the bends and curves of smoke, before you trace over each of the dark mechanical lines running over her shoulders and down the backs of her arms.
"and... these?"
vi sighs, "those were... reminders, i guess. when i was -- in stillwater... there's only so much you can do to keep yourself sane in there. and... i guess i just wanted a way to prove to myself that i could still... feel something. and..." a small laugh escapes her, "i thought that if i could ink these metal cogs and spires on my skin that maybe... somehow, i could be stronger, harder, less..."
her voice is bone-porcelain thin.
you lean down to press your lips to the nape of her neck.
"breakable?" you offer.
she puffs out a breath.
"stupid, isn't it?"
you kiss down the slopes of her shoulder, ghosting fingers behind the warmth of your lips. you shake your head so she feels you against her.
"not at all."
"and... powder always seemed to love her mechanical toys so much that i thought... well --" her voice shudders for half a second before it breaks, and she clears her throat, turning to bury her face in her arms, sighing into the soft linens of the bed below.
"that maybe... if you made yourself a bit more like them..." you say, pressing your cheek to her bare skin, "that... she might love you like she used to?"
vi makes a sound somewhere between a hiccup and a sigh. she doesn't turn, but her shoulders shrug up ever so slightly as she answers --
"or... forgive me... just a little."
you hum against her skin.
"will it help if i told you that it's not your fault?"
that makes her laugh, and she shifts just enough to peer up at you from beneath her dark lashes.
"it took me a while to get there, but i... i think i've forgiven myself for it... most of it, at least."
you feel her tap your thigh, and you lift up just enough for her to twist around. you grin as she settles you over her hips again, running warm palms along your legs, up to the bend of your waist, a loped grin slung lazily across her lips.
"good," you say, leaning down for a brief kiss. she groans against you, biting down on your lower lip. "anything i can do to help with the rest?" you ask, pulling away just far enough for her to dig her fingertips into the plush of your hips.
vi's eyes flicker, and her smile goes snake-bitten and sweet before she rucks you down over her hips and a gasp stitches out of you.
"sure... i think i've got a few... ideas."
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headlinerkwan · 6 months ago
Text
whispered - c.hs
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pairing: vernon x gn!reader
genre: nonidol!au, mutual friends to lovers, secret dating, featuring the rest of svt, reader & vernon are whipped for each other, slight comfort, suggestive.
summary: vernon had always been the guy you saw across the room but never spoke to, until you did. who could blame you for keeping your relationship quiet?
warnings: profanity, mental health, alcohol, implied family problems, highly suggestive - MDNI!!
wc: 4.4k
a/n: i hope you guys like this!! i've always loved the secret dating trope and vernon's so sweet sooo. song rec for this fic is leonard cohen - boygenius ₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎
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The night that you met Vernon was ordinary. Or, at least, it was meant to be ordinary. Another party at Jeonghan and Seungkwan’s place, no different from the one they held last Friday - chaotic as always, right? You had seen Vernon around before, it was impossible not to notice him. There was something that drew you to him, something that made you curious. Maybe it was the way his dark eyes sparkled under the low kitchen lights, or how he really didn’t seem to care what was going on around him, focusing only on the music and the drink in his hand. 
“Everyone! Listen up!” Seungkwan yells, standing on top of a chair. You lift your head to watch him, catching Vernon’s eyes briefly as you do. “Who’s up for a game of suck and blow?” 
As soon as he says that, you know there’s no escaping. Your friend grabs you by the arm, already sensing your hesitation. 
“Pleaseee” Lia babbles into your ear, leaning against you “Just this once. One game, then I promise I’ll let you return to your dungeon, come on! It’ll be fun.”
Absent-mindedly, your gaze drifts to Vernon. You stifle a smile whilst you watch Chan and Jeonghan hassle him similarly. You sigh and reply to Lia, “Fine, one game.”
Seungkwan has always been methodical when it comes to games. Everything has to be just right from the set up to the number of players, it’s all a process. You’re standing with your friends, and a few strangers, waiting as Seungkwan creates the ‘perfect’ formation. 
“Kwan, hurry up!” Mingyu whines. 
“Ugh you don’t get it, fine.” He starts pulling people out, each one of your friends lined up and, like the child that he is, he puts you behind Vernon of course. 
He turns to you, adorning an awkward smile before he offers his hand.
“I’m Vernon.”
“Y/N” You say, shaking his hand. 
“I know.” 
