#like it looks fine until you put it into perspective with the others

[devildomwriter]

Hark! The Herald Angels Sing | Luke, Raphael, & Simeon x Reader

1.3K Word Count | GN! Reader | CW: none just fluffiness

Caroling. You’d gone once before but stayed in the back and mouthed the words. That was no longer an option as you’d gotten wrapped into caroling with actual angels.

Luke suggested it after seeing a group of them in the human world. With just the four of you—Solomon wormed his way out of it—you weren’t sure how impressive it would be. You just hoped your voice would be ignored or drowned out by the talent surrounding you.

The songs were already rehearsed and you weren’t sure you were doing it right at all, you were far too distracted by Raphael’s brilliance with the sung word. You could only hope this would be the case for other humans too.

Raphael designed and prepared special outfits for you as well. Thankfully they weren’t tacky or old fashioned and were cute and warm looking. He’d made sure to get your input on what was normal for human carolers.

As far as you’d seen carolers wore normal clothes or very old fashioned ones like they were singing on the street corner in 1800s London. There was no in-between until Raphael made one himself.

Michael was delighted to hear the angels he’d sent to the Devildom were going to carol in impoverished neighborhoods to lift humans’ spirits so he’d given you a route to follow without being asked.

It was now expected you follow this route. Luke was more than happy but Simeon and Raphael looked stressed as though they had just been given homework. They more or less had and now you had to live up to Michael’s expectations too.

“So…do we go door to door and how many songs do we sing each? Do we gather neighbors instead…” you asked, hoping that in the elaborate route, there’d be some indication of how caroling should be done from an angel’s perspective.

Simeon sighed and shook his head. “No…I suppose we’ll play it by ear. I’m not sure what sort of neighborhoods he’s sending us to…”

“I can look it up!” Luke declared and pulled out his D.D.D. as it would be much faster than asking Simeon to do so.

Raphael studied the map while Luke’s expression turned frightful and he handed you the phone.

“What the fudge…” you covered a curse since there was a child in the room as you looked at the neighborhood crime reports. “Michael wants to kill us apparently…”

Raphael held out his hand to look at what the website had found and shook his head. “I see. Michael knows what he’s doing it seems.”

You looked dumbfounded and prodded for an answer.

He looked confused that you hadn’t put it together and explained, “These are clearly humans who need to hear us the most. Our voice may inspire them to spread kindness.”

“Yeah, crime report doesn’t necessarily mean these people are the perpetrators…more like they get robbed and…stuff…a lot.” You said avoiding eye contact with Luke.

Luke was shaking a tiny bit but quickly straightened himself out and nodded determinedly.

“Sir Michael knows what he’s doing! We’ve been given this task. If he trusts us with it it means we’ll all be fine.”

“Yes, we are angels after all,” Raphael nodded and Simeon gave you an apologetic look.

“Umm…no?” You retorted and Raphael thought for a second.

“This will give you the chance to be…” he thought aloud but changed his mind when you looked horrified by the implications. “You already are…in a way. You are descended from one, so…you should be fine. And besides,” he summoned his spear to his hand. “I’ll protect you.”

Luke nodded in agreement and Simeon continued to look more worried and sighed at his fledglings’ lack of understanding.

“That’s not the point,” Simeon argued for your sake as the two didn’t seem to get it.

Eventually, the night of caroling had arrived and you sat in the minivan rental, stressed for more than one reason.

Luke sat next to you giddily bouncing to release excited/nervous energy. You tugged at your shirt collar, feeling a little anxious and Simeon stepped out of the van to open the doors for you. You gave him a look and he nodded, smiling.

“You’ll be just fine, I promise. Besides those reports could have been old. This neighborhood doesn’t look so bad to me.”

You looked at the dilapidated buildings but decided to take a page out of Simeon’s book as you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. Especially not surrounded by joyful angels in cute Christmas outfits.

You decided to set up on the street corner instead and you felt hot with embarrassment. You’d never put on a show spontaneously like this. Everything was always planned and expected by the people in the audience but you had no idea how this was going to go.

Even though only a few people were walking around, kids getting home from school, people walking their dogs, and people watching the snowfall, it was still enough to get their attention when four random strangers appeared in their tight-knit community.

Luke began as planned. You made no announcement or attempt to call people over. This was for the best as you’d be more embarrassed if no one even looked your way after something like that.

Simeon followed Luke’s lead and then yourself much more gently in case you missed your keys again. You had gotten much better through practice, enough that Raphael complimented your vocals but you were still very shy about a public performance.

At first, an elderly couple stood and listened. They smiled and held hands. Then a dog walker stopped and took out their earphones to see what was happening.

A group of young adults stopped next and stayed through the song you’d been singing as they walked by.

Little by little a small crowd formed and someone brought out a metal chair to sit in while their kid sat on the street next to them.

It was quite an unexpected sight. A group of people of all different ages with different agendas that day were stood frozen in amazement listening to the angels and yourself sing praises of their Father.

Some appeared skeptical and like they wanted to stay out of it at first but turned back around when they heard Luke’s solo piece as they were too impressed with it regardless of what he was singing.

Simeon smiled at you as you received a round of applause. Luke addressed the crowd this time, thanking them for listening and announcing the next song you’d be singing as the snow fell gently around you.

A few left after the announcement but a few more joined as more people came back from work and school.

Several dozen people stood in silence as you sang songs to them for an hour’s time. When you were done you bowed to the happy crowd.

As Michael had suggested, this was the best place you could have been. One woman thanked Simeon tearfully as this had been just what she needed and a few kids complimented Luke.

The elderly couple gave you taffy and wished you a good night and slowly the crowd dispersed as you, Luke, Raphael, and Simeon shared smiles and headed to the minivan.

“See. This neighborhood is great! Everyone was so nice! You can’t trust the internet!” Luke declared, happy with this win.

You nodded and breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes. I suppose Michael did know what he was doing this time…where else is he sending us?”

You asked and Raphael held up his D.D.D. to show you the route he’d input.

“That’s like five hours away? Does he realize how big this country is?”

Simeon laughed and Raphael sighed, annoyed at this revelation.

“Teleport us then?” Simeon asked you sweetly and you sighed.

“I guess.”

Without expecting it, you caroled the night away with a smile on your face as people from all walks of life were moved to tears by the voices of angels.

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 85

Although Weevilsight finally recovers from her attack with a scar, Currentsmoke’s infection begins to fester. Currentsmoke starts to lose hope.

[Image ID: Weevilsight looks at Currentsmoke, saying "You won't die while I'm your cleric!" Under Currentsmoke, it says + FESTERING.]

(Weevilsight: 20, female, cleric, daring, deep StarClan bond)

(Currentsmoke: 20, male, caretaker, loving, good climber, skilled toolsmith)

Determined to see their littermates happy, Weevilsight and Anchovystrike arrange for Wolfgaze and Billowhaze to confess their love to each other.

[Image ID: Weevilsight and Anchovystrike watch Wolfgaze and Billowhaze. Under Wolfgaze, it says + MATE: BILLOWHAZE. Under Billowhaze, it says + MATE: WOLFGAZE.]

---

Anchovystrike had been so absorbed in his morning stretches that he didn't notice Weevilsight approach until she groaned dramatically and flopped belly-up onto the sand. The rest of RippleClan continued with the start of their day, walking around the noisy cleric. Anchovystrike knew he was in for it; Weevilsight hadn't even tucked her fur with petals yet.

"This last moon may have been the worst moon of my life," Weevilsight grumbled. "Ow, ow, sand in my eyes." She rolled onto her belly and rubbed her eyes.

"I feel like we've had worse," Anchovystrike hummed, arching his back down in one last big stretch.

"From a larger perspective?" Weevilsight scoffed. "Sure. But I spent the whole night with Paleseed and Currentsmoke, promising Currentsmoke he'd beat his infection. Not to mention, Yarrowclaw is still completely crashed from her 'day' cycle, to put it mildly. Sandhollow hasn't cleared her for patrols, and I'm going to have to live with these scars the rest of my life. What sort of cleric has battle scars?" Weevilsight hung her tail loosely overhead, showing off the criss-crossing scars that blended with her ginger markings.

"I thought you were fine with your scars," Anchovystrike pointed out.

"I said that to cheer up Currentsmoke," Weevilsight huffed, laying her cheek on the warm sand. "It feels like everything's gone wrong, again. I wish our lives would calm down."

"We're only a year old," Anchovystrike laughed. "We have a lot more moons ahead for things to be calm."

"You're surprisingly optimistic," Weevilsight said, sitting up.

"Well, you're right, last moon was awful," Anchovystrike scoffed, "but things are getting better! Sure, Yarrowclaw could hallucinate again, but I talked with her, she's starting to feel better, even if she isn't there yet. You'll help Currentsmoke, and the scars? They're pretty on you." Anchovystrike wished Weevilsight could see the scars through his eyes; the eternal glow that surrounded her made her scars look like brilliant rivers swirling down to the tip of her tail. To him, scars on a cleric seemed fitting. How else could they relate to their patients?

"That's a nice way to see it," Weevilsight sighed, studying her tail. "There is one issue you haven't solved, though."

"Now I'm curious," Anchovystrike purred.

"Troutpool asked Trumpetspore on a date," Weevilsight whispered, laughing under her breath. "Trumpetspore's rejection hurt so much, Troutpool told everyone she was busy with Currentsmoke and hid in the medicine den."

"That was three days ago!" Anchovystrike laughed.

"She's still too embarrassed!" Weevilsight giggled. As the two friends laughed over Troutpool's misfortune, a different set of laughter graced Anchovystrike's ears. Over by the artisan's storage den, Wolfgaze and Billowhaze sat around a drum, the latter showing the former different ways she could hit the instrument to make different sounds. Wolfgaze's paws limply hit the leather top, much to both cats' delight. Their eyes shone bright as Billowhaze continued guiding Wolfgaze through her lesson.

"So we both know Wolfgaze really likes my brother, right?" Anchovystrike purred when he realized Weevilsight was watching the pair as well.

"Oh I've known for a while," Weevilsight chuckled. "When do you think they'll make it official?"

"Well," Anchovystrike pured, kneading the sand, "we could give them a little encouragement."

"Ooo, you have a plan," Weevilsight purred, standing.

"Take Wolfgaze to the gardens," Anchovystrike explained, bounding up, "and I'll come by later with Billowhaze on a 'hunting patrol.' We'll push them in the right direction, give them some time alone, and one of them is bound to say something!"

"You know what?" Weevilsight laughed. "I could use something good today. I'm in. I'll go get a basket, make it look like official business. Hope you enjoy having Wolfgaze as a sister-in-code!" Weevilsight trotted back toward the medicine den, all her dramatic melancholy vanished.

The plan would work, but in that moment, as Anchovystrike watched Weevilsight walk away, he realized something. There was a glow to Wolfgaze's eyes, something beyond her natural star-blessed shine, whenever she thought about Billowhaze. It was something Anchovystrike had teased her about more than once. But the young warrior realized as Weevilsight slipped back into the medicine den that his eyes glowed as well.