Your eyes widen, he knows?. He turns around, a smug look on his face, chuckling to himself. 
The next time you see his face, he’s holding the card to his lips and bending down slightly to meet you. It’s like everything goes quiet once his eyes look into yours, like it’s the first day of your life as he leans in closer, and closer. 
And then, he drops the card. 
And his lips are on yours. His lips are on yours. Oh shit. 
You pull away quickly, your heart fluttering as the party hollers around you. 
“And… you two are out!” Seungkwan yells, pointing at the both of you, as if you needed more of a reason to blush. 
Keeping your eyes on the floor, embarrassed by your shy smile and red cheeks, you immediately walk towards Lia who, after being sat in front of Chan, had already lost the game. 
“I’m gonna go home now.”
“Huh?”
“You said one game, and I’m tired so…”
She sits back in her chair, sighing “Ok, I’ll keep my end of the deal, text me when you get home.”
“Mhm, stay safe, I’ll see you later!”
“Yeah yeah I know.”
· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· · • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·
Stepping out onto the street, you finally feel like you can breathe. The night sky, a gathering of stars to guide you home and the wind blowing gently through your hair. 
“We shouldn’t have lost, you know. Seungkwan’s a bad referee.”
Huh? You freeze. Is that…
You turn around to confirm your suspicions and there he is. In the middle of the road, Vernon is stood waiting for you to respond, hoping you’ll respond. 
“Huh?” 
“That wasn’t a real kiss,” he says, stepping closer to you. His eyes are soft as he scans your face as if he’s trying to memorise every freckle and blemish, “this is.”
He places two fingers under your chin, lifting your face to look at him. His lips crash into yours, he tastes like sweet vanilla and beer, his hands move gently to cup the side of your face. You’re still for a second, still frozen in place until you finally come to your senses and begin kissing him back. His tongue licks over your lips, and you part them in response, leaning into him as his tongue smooths around your mouth, tangling your fingers in his hair as he teases and smiles into you. 
Pulling back, he rests his forehead against yours, opening his eyes to look at you with a breathless grin. “Better?” he whispers against your lips and you can’t manage anything but a nod in response. 
His hand drops from your face to find your hand, warm and strong. You find yourself speechless as he turns away from you, dragging you along the street as he giggles to himself like a small child, “C’mon, I’ll walk you home”. 
You don’t live far from Jeonghan’s apartment, but the walk with Vernon feels almost like a lifetime as you trade anecdotes on your mutual friends and daily lives.
You learn he works at the record store downtown, he’s been friends with Seungkwan since they were teenagers and, just like you, he had been dragged to the party by his friends - your friends. 
Between you two, you note at least six times that you had just missed meeting each other at group hangouts, four times that you had seen the other but been too shy to approach them. A multitude of missed chances, all the times you had gone against the strings of fate.
· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· · • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·
As you shut the door to your apartment, you can’t help but smile to yourself, thinking back on the last hour.
If you were being honest with yourself, you were… somewhat of a pessimist when it came to romance. The whole dating thing, to be blunt, you had grown sick of. The back and forth, the chasing, the disappointment. You’re not sure you have the energy for more disappointment. 
Vernon, though, manages to slip past you somehow. Manages to slip past the walls you’d built over the years. The way he makes you laugh, his heart-shaped smiles, his chestnut hair perfectly framing his face, the way he views the world with a pure curiosity.
Fuck. Tonight might have been the first time in months that your smiles have been real. Tonight your smiles weren’t products of politeness but real, genuine happiness. 
God this can’t be good. You’re going soft. You’re letting a man turn you soft.
· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· · • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·
Maybe: Vernon [13:12]: I know we JUST saw each other but I can’t stop thinking about that donut place we saw last night.
Your phone vibrates on your desk and you immediately catch yourself smiling. It’s almost embarrassing how he has you giggling at your screen from such a simple message. 
Ok. Compose yourself. You still need to respond. 
Y/N [13:15]: It’s like you can read my mind. 
Vernon [13:16]: I’ll be there in 15.
· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· · • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·
“I should tell you something.” You say, walking down the street hand-in-hand with Vernon.
“Out of the blue?” 
“Mhm, out of the blue!” You respond, nudging him playfully.
“Go on…”
“I just… I’m not like, ashamed of you. I’m just, I like it like this, just you and me, I like us.”
He chuckles quietly at your sudden candour and timidity.
You hit his arm softly “Bro! I’m being serious.”