They glowed for Weevilsight.

(Anchovystrike: 20, male, warrior, playful, deep StarClan bond)

(Weevilsight: 20, female, cleric, daring, deep StarClan bond)

(Wolfgaze: 20, female, codekeeper, thoughful, connection to StarClan, great speaker)

(Billowhaze: 20, male, historian, loyal, good kit-sitter)

Spurred by this season of love in the air, Ravenweaver confesses to Brightreed and becomes his mate.

[Image ID: Ravenweaver says to Brightreed "You're strong, and you always try your best… why wouldn't I want a relationship with you?" Under her, it reads + MATE: BRIGHTREED. Under Brightreed, it says + MATE: RAVENWEAVER. In the back, Gingerkit and Frostkit watch in the back, with Gingerkit saying "Bleh!" Under Gingerkit, it reads + NEW SKILL: CURIOUS ABOUT HUMANS. Under Frostkit, it says + NEW SKILL: LOVER OF STORIES.]

(Ravenweaver: 20, female, artisan, nervous, den builder, very clever)

(Brightreed: 17, male, warrior, righteous, student of art)

(Gingerkit: 1, male, kit, charming, curious about humans)

(Frostkit: 1, female, kit, quiet, lover of stories)

Stormjump would spend the whole day with Honeybuzz if she could.

[Image ID: Thundergale and Yellowburst watch Stormjump and Honeybuzz. Yellowburst says, "I bet five sunhigh patrols that I'll be an aunt this time next year."]

(Stormjump: 16, female, caretaker, charismatic, incredible cook)

(Honeybuzz: 33, male, cleric, daring, skilled toolsmith, good teacher)

(Yellowburst: 16, female, caretaker, adventurous, good mediator)

(Thundergale: 17, female, teacher, adventurous, good hunter, good speaker)

A patrol finds a kit who escaped from his humans. He takes the name Whitekit and is adopted by Rattlepelt and Wildclaw.

[Image ID: Shrewpaw, Wildclaw, and Rattlepelt face a white kit with yellow eyes. Under the kit, it says NEW PLAYER: WHITEKIT, 2, MALE, SKITTISH, ACTIVE IMAGINATION.]

---

"Songs help us remember a lot of information on one topic," Shrewpaw hummed, signing as he spoke, "but if you're trying to memorize something more complex, like a story, you need to repeat it over and over." Thundergale nodded enthusiastically as Shrewpaw's confidence soared.

"That's everything I've come up with when it comes to teaching methods," Thundergale signed, purring. "You're doing so well! You'll be ready to help me guide training sessions as soon as tomorrow!"

"Even though I'm the only apprentice?" Shrewpaw asked, playfully cocking his head.

"Someone always wants help learning something," Thundergale insisted, sitting taller. "We just make it easier. Let's go home. It's been a long day." A long day was right. Thundergale took Shrewpaw out of camp at sunhigh, and it was already dusk! Not that Thundergale's lessons weren't extremely fun, though. It was like she knew just what Shrewpaw needed to understand the subject at paw. It hardly felt like learning when Thundergale was in charge.

Shrewpaw trotted alongside his mentor through the warm yellow undergrowth. The sun burned through the trees, draining the color from the land. It was like drowning in sunlight. It made Shrewpaw's bright red fur look ginger and turned Thundergale a tree-like shade of brown. It was hard to imagine living anywhere else but that gorgous forest along the salt-speckled coast. Shrewpaw danced as the grass turned to sand and the shipwreck sat illuminated against the horizon. Thundergale laughed and copied her apprentice a few paw-steps.

Camp was always busy around dusk, but it was especially noisy as Shrewpaw and Thundergale passed through the entrance. Half the Clan gathered around Paleseed, Vervaincough, and Cobaltchaser, who were in the middle of some long-winded explanation. The other half hovered near the nursery, either shooed away by Wildclaw or placated by Slushtrail.

"Did I miss something interesting again?" Shrewpaw groaned. Wolverineheart caught his moan from the edge of Paleseed's audience and joined Shrewpaw and Thundergale.

"Good training session?" Wolverineheart purred, signing with her tail swaying high.

"Don't ignore the bear in the den, what's going on?" Thundergale asked, finishing her sister's cockiness with a decisive bat to the ears.

"Paleseed, Vervaincough, and Cobaltchaser were coming back from WheatClan," Wolverineheart eagerly explained, "they were busy dealing with that little skirmish Wildclaw got involved in a few days ago. They're just about to cross the border when they see this little white kit, just scratching at the trees! At first they thought it was one of WheatClan's kits, but no! It was a kittypet! Poor little tom, he was really hungry. They took him back to camp and, oh, Shrewpaw, you're going to love it, go see your mothers, they're in the nursery!" Wolverineheart waved Shrewpaw toward the nursery crowd.

"Is he here?" Shrewpaw asked. He peered through the crowd, trying to follow the light that poured into the nursery.

"Go see!" Wolverineheart laughed. She whipped around Shrewpaw and shoved him toward the nursery. Shrewpaw almost face-planted on the sand, but stumbled onward. He squeezed between Mitespark and Trumpetspore and popped up at the nursery entrance.

"Ma?" Shrewpaw asked as Wildclaw spun, ready to snap at another nosy cat. She immediately paused as she recognized her son.

"Shrewpaw, sorry," Wildclaw chuckled, licking her chest. "You spooked me."

"Wolverineheart told me about a kit?" Shrewpaw asked, glancing into the nursery. Elmsprout and Lavendertwist kept Gingerkit and Frostkit busy while Oilstripe and Downstar sat beside Rattlepelt, who relaxed in a nest covered by her fox pelt.

"I'm glad you're back," Wildclaw purred. "Go inside, Rattlepelt and I want to talk to you." Wildclaw turned back to the crowd of curious kitties and yowled, "Alright, I'm a little sick of this Clan's lack of privacy, don't you have patrols to go on?" Wildclaw ushered RippleClan back as Shrewpaw slipped into the nursery. As soon as they saw Shrewpaw, Gingerkit and Frostkit tried to squirm around Elmsprout's grasp, but Lavendertwist sat on his children (much to their displeasure).

"From what I know about humans," Oilstripe purred to someone hidden behind Rattlepelt, "they don't care about a queen and her kits. I'm not surprised this happened to you."

"Hello?" Shrewpaw called. Oilstripe and Downstar looked behind them. Oilstripe scooted to the side, allowing Shrewpaw closer. Shrewpaw carefully sat between the ginger deputy and Rattlepelt.

Sitting in front of Rattlepelt was a long-furred white kitten. His big yellow eyes buldged out of his skull as he dug into a quickly cooked mouse. He was the messiest eater Shrewpaw had ever seen, with meat clinging to his teeth and splattering at his paws. He ate like he had never eaten before, breathing in the mouse.

"Don't choke!" Rattlepelt laughed. The kit jumped at her voice.

"Are you feeling a bit better now?" Downstar asked softly, loafing.

"Yes Ms. Downstar," the kit gulped, swallowing a huge bite.

"I haven't heard anyone use terms like that since Parsley was alive," Rattlepelt purred, the surprise rippling gently down her back. "You must have been born quite a ways south."

"I think so," the kit said. He licked his lips as he eyed the last portion of the mouse.

"Who are you?" Shrewpaw asked the young kit, laughing despite the way the kit's rips pressed against his fur with a deep breath. Wildclaw entered and wrapped herself over Rattlepelt, laying on her mate like her signature fox pelt.

"My mom just called me White," the kit said.

"We can tell him what you told us if you want to finish eating," Oilstripe insisted, placing her paw on White's back.

"Thank you Ms. Oilstripe," White said quickly before plunging his muzzle back into the mouse.

"Apparently, Shrewpaw," Oilstripe sighed, leaning down to her grandson, "White and his litter were taken from their mother just as they finished weaning. He's not much older than two moons."

"That's too young, though!" Shrewpaw whined. "Thundergale says most kits share a nest with their mother until they're three moons old at least!" Shrewpaw didn't want to imagine what it would have been like to not share a nest with Wildclaw or Rattlepelt at White's age.

"Some humans don't care what a kit needs," Oilstripe sighed. "They can be cruel. These ones took White from his mother and traveled in a monster, all the way to the southern farms. White left as soon as he could, but he hasn't found his mother."

"If they live really far south—" Shrewpaw started, but Rattlepelt gently batted his muzzle. Oh. If White's mother was as far south as Rattlepelt implied, it seemed next to impossible for anyone to find her, let along a kit who clearly didn't know how to hunt properly.

"While we're looking for her," Downstar said, clearing her throat, "we've offered White a home with us. Your mothers, Shrewpaw, have offered to foster him." Foster…

Shrewpaw barely remembered his littermates. He could remember squirming forms writhing alongside him against a ginger belly. Yet those forms faded, one by one, until Shrewpaw's first clear memory settled in his eyes; tucked deep into a pile with Rattlepelt, Wildclaw, Oilstripe, Carnationspeckle, and Downstar. What was having a brother like?

"It took you a while to understand what happened with your mother," Rattlepelt whispered to Shrewpaw. "We don't want to overwhelm White right now. We'll ask around about his mother, but you already know the chance of finding her is slim." Shrewpaw crept up to White as he finally finished his mouse. He licked the last of the meat off his fangs as Shrewpaw sat next to him.

"When I joined RippleClan," Shrewpaw said, trying to ignore the gushing looks of his mothers, "they added onto my name. I was born Shrew, then they named me Shrewkit, and now I'm Shrewpaw. If you're staying with us, you can have a name like that too! We can call you Whitekit."

"Why would I change my name?" White muttered.

"Well, do you want to know a secret?" Shrewpaw whispered. White cocked his head. "I still call myself Shrew sometimes. The Clans have some weird names, but if you pick a name for yourself, no one can take it from you." White grew taller with Shrewpaw's wise words.

"You can call me Whitekit if you want," said the young tom.

"Good to know!" Shrewpaw laughed, bunting Whitekit's shoulder. Whitekit nearly fell over, but laughed along while Shrewpaw wrapped his tail over Whitekit. "Now, what do you think of having an older brother?"

(Shrewpaw: 9, male, teacher apprentice, competitive, never sits still)

(Thundergale: 17, female, teacher, adventurous, good hunter, good speaker)

(Wolverineheart: 17, female, warrior, troublesome, student of science)

(Wildclaw: 77, female, caretaker, fierce, trusted advisor, good fighter)

(Oilstripe: 89, female, deputy, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Rattlepelt: 68, female, artisan, thoughtful, leather artist)

(Downstar: 144, female, leader, wise, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Whitekit: 2, male, kit, skittish, active imagination)

[alsoanyways]

clothing/pose/face practices and some character fashion thoughts under the cut

I would describe Lazullura's fashion style as maximalist minimalist. Opting for a monochrome black and white palette, but adding interest through patterns, textures, and silhouettes.

Solvesran's I would describe as a minimalist maximalist. She likes colors and patterns but she keeps it simple and comfortable.

Fennivra has a minimalist style, comfortable and subdued. Mostly he wears shades of black and tan.