“Bro! I know!” He pulls you closer, “It’s nice with you, peaceful, like everything else fades away. I like having you to myself I guesss.”
“Hmm, maybe I should be ashamed of you, I can still change my mind” You say, laughing. 
“You couldn’t even if you wanted to” 
You respond with a pouty smile, he giggles, his mouth moulding into the heart shape that always manages to melt you. 
“Ooo! Wait let’s get ice cream!” He says, his hand leaving yours as he runs to the food stall across the street, still grinning from ear to ear.
You find yourself smiling again. If someone had told you two months ago that you would fall for a film nerd who has the Wikipedia app downloaded onto his phone you might’ve punched them square in the face - and yet, here you are.
· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· · • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·
“Cheers!”, your friends call out, clinking their glasses together. All of you are crowded around a small table, you’re sandwiched between Seokmin and Lia who are in the midst of an intense conversation about film adaptations. Vernon is sitting silently at the other end of the table, listening to Chan and Seungkwan rambling on about a lost bet. His eyes meet yours and a quiet smile appears on his face in time with yours. 
“Y/N! You’re the literature nerd, can you pleaseee explain the phenomenon that is the 1996 adaptation of Romeo and Juliet” Seokmin says, pulling you away from your silent exchange.
You clear your throat and prepare yourself to give somewhat of a lecture on what you think may be the best modern retelling of Shakespeare.
Almost an hour later, Vernon pipes up, seeking an opportunity. “Anyone want another pint?”
A mumble of yes’s respond as empty glasses are lifted into the air. 
“Y/N, mind giving me a hand?” He asks, impressively casually. 
“Oh, uh yeah of course.” You say, shooting up from your seat (not so casually).
Standing at the bar waiting for the bartender's attention, Vernon leans over to whisper in your ear, “Should we just… run away?”. 
“So tempting Mr. Chwe but I think they might catch on.”
“Hmm I’m not sure, I think they might be too caught up in their own conversations to piece it together.”
“A good point.”
“Wait five minutes, I’ll be outside.” He says assuredly, slyly reaching to squeeze your hand. 
And then he’s gone, returning to the table to bid your friends goodbye, glancing at you one last time before he leaves and turns the corner.
· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· · • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·
“Finally” He whines jokingly as you exit the bar after escaping the tipsy grasp of your friends. 
You laugh, throwing your head back at his dramatics whilst he pulls you in by the waist, placing a chaste kiss on your lips. 
“I missed you.” He whispers.
You can’t stop yourself from giggling again, “We’ve literally been together the entire night.”
“Sure, but now you’re all mine.” He replies, pressing soft pecks into your skin. 
“Can’t deny that.” 
· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· · • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·
Y/N [23:17]: Are you free rn?
Vernon [23:17]: For you? Always.
Y/N [23:19]: Can you come get me? 
Vernon [23:21]: Are you ok?
Y/N [23:21]: Yeah, I just need to get out of here
‘Y/N’ shared their location with ‘Vernon’. 
The rain is sharp and cold as it falls on you, staring at the puddles forming by your feet. There isn’t a thought in your head as you watch the raindrops fall.  Dinner with your family has always brought out the worst in you, always wearing you down, leaving you empty. Your heart is heavy with exhaustion, anger, sadness. Exhaustion. 
Then his hand slips into yours. Warm and strong as always. 
“Y/N?”
You turn to him, slowly lifting your head to look at him, tears in your eyes. His expression immediately softens, “Come on bub, let me drive you home.”  he says, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and opening the car door for you.  
“Do you wanna talk about it?”  
“I don’t know ‘non, can we not go home yet though? I just need some time to think.”
He nods, starting the engine, “Of course.”
· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· · • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·
The sand falls from the gaps between your fingers, you sit beside Vernon, resting your head on his shoulder and letting the sea’s mist kiss your face. 
Vernon is the first to break the silence, “I come here a lot, to think.”
“Mm,” you hum “it’s nice here, quiet.”
He kisses the top of your head and returns his focus to the waves crashing against the rocks. 
“Sometimes I feel so out of my depth, like I don’t know if i’m doing the right thing or what the right thing is,” you admit quietly, his hand finds yours to show you he’s listening, “It all just feels so out of my control, like everything’s happening around me and not to me and that’s … not fun.”