Tisiphia is a maximalist. She gravitates towards ruffles and bows and rarely delves into darker color palettes. Her second outfit from the lineup is a look created by polychrom3 over on instagram. I love Thalia's style and this will not be the last time Tisiphia wears something they put together.

[moeblob]

I kinda maybe put a lot of my OC plot tag lines on a Wheel and gave it a spin so outta 79 options, it landed on "Cellphone Justice" which is... these two.

Matthew "Skittles" Mouse and Daisy Eddington

Partners in justice (of sorts). They're basically vigilantes and their orders are simply text messages. They don't really know who their bosses are but they do as they are told.

Skittles is a very mediocre guy. Doesn't stand out. The most color he has in his wardrobe is blue jeans. He's amazingly asexual and has zero interest in romance regardless of intimacy and yet he gets partnered with Daisy. The gayest lady he has ever met. Great start. She enjoys calling him fun little nicknames but seeing as they're monitored closely (via cell phones/technology) she is scolded and told to pick a single one. So she does. She dubs him Skittles. The candy as gay as her.

The one thing they have in common is their number one weakness: cute girls.

Daisy turns into a stuttering MESS of a human being. A disaster. At the mere sight of a cute girl. Skittles on the other hand is TERRIFIED of them. When asked, he simply blames his life growing up. Daisy doesn't really push the matter just thinks it's a little weird to be scared of every single cute girl (no offense to the not being afraid of her taken).

[blindmagdalena]

All of a Sudden, There You Are

3k. homelander x gn!reader. pining. pure fluff! an older fic that desperately needed cleaning up. rewritten for a consistent perspective and added 600-some words. gif credit. AO3 link.

As Homelander's stylist, it's your job to ensure he looks his best, whether he's saving the world or saving face in front of the cameras. After nearly a year servicing him, things between you change abruptly.

Familiarity and consistency feed a base need in all of us. So much of what is best in us is bound up in the permanence of those around us that it becomes the measure of our stability. For Homelander, there are precious few things in his life that offer him any such quality of solidarity. People come and go. It's the nature of the business that has always been his life.

He's stopped paying attention to the PA's, interns and other worker ants that rotate in and out. Their faces blend together in a bland sea of normality and mediocrity. They're little more than cogs in the machine of his contrastingly extraordinary life.

Funny, then, that you should catch his attention amidst the insectoid buzz of it all.

It happens quite abruptly. He's just sat down before a brightly lit vanity where it's your job to style his hair and makeup, as it has been for the last several months. You greet him good morning, as you do every time, but for whatever reason... He notices you today.

"Remind me, what's your name again?" Homelander asks, watching you draw a comb from your kit.

That visibly catches you off guard. You offer only a dumbfounded stare for a moment before snapping to attention, smiling sheepishly as you introduce yourself. The name doesn't sound familiar to him. Had he never actually asked? Probably not. There’s rarely a point in bothering.

He hums contemplatively. "You've been styling me for a while.”

"Yes, sir. About eight months now," you say, using the comb to begin working product through his hair. He’s fairly certain this is the most he's ever spoken to you in all that time.

That sounds like both a long while and yet no time at all. It's nothing in the grand scheme of his life, but in terms of the people he sees consistently, that puts you in a shockingly small pool of individuals. Inevitably they move on, whether by choice or because they’ve found a way to irritate him enough that he has them dismissed.

He can recall his last stylist not by their name or face, but by the way they’d always manage to spray product in his eyes. They hadn’t lasted two days. The one before that he can’t bring to mind a single detail of.

Typically humans only become exceptional to him for how they grate on his patience. You’ve somehow managed to avoid making yourself noteworthy in that regard. Before today you had served as little more than a properly functioning gear in the well-oiled machine of his life.

Now it's as though you suddenly exist to him. Blood, flesh, laughter and all.

"Gooood morning," he greets you the next day, once again triggering another flare of surprise in you. He’s aware of the strangeness of his initiation, but behaves as though he isn’t. He flashes you one of his trademark Hollywood grins.

"Good morning to you, sir," you say with an answering smile that catches his eye. You sound pleased, which tickles something pleasant in the back of his own mind. He likes how well you’re mirroring his shift in mannerism.

He waves his hand dismissively. "Please, Homelander is fine. You keep it awfully formal."

You're actually quite pretty, he notices. Not exceptionally so, not like the celebrities and figures of social influence that someone like him brushes shoulders with on a daily basis, but... pretty nonetheless. He doesn't remember you being this pretty before, and speculates while you work whether you've changed something about yourself. He cannot put his finger on what exactly that may be, though.

He’s perceptive when it comes to the things that matter. Until yesterday, you hadn’t.

You laugh sweetly, pushing your fingers through his hair. His eyes flutter shut as you do. You’re good with your hands, much better than the last stylist. He’s sure he made note of that at some point, but in the same way someone notices when a door stops squeaking. You take it for granted after the first time.

"I'm a creature of habit. Might take me a couple tries to adjust," you warn, covering his forehead with your palm as you spritz product into his hair. You never let any of that sticky crap get on his face, much less in his eyes. You take measures to ensure his comfort, even though he’s never scolded you. You seem to do it entirely out of reflex simply because you care enough to.

"Well, you've made it this far. You've got time to adjust," he says. Now that he's seen you, he finds that he doesn't care for the thought of you being gone. More than that, he starts actively looking forward to the time he spends in the chair with you. What used to be a monotonous aspect of the celebrity side of his life becomes a comforting ritual. 

The two of you chat with surprising ease, like old friends made new. He tells you about himself, vents to you about work and personal business alike. In turn he learns about you and the life you live beyond the time you share with him. It’s nothing extraordinary–not like his–but it's yours, and for some reason, that’s enough to make it interesting.

The more he grasps that you are an entire person outside of the service you provide him, the more he wants to know. He doesn’t give a fuck about your elderly cat, but he does like the way your voice changes when you talk about it. His mind drifts when you tell him these little anecdotes, and he wonders what you tell the people in your life about him. He wonders if your tone similarly changes when you do. Do you speak fondly of him? Days turn to weeks. Little by little, Homelander discerns small changes in himself. There’s a slight pep in his step these days. The sun feels a little warmer, the thrum of crowded events less irritating. His attitude towards interviews flips; even the ones he used to dread he begins to anticipate. He knows you’ll have him looking and feeling his finest. He knows that regardless of what awaits him, you’ll have something to say about it that will make it easier to smile for the cameras.

Thinking of you is sometimes all it takes.

When he has nothing on his schedule to be styled for, he sulks. On those days, he misses your laugh the most. 

He makes sure the products he keeps at home are the same as the ones you use. The smell of them reminds him of the smell of you, of your knock-off Dior perfume that fades too quickly after you apply it, which makes it just perfect for his keen sense of smell. The humble subtlety of you, your sincerity and gentleness, have become a boon against the unfeeling corporate reality of his life. On the days he does see you, he begins to miss you before he’s even left you. Now, as he walks to his next scheduled appointment with you, he’s painfully aware of the beat of his own heart. His stomach is twisting in on itself, though he isn’t hungry. If anything, he feels a little nauseous. The closer he gets to the door, the louder the cacophony inside of him becomes. Is he sick? That shouldn’t be possible, but he can’t understand what’s happening to him. Pausing just outside the door, he takes in a steadying breath.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Taking a moment to collect himself, he gives his face two quick pats on either side, shaking his head. Get it together, he tells himself, stepping into the dressing room. 

“Gooood morn–” Homelander cuts himself short, looking around the empty room. His brows pinch. He isn’t early. Pursing his lips, he takes a brief stroll about the room, clutching his hands behind his back. He peers down the hallway, cutting through the layers of wall with his vision. No sign of you on the grounds yet. He clicks his tongue. 

You’ve never been late. Unable to settle, he paces for a while. He has the thought to call you, but he realizes he doesn’t have your number. Why doesn’t he have your number? It seems such an obvious thing to have despite the fact he’s never needed it.

He’s just pulled out his cellphone to track it down from Ashley when the door suddenly opens and his head snaps up. The initial relief he feels is cut short, turning cold in his chest when the person who steps through the door is most definitely not you. “Good morning!” the woman greets him, her voice chirpy and grating in his ears. She’s not really happy to see him. She doesn’t know the first fucking thing about him. At most, she’s another sycophantic drone who’s only pleased to breathe his air. In his upset, she looks freakishly distorted, her smile overly wide and fake. His leather gloves creak as he curls his hands into fists. “Who the fuck are you?” he asks, voice as measured as he can manage it. His anger hits in an unreasonable surge, hot like lava from a volcano. This woman’s only crime is the fact she’s not you, and yet it’s enough to make him want to rip her head off her shoulders, spine and all. The woman hesitates in the doorway, her chipper demeanor flipping to a fearful one. “Uhm, my name is Lisa, I’m supposed to style you to–” “Where is my stylist?” he interrupts her, prowling towards her like a hungry predator. He says again, louder this time, voice full of anger and anxiety in equal measure, “Where the fuck is my stylist?!” “I– I don’t know!” Lisa yelps, stepping backwards from him. “I was called in as a last minute replacement! They said– they said there was an accident, or–” Homelander pushes her roughly out of the doorway, blowing past her with a frustrated growl. She hits the wall hard before crumpling to the floor like a lifeless sack of potatoes, but he doesn’t even register it. He calls Ashley, stalking down the hallway, his footfalls loud with fury. Why the fuck didn’t anyone think to tell him? “Ashley!” He snarls into his phone the second she answers. “Tell me where the fuck my goddamn stylist is.”

Homelander is at the hospital within minutes. The staff puts up a meager effort to enforce protocols, but he’s The Homelander, and after a lie or two, they eventually let him through. He hates the smell of hospitals. The sickly mix of bleach and illness, the buzzing of the fluorescent lights. They never should have brought you here. You should be in Vought’s med ward.

You should be with him. When he finds you, you’re sitting with the hospital bed halfway reclined, wearing nothing but a hospital gown. The vibrant reds and blues of his suit paint a sharp contrast to the stark white walls of the hospital room when he steps inside. You have a pudding cup in your hand, though you nearly drop it when you see him in the doorway. His hair is woefully unstyled, splayed loose in every direction from his flight. “H-Homelander,” you sputter, choking on your bite of pudding. You swallow, clearing your throat. He’s walking towards you. The closer he gets, the faster your heart beats in his ears. “What are you doing here?” “Are you okay?” He asks, blowing off your question entirely. He blinks and his vision flickers through your clothes and skin alike. He scans your body for internal damage, for broken or fractured bones. You’re not wearing a cast or anything, but he needs to be sure. You nod, clutching at the blanket, wearing your confusion plainly on your face. “Yeah, I’m okay, it’s probably just mild whiplash, but I’m getting an x-ray to be–” “You’re fine,” he breathes more to himself than to you, his relief palpable. He can hear the flustered patter of your heart clearly. With the adrenaline wearing off, he’s beginning to feel that sickly familiar feeling that he had experienced in the hallway; butterflies rampant in his stomach, battering their wings frantically inside him. His jaw feels tight, his tongue too big for his mouth. Staring at you now, frail and precious as you are in this ugly hospital bed, he realizes what’s the matter–what has always been the matter–he is deeply and incurably in love with you. “Are you okay?” You ask, taking in his tortured expression, his wildly wind-swept hair. The obvious concern in your voice and in your eyes churns his already twisting gut. “No,” he says, the response knee-jerk. Even though the room is still, he feels as though the world is spinning around him. “No, I think I’m in love with you,” he says, expression twisted up, like he’s figuring out each word as he says them. Your heart skips a beat, your breath catches in your lungs. It’s as if the words have paralyzed you. Homelander laughs. It sounds a little hysterical. 

“I’m telling you all of a sudden, but it isn’t new with me,” he says, reaching out to cup either side of your face in his gloved hands. “I love you,” he says, voice firmer now, the realization setting in fully. He looks slightly delirious with it. He’s discovered a secret that he should have known all along, that seems so obvious in hindsight. Of course he loves you, because you love him. The gentleness in your hands as you touched his face, the care in your fingers stroking through his hair far longer than both of you knew you needed to. You dedicated yourself like no other to showing him reverence in service of him, and is that not love in its purest form? And yet, you don’t look to share his elation. You look like you’ve been struck by lightning, expression wide and bewildered. You still haven’t taken a breath. Homelander’s smile falters. “What’s the matter?” He asks, tone dropping a touch. “This is good news! Great, even.” For every second that you do not speak, the beat of his heart feels heavier in his chest. Why don’t you look happy? Finally, you suck in a shaky breath. He watches you with all the intensity of a viper poised to strike.

“I…” You hesitate. You lift your hands and grip his wrists, squeezing them through the thick fabric of his gloves as if to convince yourself that he’s really there. Maybe the accident was worse than he thought. Did you hit your head? 

Panic swells in his chest. It hadn’t occurred to him you might not reciprocate. The thought makes him ill.

“I never…” your eyes turn glassy, welling with tears. “Say it!” he wants to shout, his own heart hammering loudly enough to nearly drown out your words.  “I never would have thought–or even dreamed–in a million years that you might love me back.”

love me back.

Like a dying ember roaring back to life, Homelander’s demeanor reignites, his faded smile broadening once more. 

“I realized it when I was worried fucking sick because you didn't show up,” he says, leaning closer to you. He’s brought the scent of ozone from the sky he tore through on his way to you, but all he cares about is the faint smell of pudding lingering on your lips.

He huffs a laugh. “They sent in some idiot to fill in for you. Like they could replace you. I almost tore her head off,” he says, giddy with euphoria. Your expression shifts, brows furrowing. “Wait, what? You almost-” “I’m gonna kiss you now,” he interrupts, his voice a low rumble. He can already taste you in the breaths you’re close enough to share with him, and he’s never been hungrier for anything–or anyone–in his life. You fall silent with a shiver, nodding minutely, eyes falling shut. “Please do.” His lips meet yours in a gentle press. He deserves a medal for not crushing you with the sheer magnitude of his desire. You all but melt against him, settling into his grip as smoothly as you settled into his life, his mind, his heart. When the two of you break apart, you make a breathless noise that shoots through him like a bolt of lightning. He feels hyper aware of your every sound and move.

God, how he wants to feel every part of you. 

You move your hands to touch his face and he leans into the softness of your caress. You’ve been close enough to kiss more times than he can count. The fact it’s only now occurred to him to do so seems like lunacy. Your eyes dip to his lips, your thumb brushes the bottom one. He catches it with a quick kiss and you laugh your sweet bell-chime laughter.

Pushing your hand into his hair, the wondrous joy in your expression becomes tinged with amusement. “And people wonder why I use so much gel,” you murmur, smooth the wild splay of his hair down with both hands, cupping the back of his head. Homelander smiles wide and boyishly, which prompts you to kiss him again.

“I’m not having some kind of brain bleed hallucination right now, right?” You ask quietly, the tip of your nose lightly pressed to his. He brushes his lips against yours between words. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he purrs, stroking your cheek with his thumb. Despite the ugly fluorescent lights and the dreadful hospital stench all around, you look resplendent in your joy.

He had been right. It was love that you touched him with. It had been subtle, imbued in your every movement, and for months he had soaked it up until, unbeknownst to him, he fell into it as well.

“Trust me when I say you’ll be seeing a lot more of me from now on,” he says, brushing your nose with his.

Maybe instead of tearing them limb from limb, he’ll send flowers to whoever the sorry son of a bitch that rear-ended you this morning was. Who knows how much more time he would have wasted before he realized he was utterly smitten with you.

[spectersgf]

— driver's seat storm chasing 𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃

pairing: tyler owens × reader 

summary: he was about to take off again, chase another storm, leave you worrying for hours upon hours. the least he could do was give you a parting gift.

warnings: SMUT! kinda angsty a little, cute yeehaw banter, cowgirlisms, hair pull, ass smack, titty suck. all the good stuff.

wordcount: 3.2k

a/n: watched twisters literally two days ago, had this thought, here we are. not proofread at all (as always, soz) but filled with passion (and horny)

(if you want to be tagged in future fics or if you have any requests, let me know! for my other fics, here's my masterlist!)

"oh, you're such a prick, tyler owens!"

you were shouting at your best friend, which was a regular occurrence due to his dangerous passion. tyler was a professional 'tornado wrangler' which was his idiotic way of saying he chased tornadoes for the sake of content creation. you knew it went much deeper than that for him; this was his passion and he was smart and knew so much about storms, but that doesn't mean he wasn't stupid and reckless.

he had just come back from a particularly dangerous storm, one that left you more worried for his safety than ever before. you cried seeing him come back to town and fretted over his injuries and bruises, begging him to stop and not go again.

according to what he just told you, your begging was pointless.

he was about to take off again, chase another storm, put himself back in harm's way. leave you worrying for hours upon hours, shaking until he'd return.

"do i mean nothing to you? does my begging and pleading mean nothing?" your voice was strained but you didn't lower your volume, desperate for him to see your anguish.

"you know that's not the case, darlin', but storm chasing is my life. you know that better than anyone." his tone was much steadier than yours, and his comments were entirely reasonable. you knew how much of his time he dedicated to his passion, but that didn't stop your frustration.

"don't play that fucking card with me, ty. it's not even been 48 hours since i thought you'd died, and now you're up and leaving again!" your anger had subsided and your tone had softened, now showing vulnerability and hurt. your shoulders sagged and you turned away from him, tears that you didn't want him to see stinging your eyes.

"y/n..." his voice trailed off, unsure if he was supposed to move to comfort you or give you space.

“you don’t understand what it does to me to see you walk out that door, ty. every single time i’m stuck asking myself if today’s the day i lose my best friend. and i know you’re careful and you know your stuff and you’re basically a pro but sometimes i can’t even bring myself to watch the streams and the videos because i’m so scared.” you rambled your confession, back still turned away from him but you’d started pacing. when you finished speaking, you turned to face him, eyes pleading. “i’m not asking you to stop. i’d never ask you to quit your passion. i just wish you’d understand from my perspective.”

"i'm sorry," he started, but you knew where his apology was headed. "but i have to do this. this is my life, and i'm helping people by doing this."

your tear-filled gaze met his as he spoke, and the look of sincerity on his face made you cave, as usual. "fine, go. it's not like i could've stopped you."

you watched him pick up his hat and place it easily on his head as he turned to walk away. he opened the door but turned before heading out. "you know i love you, y/n," he said quietly, sounding almost defeated.

his words struck you but before you could say anything, he was out the door. for a couple of minutes you stood in place, stunned at his proclamation. when you finally snapped out of your shock, you walked out the door, following behind him as he walked to his truck.

it had started to rain and the water caused his shirt to stick to him like a second skin, but you didn't allow yourself any time to ogle his physique. you reached out and grabbed his arm, feeling his cold skin against your warm touch. you pulled his arm, forcing him to turn and face you as you seethed.

"love me how?" you asked, obviously distressed. the rain was making your hair to stick to your face but you didn't care; all you cared about was the man in front of you. your best friend. "love me how, tyler?"

"y/n..." for the second time today his voice trailed off after saying your name like that and it infuriated you. your face burned from embarrassment and before you had fully processed your reaction, you slapped him.

when he turned his head back to look at you again, his eyes were swimming with hurt. you loved his eyes. you hated seeing them like this. but all you could focus on was your own hurt. after years of being his best friend but craving more, and years of casual touches and flirting and cuddling and rumours in your small town, this is what it had come to. a halfway confession.

"fuck you," you spit before turning away to walk back inside.

this time, it was tyler who reached out to grab you. his big hand encased your bicep and forced you to face him again. before you could say anything, he spun you around so that you were pinned against the door of his truck.

"what the fuck is your probl–" your words were abruptly cut off when he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. you stood still in shock for a few seconds before melting into him, one hand on the junction between his neck and shoulder, the other hand on his bicep. meanwhile, he had one hand on your waist and the other held your face, fingers splaying across your cheek and neck. you kissed him back with passion and vigour, easily letting his tongue explore your mouth for the first time.

your hands snakes upwards, pulling his hat off his head and slipping it onto yours while your free hand fisted his hair, threading your fingers through his locks. his hand trailed from your waist to your ass as he pulled away from your kiss for a second.

"you sure you wanna wear my hat, darlin'?" he panted, raising one cocky eyebrow as his eyes searched yours.

"wear the hat, ride the cowboy, right?" you asked, smirking confidently. he immediately matched your facial expression, smirking in return, but his eyes twinkled with joy and amusement.

tyler was much taller than you and evidently he was starting to see your height difference as an issue, since he brought his other hand down to your ass and lifted you, urging your legs around his waist and bringing you face to face. he kissed you again, just a quick kiss, before asking, "so, cowgirl. where are we doing this?"

"if i'm the cowgirl, are you my wild stallion?" you teased playfully, smiling as you looked at him affectionately. after seeing the fiery look in his eyes, you were unable to resist, and you pulled his mouth to yours once again, this kiss more intense than the last. you messily pulled his bottom lip into your mouth and sucked on it, followed by a gentle bite, before pulling away and desperately kissing down his neck. "i want you in your truck. driver's seat," you murmured against his skin.

before tyler was able to haul you into his truck, you detached yourself from him. once your feet were safely back on the ground, you eagerly grabbed the hem of his soaked t-shirt and peeled it off his tanned torso, shamelessly admiring his body as you did. you dragged your nails across his toned abdomen and brought your mouth to his chest, sucking and biting at his skin. you could barely register his groan, only able to focus on his body and being able to maintain skin-to-skin contact with him.

tyler pulled you away from him by gently tugging on your hair and you looked at him quizzically. "ty, what the hell?"

"enough teasing, cowgirl. time to ride the stallion," he told you, causing you both to erupt in a fit of giggles.