He wraps his arms around you, pulling you against his chest, “I know bub, and it’s not like there’s an easy fix. It’s just- you just have to feel it, the sadness, the anger, the happiness, that’s the best way. Just like how some waves pass and others break apart, and some mountains seem impossible to climb, that’s just how it is, even if it’s shit. And when it’s overwhelming, that’s okay too because I’ll come and rescue you, we’ll climb the mountains together.”
There’s a moment of silence before he lifts his pinky finger to yours. 
“Promise.” he says softly. 
You loop your fingers together and seal it with a shake. The sea air carrying your whispers into the night. 
· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· · • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·
“Okay, options are ramen or takeout.” He calls from the kitchen.
“Hmm, I think we definitely deserve takeout.”
“How come?”
“For being the power couple of the century, what do you mean?”
His laugh echoes through his apartment, “Brooo, you’re so right I can’t believe I even asked.”
He runs over to you, lazily splayed across his couch, lying on top of you he continues to giggle as he buries his face into your neck. 
You love lazy Sundays with Vernon, they had quickly become your escape from reality, a sanctuary for yourself, your happiness and your love.
“What movie are we watching today then ‘non?” You ask sweetly, your hands subconsciously playing with his hair.
“I was thinking… academy award winning classic ‘The Grand Budapest Hotel’?”
Ah yes, the film you and Vernon had watched ten times over, the one you would never get sick of, “LETS FUCKING GOOO!!” you yell, excitedly punching the air. 
He sits up, looking at you with a cheesy grin, laughing and mirroring your fists, “LETS GO BROO!!”
As much as you love the film, staying focused on it proves to be a struggle - especially with Vernon next to you. You can’t help but watch the intense sparkle in his eyes as he’s entirely consumed by the screen. You find yourself mesmerised by the way he watches and laughs along like it’s the first time. 
“It’s hard to focus with your eyes on me” he states abruptly, refusing to tear his eyes away from the TV.
Your cheeks burn red from embarrassment, “Oh, sorry.”
He turns to you then, a blend of concern and mischief on his face, “I didn’t say that I didn’t like it.”
Your eyes widen slightly at his sudden confidence, a part of him that always makes your heart flutter. You don’t even get a chance to respond as his lips capture yours, melting into him as he kisses you passionately, stealing the air from your lungs. One of his hands cups your face gently, a direct juxtaposition from the other which finds its way to your waist, gripping firmly as the two of you move against each other like ocean waves. 
Tangling your fingers in his hair, he pulls you onto his lap, moving his lips to suck and nibble at your neck as your breath grows heavy with desire. The moans he releases against your skin echo through you, his hands running up and down your body as you throw your head back, getting hungrier by the minute. 
And then he stops. 
Huh? 
You immediately open your eyes, slightly concerned by the suddenness of his actions, to find his eyes back on the TV whilst his hands continue to fiddle with the hem of your shorts. 
“I love this scene.” He whispers, breathless and fascinated.
“Vernonnnn” you whine, throwing yourself back down onto the couch. It’s sweet, honestly, endearing, you find yourself giggling “are you kidding?”
He looks down at you, an innocent smile plastered on his face, his hand still caressing your thigh. He raises a curious eyebrow before breaking into a loud chuckle and leaning back towards you.
“Dude… Of course I’m kidding. I think the film’s gonna have to wait until I’m done with you.” He whispers against your skin, trailing kisses from your lips to your collarbone.
· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· · • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·
Five months in, you and Vernon had mastered the ‘Romeo and Juliet’ routine. Even around your friends, you cherished every moment with him, every smile, secret touch, knowing look. Even on bad days, your heart feels lighter with Vernon around. 
It’s another chaotic Friday night, just like when you had first met Vernon, except this time your friends hadn’t dragged you to Jeonghan and Seungkwan’s apartment but to their favourite karaoke bar. The table you’re sitting at is littered with empty soju bottles and beer cans, you listen intently to one of Jun’s famous anecdotes as BooSeokSoon serenades your friends loudly.
“How do they still have the energy for that?” Wonwoo asks, astounded as the three men jump around, microphones in hand. 
‘They’re machines, you know that.” Minghao replies.
“Mm, you’re right.” 
Watching your friends, wrapped up in their own little worlds, you’re almost emotional - so happy to see them having fun, so proud to have watched them grow, and then there’s Vernon of course - maybe it’s the alcohol talking but you’re not sure you’ve felt so happy before. 