"never say that again, tyler," you replied, leaning up to peck him quickly.

he picked you up briefly and immediately put you down in a spot away from the driver's side door and swiftly got comfortable in his van, away from the cold rain. while he did so, you made quick work of unbuttoning your flannel shirt, leaving you in just a lacy, sheer bra and jeans. and his hat. once he was seated, tyler gave you a thorough once-over, letting out a low whistle as he did.

"somebody call for a ride?" his playful tone was supplemented by his signature cheeky smile, but you rolled your eyes at his comment.

"god, you're so fuckin' corny."

you boosted yourself into the truck, situating yourself easily on his lap. you shuffled around to get comfortable on tyler's lap and were rewarded with a strained groan. this time it was you giving him a cheeky smile followed by a quick roll of your hips over his. he placed his hands firmly on your waist, fingers dipping into your jeans and stopping your movements.

"keep that up and this'll be over before it started, sweetheart," he told you, voice strained and you could tell it was from arousal. you watched his mouth as he spoke and, unable to resist him, you leaned in and kissed him again. your almost bare chest was pressed against his and your hands roamed his skin, picking up water droplets as they went. the feel of his toned muscle under your hands caused you to moan into his mouth, turning tyler on even more.

his hands wound into your hair, all the way up to the root, and he tugged lightly. you whimpered and dragged your hips over his, and when tyler pulled away from your kiss you unconsciously followed his movement. tyler clicked his tongue in condescending disapproval but smirked at your reaction to him.

“needy for me, baby?” he asked mockingly, one hand on your hips to halt your movement again, the other still tangled in your hair.. you nodded your response, not trusting yourself to speak in your current state. “words, sweetheart. what do you need?”

you whined but when you realised he wasn’t going to do anything until you spelled it out for him, you let out an exasperated huff. “need you to fuck me.”

tyler laughed affectionately at your desperation. “there you go, sweetheart. that’s what i like to hear.” you preened from his praise, craving to receive it again. with the hand that was on your hips, he undid the button of your jeans and pulled the zipper down with a quiet hiss. instead of pulling down the restrictive fabric like you expected, he slipped his hand into your barely-existent underwear and stroked with a featherlike touch. 

“this all for me?” he asked as he dragged a finger through your arousal; you were soaked and his teasing tone was only making it worse. you dropped your head onto his shoulder and tried to slyly jerk your hips forward, though you were unable to. “patience, baby. i’ve chased this storm so long, now let me enjoy it.”

his words jolted you caused a moan to fall from your mouth. your skin was feverish despite the biting cold and you were becoming increasingly desperate. “next time, please, tyler. i need you inside me, please,” you begged, mouth against his tan skin. 

he didn’t say anything in response, only chuckled quietly to himself as he removed his hand from your underwear. he brought his hand up to your mouth and you looked him in the eye as you took one finger, the one that had been touching you, into your mouth and sucked. you bobbed your head back and forth for just a few seconds and hummed quietly around the digit in your mouth before releasing it and pulling tyler’s mouth to yours in a heated kiss, urging him to taste you from your own mouth. 

“god, if we weren’t in my truck right now i’d have my mouth on your sweet cunt,” he grumbled.

“don’t care, need your cock inside me.” without breaking your kiss, you pushed your jeans down over your hips but only to your knees. “i’m ready, you know i’m ready, what are we waiting for?” you asked frantically. you started to paw at his stupid belt but his hands covered yours, stopping you from getting to what you were craving.

“are you sure? we can’t go back after this and you know it.” his eyes were swimming with concern as he spoke, searching yours for any indication of your feelings. 

you moved one hand to his face, placing it on his cheek and stroking his cheekbone delicately with your thumb. “i want this. i have for a longass time. i’ve felt it for so long, and now i’m finally chasing it. are you chasing it with me?” your words were entirely sincere and this was obvious to tyler, especially when you looked in his eyes and deep into his soul.

“using my own words against me?” he teased, breaking the tension in a charming way that only he could pull off. “i’m with you.” his words were equally sincere, though you could sense the double meaning. you weren’t distressed by it; his way of telling you how he was feeling made your heart swell and added to your already dripping arousal.

you resumed your work on removing his belt, followed by unbuttoning his jeans and pulling the zipper. tyler could only watch cockily as you did so, both hands behind his head, muscles flexing, as he admired your naked beauty. jeans pulled down, only a sheer bra covering your breasts, and his hat on your head.

“go on, baby. take me out; it’s all yours.”

his words empowered you and you happily obliged, appreciating his quiet hiss as you made contact with his skin once again. you tunnel visioned on his thick cock in your hand, swiping your thumb over the tip and pumping it once, twice, three times. tyler watched your every moment and facial expression, and he could see you practically salivating, bringing a wide and cocky smirk to his face. “another time,” he murmured despite his better opinion of letting you take him in your mouth the way you so obviously craved. you simply nodded in agreement, seemingly in a trance as you eyed the way your smaller hand wrapped around his girth. 

the feeling of his hands on your hips gently urging you forwards and upwards snapped you out of your dreamlike state but you didn’t resist his manhandling; instead, you welcomed the way he took control of the situation. took control of you. 

before proceeding further he looked you in the eyes again, showing that same sincerity and vulnerability, silently asking ‘are you sure you’re sure?’. you smiled at the gesture, appreciative of his concern, and nodded. your eyes sparkled with excitement as you brought your bottom lip between your teeth and reached behind you to guide tyler’s hard cock into your wetness. the pair of you moaned in tandem as you sunk down on him, fitting together perfectly. 

“c’mere, cowgirl,” he murmured, voice heavy with arousal. you shifted forward with him inside you, pulling a groan from deep within his chest as he pulled you in for another kiss. the combination of his searing kiss and the way he filled you up was electrifying. your entire body moved on its own accord, as if you had come alive for the first time; your mouth worked against his and you circled your hips against his and you were consumed entirely by him. 

one of his hands pawed at your ass while the other worked on removing your bra. when he did finally get your bra unhooked, it was practically ripped off your body and thrown to the backseat. tyler’s lips reluctantly left yours but they immediately attached to your right breast, with his hand squeezing the left. he sucked a harsh mark into the flesh before his mouth circled your peaked nipple, sucking eagerly before rolling it gently between his teeth. 

“you have no idea how desperate i’ve been to get my mouth on your pretty tits, sweetheart,” he mumbled against you. his words caused your hips to stutter against his as you rode him, hitting your sweet spot and forcing a high pitched moan from you. 

“i need you to do it, ty,” you whimpered, hungry for him to take control again.

“such a good girl, telling me what you need.” his praise made you glow and you unconsciously clenched your muscles around him.

his grip on your ass tightened slightly before he slapped it, deliciously stinging your skin. you moaned and jerked forward again and your head immediately fell backwards, eyes rolling back. 

“god, y/n, you’re a walking turn on,” he moaned, hips starting to buck as he fucked into you. “you have no fuckin’ idea what you do to me. the number of times i’ve wanted to do this with you right here, audience be damned. the way i crave the taste of your sweet cunt on my tongue. having to stop myself from smacking your ass or squeezing your tits whenever you’re in those tiny bikinis or scraps of fabric that you call pyjamas. and now you’re mine and we can do all of it.”

you moaned and whimpered pathetically throughout tyler’s speech, the words that you were longing to hear from him finally being voiced while he fucked you. 

“i’m close,” you mumbled, bringing your hand to your mouth to muffle your noises. “need you to fill me up.”

his eyes squeezed shut due to your muffled words and he pulled your hand away from your mouth. “i’ll give you whatever you need, baby, but i need to hear you when i do,” he told you, linking your fingers together and resting your joined hands on his glistening chest. “cum for me, sweet girl. cum on my cock, let me feel you.”

his words tipped you over the edge and your muscles spasmed around him as you reached your climax, moaning his name as you did. tyler followed suit, filling you upon your request. 

“fuck, y/n,” he groaned, pulling your chest to his and kissing you again, sweetly this time despite your expectations.

the pair of you were a panting, sweaty mess when you both finished, but you didn’t break any of your attachments. he didn’t pull out of you, and he didn’t let you loosen your embrace.

“i guess you could say i wrangled your tornado, hm?” 

“you did not say that to me while i have your dick and cum inside me right now, tyler owens.”

“c’mon, darlin’, you obviously like my lines,” he teased, smiling sweet and sincere.

“more than just your lines. i like you,” you confessed, voice quiet and shy out of fear of rejection.

“yeah? you got a li’l crush on me?” his playful and teasing tone made you smile. dissipating any worries you had. this was the boy you were falling for. 

“just a little one. really, i’m just here for your truck.” the banter between the two of you was light and easy, something that you both always appreciated about each other. you clicked. 

“yeah, cowgirl, i know how you feel about my truck.”

you giggled at his response and kissed the bare, warm skin on his shoulder.

“you’re the most beautiful storm i’ve chased, y/n.” he looked into your eyes as he spoke, voice quiet as if speaking too loud would disrupt the moment.

“that’s funny. because you’re the sun coming up after the storm.”

WHEW! first tyler fic done bbz<333 more to come, requests are open HERE! if you want to be tagged in future fics lmk, please tell me what you think, even if you think i should never write again ok thank u bye ily bye

taglist: @ronsbadidea

[charliemwrites]

Mafia au with Price perspective

Content: Implied Violence

John, for the life of him, can’t believe he ever ran SpecGru without you.

It’s a hit to his pride to admit it, certainly. That an outsider has discovered a small conspiracy within his own organization less than three months into employment. That, apart from even that, he’s never been less scattered, having someone right by his side remembering details, appointments, bits of information.

Morning smells like Earl Grey and your perfume now. Steam mixing with whatever you’ve spritzed for the day, his own little aroma therapy. Revitalizing after however late the previous night dragged him out.

In general, you’re like a breath of fresh air. A smiley little charm of color and delicacy in his world of saturated shadows, blood and brutality.

Clean-cut dresses with patterned tights, soft-knit scarves. Lace accents and modest stilettos. Thin, sparkly jewelry and smart makeup. The scent of you drowns out the lingering burn of gunpowder; or maybe just transforms it into something heady.

John lingers on your hair. Smooth ponytails, tight coifs, intricate braids. Likes when it’s loose enough to brush you shoulders and neck, a little bounce to it as you toddle in and out of his office.

You’re gorgeous, he knows it like a gun in his hand or the stench of fear in the air. Has encountered (and indulged) in more than his share of stunning women. Women with beautiful smiles, and bright laughter, and sweet voices. Cunning women, too. Women who could outfox all but his best on any given day.

You have all of that in spades, though you’re not the first.

The difference, he thinks, is your sincerity. You’re never anything but honest with him. Even when you maybe shouldn’t be. Not that you share your opinion every time you have one, but if he asks for it, you’ll answer without pulling punches.

Respectful, always. Polite. But scalpels are elegant tools as dangerous as any dagger. You’re not cold by any means, but you’re made of steel. Precise and implacable in some ways. Have never hesitated too look him in the eye and cheerfully explain why he’s wrong.

That, he knows, is a rare commodity.

“I understand this is time sensitive Mister Graves, but raising your voice is not going to open Mister Price’s schedule.”

Your voice goes silky when you get like this. A finely draped, overly pleasant “no” in each word. A wall is still a wall no matter how finely it’s painted.

You’ve just gotten your nails done again, glossy wine red tap-tap-tapping over your customized keyboard. Whatever Philip is saying on the other end does not seem to be impressing you. Soap and Gaz are trying not to snicker. You shoot them an amused look.

“Well, he’s booked every morning for the next two weeks,” you continue.

John is not, in fact, booked every morning for the next two weeks. There are two mornings with two hours open and you’re serenely looking at them on your computer screen. He doesn’t correct you, interested to see how this plays out. You know he hates Philip and are gleefully taking advantage of that fact.

“Well, Mister Graves, a lot of people have time sensitive issues to bring to Mister Price,” you explain, a touch condescending now. “I’m afraid I can’t reschedule them just because you have… a trip to Glasgow, is it?”

You don’t sound impressed. Neither is John. You clear your throat, arch your eyebrows at him. Put up three fingers. He nods.

“I can schedule you in on the 3rd in the evening. Your assistant said you’ll be back by then.”

You blink, an almost smug curve to your lips at whatever is said. A pleasant shiver runs down John’s spine. Philip will just have gotten in then - a full day of travel after whatever business he’s been up to will put him at a disadvantage.

“Well, I’m afraid Mister Price’s next availability won’t be until the… 8th. So shall we schedule something for the 3rd? I can always call if he has a cancellation.”

A pause. Your eyes narrow into a mean little smile at nothing in particular. Practically glowing with satisfaction. Without your attention on him, he shifts a bit.

“Of course, Mister Graves,” you hum. “I can forward your people the details. Have a lovely day now.”

Soap and Gaz start laughing the moment you hand up. You huff at them in amusement, shaking your head, then turn to John.

“Was there anything you needed, sir?” You ask, syrupy sweet.

John snorts and finally approaches your desk, leaning his hip against the edge as he crosses his arms. You tilt your head to give him your full attention, a stray curl falling against your jaw.

“Since you seem to be on rampage,” he says, “I need you to get a reservation for Friday at Muse.”

You blink at him. “Muse? Sir, that’s… don’t they book that place out months in advance?”

He smirks. “Just use my name, luv. I’m sure you’ll have the rest under control.”

You don’t look convinced, but you slide your sticky pad over - light purple clouds, now. With a pink glitter pen.

“How many and what time, sir?”

“Six for eight o’clock.”

You hum as you scrawl it down, pretty round letters that shimmer under the office lights.

“Before you go,” you say as you set the sticky pad aside. “I have those inventory logs from the docks - as well as the incident report from security that evening.”

You pluck up a neat stack of papers, held together by a star-shaped paperclip. Already he can see pink highlighter on the first page, a little memo-note summarizing information for quick review at the top. Somewhere within, you’ve attached a pink tab to something.

“I’ve highlighted anything in the original shipment that wasn’t found in the inventory log,” you explain, tapping at one of them.

He hums, skims the summary, then starts rifling through the papers. Will never admit how much he appreciates the thoroughness, even if he’s comb through every detail himself just to be sure nothing has been missed.

“Oh, also,” you add, spinning the glitter pen between clever fingers, “I think we should maybe set up a camera near that back entrance to the warehouse.”

He pauses. The back entrance where they do the more gruesome aspects of “business.” Odd that you would suggest that.

“Why’s that?”

You hum. “Well, I’m no narc, but I heard from someone who works over there that one of the shipping guys smokes weed with his cousin in that area. Maybe someone saw them and realized that’s a good way in.”

You shrug, leaning back in your seat again. The computer dings, calling your attention. John shoots Soap a glance, who nods and quietly steps out. You don’t seem to notice, clicking your tongue at whatever you see.

“Nicely done, luv,” he says, voice warm in his chest. You beam at him, pleased as always when he recognizes your hard work. “I’ll call if I need anything else.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply.

Twenty minutes later, you tap lightly at the open door to his office.

“Got the reservation!” You announce, a funny little smile on your face. “They were so nice about it too. What are you, some kind of mafia boss?”

He chuckles at your joke, shaking his head.

How did he ever manage all this without you?

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Masterlist

[ctimenefic]

I'm going to need everyone to go look at this picture please

Done that? Thank you. Now you may understand why I was gripped by the need to write 3k of landoscar fisting in the middle of the night. If that's your cup of tea, please enjoy!

“Mate, I thought you said you’d prepped already?”

“I have-”

“I can barely get two inside, Osc.”

Oscar had got to four. Four of his own fingers, crammed inside himself in the bathroom of his stale flat, teeth locked on the sleeve of his hoodie because Lando had leaned over in the McLaren jet and said-

Said they could try it. What Oscar wanted. What he knew Oscar wanted, because he’d fucking nicked his phone and looked at his PornHub history like a cunt.

Well. They’d done it the other way round, first. Because Lando had assumed and Oscar- Oscar didn’t know how to want out loud, like Lando did. To bitch and beg and coax his way into things and somehow come out charming at the end of it. 

It’d been fine, anyway, the other way around. Oscar had come. Lando had come, with a bit more pizzazz. Ticked off, sorted, not one for the repeat list but good to have tried it. 

Except. Lando had looked across at him, when they’d taken up strategic spots either side of the wet patch, and that lax, open face had tightened up. It was still astonishing, how much Lando’s face moved when he was thinking.

“That wasn’t how you pictured it, was it?” he’d asked, quiet. Oscar can’t remember now, which hotel it was – after all, it wasn’t a night for the scrapbook. It’d had soft lighting, the kind that made Lando look improbably handsome, even when he was curled like a speech mark towards Oscar, all his softnesses on show. 

There must’ve been some kind of tell. Oscar’s not sure what it was; wants to know, so he can train himself out of it. Practise in the mirror until it vanishes into his smile. Whatever it was, Lando had reached out and wrapped his big hand round the top of Oscar’s thigh where his bent leg kept him from toppling into the space between them. The tips of his fingers stretched far enough to graze against swell of his arse, pinky at the line of his taint. 

Oscar had shut his eyes against the noise he’d made. 

“Alright,” Lando had whispered. “Good to know.” He’d squeezed, then retreated; rolled onto his back. “Triple header soon, but after the season? When I- when we’ve won.”

So. Four weeks, and one FIA gala later: Lando whispering in his ear on the flight back from Rwanda, shirtless and slutting it up as Oscar squirmed. Getting a separate car to his fucking hotel, like he wasn’t going to hop straight back in another car to get to Oscar’s. Telling Oscar to start without him. To send pictures. 

And now he’s pussying out. 

“Osc, I’m not sure we should.” Lando’s mouth is twisted in concern, even as he slides the pads of the two fingers he’s managed to squeeze inside back and forth over Oscar’s prostate, faint and damning. “What if it’s, like, proper- nah, that’s not it. Propriat- Proportional?”

Oscar is breathing too heavily to gape at him, but it’s a near thing. The leftover lube on his hands has gone tacky, but he’s sweating; his fingers slip on the outside of his own thighs. “What?”

“You know. Like how you’re not meant to put stuff in your ears that’s smaller than your own elbow. Or, like, up your nose.” Lando puts his spare paw over where Oscar’s still holding himself open for him. His pale palm disappears entirely under Lando’s hand. 

“Do you think my arsehole is directly proportional to my hands?”

“Could be! I mean, could be anything, like George has big feet and he’s eight feet tall, and I’ve got big hands and a massive cock, and you’ve got-”

“Also a massive cock,” Oscar says, firmly, because Lando has tried humiliation kink out of the blue before, even if he can’t remember it didn’t get him fucking laid. They’re not even that different, really; it’s just the perspective, when Lando’s hand is on him, versus his on Lando. It’s what had got him thinking about it all in the first place. “That’s not how it works, we’ve got different feet and we’re the same height, you fuckwit-”

“Yeah, but maybe it does for arseholes, I can google.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, if it worked like that you’d be gaping-”

“Took all of you, didn’t I?” And he’s looking around, distracted, like he doesn’t remember dropping his phone on the sheets when he came in, a blown up picture of Oscar’s wet fingers still on the screen.

“Lando, if you fucking touch your phone,” Oscar growls. Lando makes worrying movements towards it, even though he’s still knuckle deep in Oscar’s perfectly normal-sized arse. His wrist jostles; Oscar grunts, and suddenly Lando’s frozen, eyes back to where they should be, on the spot where his fingers slip a few fractions further inside. 

“Three,” Oscar bargains. “You’ve done three before, it’ll be fine.”

Lando abandons his phone to scrabble for the lube instead. Oscar just about avoids clenching his fist in victory. Lando’s always generous with lube, hates a chafe, but now he slathers it on; when he cranes his neck to look between his knees, Oscar can see it run down his wrist, bright and shiny. 

The stretch of the third is real, past the point he’d reached on his own. Four, he’d managed, four to the second knuckle, and just the tips of three of Lando’s is more. He loses the ability to shut his mouth, has to let his head fall back to the pillow and just take. Breath through it, find the place where he can relax and still hold onto the heat of it, the way every millimetre makes his cock twitch against his stomach. 

The flare of pressure as Lando eases in his knuckles makes his eyes roll back. “Jesus, Osc. You really like it.” 

“Fucking love it,” and he means to sound flat, maybe chuck a mate on there for good measure, but he’s breathy, voice cracking. There’s a hint of dampness at the back of his throat, past the drool building under his tongue. Lando groans, high and whiny, in response; shuffles forwards, so his shoulders can help hold Oscar’s legs up and apart, give Lando room to stretch him out. 

“Lemme-” He wiggles, slightly; one finger drums on Oscar’s prostate and a thin spurt of precome stains his belly. “Just this, for a bit? And then, if you’re up for it…”

Oscar couldn’t be more up for it. But Lando’s eyes are still a little apprehensive, a little wild. Oscar can play the long game. “Sure. It’s not a sprint.” 

Lando, inexplicably, snickers. “Kinda like one though. Cause, you know. You gave it to me-” He slides his fingers out, until it’s just the tip of his middle pressed where Oscar’s body valiantly tries to close up “-and now I’ll give it to you.” Oscar’s tongue cleaves to the top of his mouth for the push back in; the noises he makes can’t strictly be called words. Lando drops a kiss to the side of Oscar’s knee, just a soft one, lips together. He gets sentimental about sprints now.

That’s why Oscar brings them up. 

The ache of the stretch eases with each steady move, in and out. Lando reaches for the lube again and Oscar almost wants to stop him, chase the burn – but he’ll never get to four without some compromises. When he can trust his voice again, he tries his best to be encouraging. “It’s good, Lando, it’s really good.”

“I know,” Lando groans, like he’s in pain, face twisted up. “Fuck, if you could see yourself, Osc, you’re fuckin’ dripping everywhere.”

It’s easy now, to bear down against Lando’s thick fingers. “More,” he pants. Rephrases. “You can- if you want-”

“Oscar.” Lando’s head drops forward, curls bouncing as he stares at Oscar’s arse. At his hole. It must look like a hole now, dark and wide. Not a furl, not a clench, or a pucker. A hole. Open. “Oscar, Oscar, Oscarrrrr.”