“We should play a game,” Seungcheol slurs, “Should we play a game? Yeah we should play a game.” You laugh at the conversation he’s having with himself, watching as Vernon, grinning stupidly, walks over to his friends to lead them down from the stage and back to the table. The boys around you cheer for the others as they stumble to their chairs, bowing dramatically to their new ‘fans’. Once the havoc settles down, Mingyu taps his ring against his glass “Ok,” he points his finger, scanning the group before landing on Joshua “Shua, what game are we playing?” 
“Uh… 365?” Joshua replies, being met with drunken agreement from the rest. 
The time passes quickly as you drink and play. Growing tipsy, you hardly notice the change in Vernon’s demeanour when Soonyoung rests his head on your shoulder. It’s nothing new to you, he’s known to be an affectionate drunk - and a light weight, you’re used to his drunken skinship.
Vernon’s patience is running low as the minutes pass, his leg shaking as he watches Soonyoung cuddle up to you. He stands up from his seat across the table, walking over to your seat and taking your hand, leading you outside. Confused, you look back at your friends as you walk with him, finding them all too drunk to notice you and Vernon’s absence.
“Non? Is everything okay?”
“Can we go home now?” He asks softly with hurt eyes.
“What’s wrong? Did something happen?” 
“I should be sat over there with you, I just don’t want to watch Soonyoung be all cuddly with the person I love.” 
“Non, you know he’s just a sleepy drunk, we can go home if you want-”
Wait. 
“The person you love?” you question, your eyes soften as you process his words. 
“Oh uh, you, I mean… you.” he breaks eye contact, fidgeting nervously. 
“For real?” you smile.
He laughs to himself, “Yeah dude, for real.” 
You giggle again, smiling wide and throwing your head back. As you do, his hands cup your face, bringing you back to him matching your grin. You reach up to move a strand of hair out of his hair. 
“I like jealous Vernon.” you whisper.
“Shut up.” he says, his lips finding yours in a soft and wanting kiss. 
· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· · • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · 
You’re lying in bed, glowing with sweat, tangled up in your sheets and wrapped in Vernon’s arms. The calmness that washes over you in these moments is immeasurable, the comfort and contentedness you feel is something that you wish would last forever.  
There’s a knock on your door and you both shoot up from the bed. 
“Y/N, are you home?” Your roommate calls from the other side of the door. 
“I thought…” He whispers with wide eyes.
“Yeah… Lia’s not meant to be back until tomorrow” You reply, scrambling to throw some clothes on. 
“What do we do?”
“Y/N?” Lia calls again.
You search your room looking for some kind of escape plan before it dawns on you, there was only one option. 
You point to the closet.
He shoots you a questioning look.
“I don’t fucking know bro” you whisper, rushing to make yourself somewhat presentable.
You open the door, Vernon finally hidden, “Hey, you’re back early!” you say to Lia, trying your best to hide the fact that there was a man hiding in your closet.
“Yeah, we finished early so I got the train this morning. I was just wondering if you wanted to get lunch later?” 
“Sounds good! Give me like 30 minutes?”
“Yep that works for me” Lia says as she disappears into her room. 
You shut the door, letting out a deep breath. 
“You can come out now.”
Vernon pokes his head out of the closet, scanning the room before stepping out. You stare at each other in silence before bursting into laughter. 
“I swear I almost shat the bed!” Vernon says, throwing himself down on the mattress.
“Bro, that was crazy…” you agree, joining him on the bed.
Your laughter slowly fades into a comfortable silence.
“Should we just…” you begin.
“Tell them?” Vernon finishes.
You hum in agreement. 
“I mean… why not? As long as you’re with me, I think… I think It’ll be okay.” You speak softly, he’s quiet for a few seconds until he starts peppering kisses all over your face, smiling sweetly against your skin. 
· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· · • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·
A couple days later, you and Vernon stand in front of the restaurant, you can see your friends chatting inside the building. Your hand is in his, his thumb caressing yours. You look at each other, sharing an anxious but determined look, before nodding and walking towards the door. 
When you enter the restaurant, it’s almost comical the way that your friends turn to look at you, their eyes dropping to your interlocked hands. 
Anticipative silence fills the room as you exchange looks. 
“I FUCKING TOLD YOU GUYS!” Seungkwan yells excitedly, standing up from his chair and pointing an accusatory finger at your friends, inciting a blur of exclamations from the rest of the group. 
Vernon looks at you, smiling, before you sit down beside each other and prepare yourself for the abundance of questions coming your way.
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taglist: @christinewithluv
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