It works though. Another slosh of lube – not even cold now, warm from where Lando’s keeping the bottle close at hand between his knees – and that’s Lando’s pinky joining the rest, all four sliding inexorably in, all the way down past the first knuckle, the second, on and on and on.

Oscar loses his grip on his legs, but Lando keeps him splayed open with the span of his shoulders. Oscar scrabbles at the sheets instead for something to hold onto. It’s brutal, the ache. He wants to thrash. But Lando will bolt if he does. He locks his ankles together high on Lando’s back, just in case. Clamps down on the howl in his chest. 

Lando stops moving. Oscar can’t see, couldn’t lift his neck if he wanted to, training be damned, but he thinks they’ve reached the base of Lando’s fingers. The point where all he needs to do – such a little thing, really – is draw back and tuck his thumb. 

“C’mon,” Oscar- it’s not a whine. It could, perhaps fairly, be called a wheedle. He can’t quite pull off coquettish, not like Lando can when he flutters up at a camera, bites his lip. He can’t measure out his need into acceptable quantities. But it leaks out all the same. “Please, Lando. You promised.”

Lando shudders, and they both shake with it, Oscar’s body rolling like an aftershock. “Yeah. Yeah, alright.” He looks up, right at Oscar, and the fear hasn’t gone, but there’s something else there now, wildness abandoned for a softer, darker look. Oscar’s heart kicks in his chest. There’s saliva running down the side of Lando’s chin and then he bows his head again and spits a mouthful, frothy and white, onto Oscar’s arsehole. 

Oscar shouts, “Jesus fucking Christ” and quite possibly some other words his neighbours won’t appreciate, and when he’s got a grip on the situation again, Lando’s panting nonsense words against the inside of his leg, and the stretch is back, the stretch is good, and it must be- he must have- It’s so slow, but Oscar thinks he can feel it, pressed up against the others but oriented differently. Lando’s thumb. 

Lando rocks his way in, tiny shifts, back and forth. Past the first knuckle. The second. Down to the widest span of his hand. The palm that has sat heavy on Oscar’s shoulders, at the centre of his chest, on his throat. 

Just a bit more, and it’ll be inside him. 

And then Lando looks up and stops pushing. “Fuck. Osc. Are you- shit, I’ll.” He starts drawing back, careful but still too fast, Oscar’s body making sucking, needy noises around him.

In a panic, Oscar shakes his head. Not a neat side to side, but rolling his neck like a spooked horse, wild with it. Begs. “Don’t, Lando, please-” It comes out wet and squeaky and- Oh. He’s crying. That’s new. The kind of thing he might be embarrassed by, if he didn’t need Lando’s fist inside him with an urgency that borders on lunacy. “Please. I’m okay. I- Please.”

“Tell me you need it.” Lando’s hoarse with it, dark eyed. His free hand is shaking, but the fingertips still inside Oscar are rock steady. “Tell me it’s good.”

Oscar gulps for air. Beneath the howl in his chest there’s a twittering, fluttering panic. It’s too visible, his need. If he takes it all, he’ll be seen. Won’t be able to hide. 

“Yes,” he offers. There are still tears sliding down the sides of his face. It’s not enough for Lando’s sudden solemnity. Oscar breathes against a sob. “It’s good. I want it. I need you.”

A sharp gasp. Lando presses forward again, eyes locked on Oscar’s face. In and in and in. And Oscar takes it.

The first time, the other way around, Oscar hadn’t been able to watch when his fist disappeared. He’d felt disconnected from it; like it wasn’t a part of his body, inside a part of Lando’s. Like it was a toy. He’d been gloved up almost to his elbow, because Lando’s latex fetish was as poorly disguised as all his other cravings, but that hadn’t been why. Lando had still been hot and tight and impossibly delicate around him. He’d still been able to feel.

But Oscar had done so much work to hide his petty jealousies. To make sure he made it good. Tutorials and magazine articles and advice forums, and watching Lando charm a room with half a smile and remembering he was lucky, he was so lucky, to get this close to what he really wanted. So perhaps he hadn’t let himself get carried away in the prep, in the build; perhaps he’d let Lando carry the conversation, goading and filthy and a little bit cliché, as he got to the point. To the fist. 

And then, when he was sure he was doing it right, he’d instead been caught by the way Lando’s back had twisted, how his shoulders shook, all the strength of him pushing him down like he needed downforce to stay on the bed. He’d had the pillow between his teeth, getting it wet. Sloppy. The shine of it, of his chin, when he’d turned his head, had been the thing to rouse Oscar’s flagging dick. 

Lando had asked, then, for Oscar to touch him. Said he’d needed more. Not that it wasn’t good, mind you, he’d stressed that, said it was so fucking hot, being on Oscar’s hand like a fucking puppet. But. A touch. Something on his dick. Because it wasn’t enough for Lando, to be filled. Not with Oscar’s dainty hand. 

It’s enough for Oscar now. He howls. Clenches down on Lando’s broad wrist. He can hear it, the squeeze against skin and Lando’s insane application of lube. Every throb of his heart, every pulse in every artery seems to fall into time with the tiny movements of Lando’s fist. Inside him and through him and with him and all of him. He’s never been owned like this. Wanted enough for this. 

When he glances down, away from the ceiling, Lando looks like he’s been fucking raptured. “Oscar, shit, that’s insane, you’re- I can’t believe-” He sniffs, just once, but obvious enough Oscar has to crack a soppy wet smile at him; gets a lopsided gleam of teeth in return. “You really fucking like this,” Lando tells him, like it’s a secret. Then: “I really fucking like this too.”

When he twists his hand, his whole fucking hand, just slightly, Oscar’s orgasm hits like a thunderclap. Lando groans through it, so loud it’s like he’s been wounded; Oscar blinks up at him, worry surfacing between aftershocks, but Lando shakes his head, his free hand pressing soothingly to the back of Oscar’s thigh. Which. Fuck. When the power of speech returns, what might be a full minute later, Oscar has to chuckle. “Imagine telling Zak I broke your hand.”

Lando swats at him. “Don’t talk about Zak when I’m about to fucking cum all over you, Christ. Fuck, you look-”

A mess, he looks a mess, cum up to his neck, his face wet with sweat and tears and spit. But it must work for Lando, because he starts working his dick with his off hand, short fast tugs, not even stopping for lube.

“In me,” Oscar hears himself begging. “Inside, please.”

“It will not fucking fit!”

It’s hard to get his tongue working round the size of the thought, the way it presses at the inside of his mouth, his ribs. “No, just- pull out and I’ll. I’ll still be open. You don’t have to fuck me, just- aim.”

“Oh, fucking hell, Oscar.” But Lando does start drawing back. He’s slow about it, watching for every shiver. It’s almost better for Oscar, coming out, oversensitive, the long drag past every nerve ending and aching muscle. If he can’t keep Lando inside for hours – for ever – this will do, this shared shaking moment. Lando’s grip on his own dick has stilled, so tight it’s like he’s staving off the inevitable; like the sight of his own hand coming out of Oscar could be enough to send him over. 

There’s a final squelch of lube, and Oscar thought he’d feel empty, hollow, but his blood’s still singing with it, happy and sated. Now it’s Lando who looks desperate.

“Clench,” he orders. Begs. Oscar tries. He can feel it, where he’s still open. Cold. Lando moans, and then he’s stripping his dick, first with his left and then – Oscar’s whole body tightens and it’s still not enough to close up, but Christ – Lando switches hands, switches to the hand he had inside Oscar, hot and slick and massive, presses in close and comes, hot and shivering, against Oscar’s hole. 

Oscar catches him, when he slumps forward. There’s enough coordination back in his body that he can roll them out of the wet patch. The right side of the bed – Oscar’s side, usually – is largely unsullied. He curls them both up there, bodies aligned. Lando’s dopey with the afterglow, keeps trying to run his lubed up fingers through Oscar’s hair, letting out high, contented giggles. Oscar’s pretty sure his own smile looks loopy.

“More like you imagined it?” Lando asks, eventually. There’s a smugness to it, like he knows the answer. Oscar indulges him anyway. 

“Yeah.”

“Mint. You should- if you have any more ideas like that. Say. Cause we’re doing that again.”

Oscar raises an eyebrow. “Uh huh?”

“Obviously, not like, all the time. But special occasions. Championships. And- I don’t know, other shit.”

Championships, plural, sounds good. So do special occasions. He wants that, with Lando. Things to celebrate. Dates to remember. 

He’ll find a way to say it, eventually. “And other shit,” he hums, for now. 

[godsandmonsters505]

Roll Like Thunder | Negan Smith

dbf!Negan Smith (The Walking Dead) x younger fem!reader

(AU where the apocalypse never happened)

Summary: Negan is your dad's best friend and the two of you settle some tension while on your family vacation.

Warnings (18+): age gap (reader is college age, maybe 20-ish, and Negan's age is not specified but I'm feeling early 50s), smut (fem receiving oral, unprotected p in v), possibility of getting caught, edging

Notes: this actually kinda turned out sweet in a way I think, which is surprising because that's not often an outcome when I write for Negan lmao. not proofread yet because I just wanted to get it out to you all asap, but will edit if needed when I get the chance. hope you enjoy!! (also the intro is kinda long oops)

Grabbing your glass of wine you take another much needed swig, cringing at your dad and uncle. They always find some way to turn every conversation into a political argument while the rest of your family eat their meals and exchange knowing glances

Family holidays were always like this. The one time a year when everyone was together: your parents, aunt, uncle and cousins. Only this year, there was a new addition.

Negan had grown up being a close friends with both your father and uncle and they are still best friends to this day. He recently went through a messy divorce and this is his first Christmas without his wife in a long time. Your dad never was good with showing kindness or friendship, but your uncle had convinced him it would be a good idea to invite him to his cabin for your annual Christmas getaway.

And that's how you got here.

You'd always had a little bit of a crush on Negan, for as long as you could remember. Though you never saw much of him as a kid. It wasn't until you got older - old enough to be able to drink in front of your parents - that you got to spend more time with him. Drinking was a big part of their social life, so once you could join in, you got to know him better. You got on well with your parents so you'd have barbeques with them and their friends, join in with conversations in the kitchen when they'd have people over, go out to dinner. But then you went off to college and started spending less and less time with them. So now it's Christmas time, you're happy to be able to spend time with your family. And Negan, more than you'd care to admit.

"Okay fellas," your mom chimes in. "Enough of that."

Negan makes eye contact with you from across the other side of the table and you smirk at each other. You're both all too familiar with watching this from an outside perspective.

"The food's delicious, Negan," she adds, turning to Negan, who had cooked this meal for you all. Sort of as a thank you for letting him tag along. For the first few days in the cabin he felt a little out of place, like he was intruding on your family's time together. But eventually he began to find himself settling. You were lucky to have a very fun, non-judgmental family so everyone was happy to have him there.

You nodded in agreement with your mother's statement. "I'd have more if there was any left." You motion to your empty plate.

"I'm glad it's got your approval, ladies," he grins.

The meal comes to an end and alcohol starts flowing. Your cousins are all younger than you so they head off to their bedrooms to do whatever it is kids their age do.

"I'd better get these dishes cleaned," Negan declares, standing up from his seat.

"No," you say, protesting. "You cooked. I'll clean."

"It's fine, you don't have to," he says kindly.

"I want to," you smile. "Really I'm happy to."

"We'll do them together?" He suggests, coming to a compromise and you nod in agreement.

"You raised a stubborn one," he mumbles teasingly to your dad, patting his shoulder as he walks past him.

"She gets that from me," your mom chirps as the two of you pick the plates up from the table and carry them into the kitchen.

Putting the plates on the kitchen top, you head to the fridge and look inside.

"Beer?" you ask, peeking around the door to look at Negan's response. Though you already have two cans in your hand, knowing he won't turn down the offer.

He nods. "Can't do anything without a drink in hand in this family, huh?"

You close the fridge door and pass him his beer, cracking open his own.

"You should be more than aware of that," you tease. "I've heard what you and my dad used to get up to."

"I'm sure you've not even heard the most of it," he teases back.

You laugh softly under your breath at his response.

"I'll wash, you dry?" You suggest as the sink begins to fill with soapy water.

The two of you get the dishes done relatively quickly as Negan tells you a story from his college days. You have to keep yourself composed and remember who he is. Remember that these stories he's telling of him at your age took place before you were even born. A decade before, at least. But, every so often, as you pass him the plates to dry, your fingers touch his and such a small motion has you weak. You can't look him directly in the eyes as he stands so close to you. That signature grin of his spread across his face.

The two of your finish and you take a large swig of your beer, but it's no surprise that the flush of alcohol doesn't help your body heat. You can only hope and pray that your cheeks aren't beetroot red right now.

"I'm sure you've got plenty of stories, though, right?" He asks. "Being in college and all. And with your dad's genes...God."

A playful smile spreads on your face. "Sure. I'm absolutely not telling you though. My dad would have a heart attack."

"Ahh," he smiles back. "So this whole 'good girl' thing is just an act, then?"

Holy shit. Good girl? He has no clue what he is doing to you calling you things like that.

"I can be good when it suits me." You say, almost flirtatiously, and immediately kick yourself. Why the hell would you say something like that to him?

Your off-the-cuff reply has him grinning. He swipes his tongue over his teeth as he contemplates your words and you almost drop to your knees.

"Let's go see what political debate has become the talking point now," you say, changing the topic to hide your complete embarrassment. You leave the kitchen and head to the living room, Negan following.

Somehow, in the time it took you to wash the dishes, your mom and aunt have gone through a bottle and a half of wine, and they're sat on the floor with your dad and uncle playing some sort of drinking game.

You sit down on the couch and Negan sits next to you. Why? Why could he not just sit away from you? Give you some space to compose yourself? But the action is completely innocent. There is just less than a foot between the two of you, yet it still feels like he is on top of you. Like you're breathing the same air.

"What was I just saying?" Negan says, nudging your arm with his elbow. "Alcohol."

You shake your head in playful disagreement with your relatives' actions.

"Hey, mom," you say and her head whips around, as laughter escapes her lips. "Think you've had enough for tonight?"

"Oh, you're so boring," she waves her hand at you dismissively.

The four of them continue for about half an hour as you and Negan observe and laugh. The game finally comes to an end when your aunt and uncle discreetly head off to their bedroom for a reason you don't even want to think about. Your parents follow shortly after, your dad having to carry your drunk mom up the stairs.

You come back from the kitchen where you were getting another lager for you and Negan. As you do so, you look for the TV controller and find a blanket that was lying around. You sit down again next to Negan and look down at your phone to check the time.

"God, it's not even 10 o'clock yet." You laugh.

"Amateurs," he says sarcastically.

You pass him his beer which he thanks you for, then get under you blanket.

"Want some?" You ask, holding out some excess blanket towards him.

"Sure," he accepts, getting comfortable himself.

The whole situation you're in is completely innocent, but it dawns on you that you're currently alone with Negan, tucked under the same blanket. Given that fact, you make a conscious effort not to touch him at all and try to remain composed.

"Put a movie on?" You ask him, passing the TV remote to him.

He takes it from your hand, brushing his fingertips across yours.

You watch him carefully as he selects a film to put on, making sure not to get caught admiring him. He just looks so good. The salt and pepper sprinkled throughout his hair and beard. The tattoos that cover his arms. The way his white t-shirt hugs his body just right. You're brought out of your thoughts when he speaks.

"You seen Batman Returns?" He asks, looking down at you.

"Of course," you smile. "It's a classic."

"Feel like watching it again?"

You nod. You'll watch whatever he wants. Do whatever he wants.

"Absolutely," you answer. "I didn't peg you as a Batman kind of guy, to be honest."

"Like you say, it's a classic," he says. "Plus there's always Michelle Pfeiffer."

You laugh at him. "I feel you."

You polish off another beer as you watch the film. You try your best to pay attention, to keep your eyes open, but you grow increasingly tired. It must have only been fifteen minutes into the film when you finally drift off, reality slipping away.

When you wake up again, it takes a while to fully gain consciousness, You feel something under you head, under your arm, but you don't pay much attention to it.

You feel warm. Comfortable. You don't want to wake up, you could stay here forever. The smell of men's shampoo and cologne comforts you, a soft material under the touch of your hand.

All of a sudden reality dawns on you. You realise that your head is leaning on a shoulder. That your hand is draped across a torso. You shoot up, sitting upright and see Negan smiling at you softly through slightly hooded eyes.

"Oh God," you say, feeling incredibly humiliated. "I'm sorry." But he just chuckles.

You look over to the television and see a black screen.

"Did the movie finish?" You ask groggily and he nods. Fuck. You slept for the entire duration of the film and who knows how much of that time you spent laying on Negan's shoulder.

What you're only just realising now, though, is how close you're still sat to him. How even though you're sat up, Negan's shoulder is casually draped across the back of the sofa, dangerously close to your shoulder blades.

"Why didn't you just wake me up?" You ask, feeling flushed.

"You looked peaceful." He answers, honestly. "Didn't want to disrupt you."

"I'm sorry," you apologize again. "You should've woken me up."

"I didn't mind, sweetheart." He insists. "Honestly."

The pet name drives you utterly insane. As if this whole thing wasn't already enough. Your body feels so hot. What with the blanket, his body heat, your arousal.

"I will say though, you do talk quite a bit in your sleep," he smiles coyly and dread shoots through your entire body.

"Wh-what-" you can't even get a full sentence out. "What did I-"

A flash of a dream comes back to you in that moment. Oh God. Oh God, no. You can't remember the details, but you remember the feeling. Negan on top of you. His body weight on you. The ecstasy you felt. His hands on your body. His name slipping from your lips.

You had a sex dream about Negan while you were laying on his Goddamn shoulder. You're lost for words, but Negan is enjoying watching this play out. He bites his lip, trying to suppress his smug grin as he watches you realise the possibilities of what you might have said.

His arm slowly slips off the back of the sofa and creeps around to touch you, the movement making you flinch a little. What is he doing?

He takes his other hand and places two fingers just under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. The two of you make eye contact and you can't even contemplate what is happening - still a little groggy from your nap - before his lips are coming down gently on yours.

You kiss him back almost immediately. It's a surprising delicate and intimate kiss, and you daringly bring your hand up to his neck to pull him in deeper, but he pulls back.

You worry that he is having second thoughts, but the look in his eyes says the complete opposite. He just wants to get a good look at you before he tears you apart. You feel vulnerable under his hungry eyes but you love how it makes you feel.

The two of you take a moment to catch your breath before your lips join again, this time the kiss rougher. More passionate. His arms wrap around your back to pull your body snug to his and you intwine your fingers into his hair, tugging ever so slightly. His large hands snake further down and grab your hips, pulling you onto his lap. As you get comfortable you shift along his length and gasp, feeling that he is already hard.

"You were practically fucking dry humping me in your sleep," he chuckles. "You can't blame me."

"So that's why you didn't want to wake me up, then?" You're barely able to mumble, teasing him.

"Hmm, maybe." You can feel him smile into the kiss and it makes you want him more. Everything about him is so endearing. He just radiates this warmth, this aura, and it's radiating.

Even now, however, you're nervous to move things along. You know what you want but this is still so surreal, and it would be an understatement to say you feel a little intimidated in this moment. You have enough sexual experience, but this is Negan. This is different. So you're glad when he takes control and begins to lift up your top, pulling it over your head to expose your bra.

His mouth makes contact with the flesh of your chest, sucking and nipping while he reaches around to unhook your bra. He feels his cock twitch when he sees your bare breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth immediately as his warm hands roam and caress your back, travelling over your smooth skin.

As you start to subconsciously grind into his bulge, Negan continues to explore your breasts. You're looking for any kind of relief and you begin to find some as he presses up into you, but both of your pants are restricting you.

You feel yourself crumbling further and further as Negan's hands come around to aid him with his attention to your breasts, squeezing and practically groaning as he does so. The noise changes something inside you, and makes you realise that you need him stripped of his clothes right this second.

You grasp the bottom of his shirt and he briefly pulls away from you to allow you to move it, but the second you're done, his lips are back on your skin, leaving marks on your collarbone and neck. Next, you move onto the buckle of his belt but he swats your hand away.

Pulling back from the kiss, you look to him with wide eyes full of confusion. That look alone is nearly enough to cause him to fold and fuck you right then and there. But he has other plans.

"Be patient for me, honey," he says sweetly, and as badly as you want him, you trust him.

He pulls your body flush to his, so that your breasts are pressed entirely against the heat of his chest. Then he grips your lower back and stands up, holding you tightly.

"We can't do this here," he says, carrying you towards the stairs. You grind up against him playfully as he does so and he stops momentarily half way up the stairs, clearly affected by the action. In retaliation he gently swats your ass and you giggle at his response.

"Shh," he hushes, but he can't hide the grin that spreads across his face as you bury your face in his shoulder to muffle the sound.

Being as quiet as possible, he takes you into his bedroom which - awkwardly - is across the hall from your parents' room.

He puts you down on the bed, barely allowing himself to be away from you for a second, climbing on top of you hastily. He goes back to kissing you, the taste of him intoxicating. The way he kisses are gentle yet so hot and passionate at the same time, becoming increasingly sloppy as they shift from your lips to your jaw, neck, chest, abdomen, until you're a writhing mess beneath him.

Once he has kissed so far that he reaches the waist line of your trousers, he unbuttons them and pulls them all the way down. He throws them onto the floor, leaving you just in your lace black panties. He nudges your legs open and moves his kisses to your thigh. He's slowly breaking you and you're not sure how much more you can take. Painstakingly slow, he trails his tongue up your inner thigh until he reaches the edge of your panties.

Eventually he slips your panties off and you tremble as you feel the cool air of his room against your hot, aching core. He places his hands on your inner thighs to push them open further, mouth watering at the sight of you. The delicate touch of his fingers send shivers up your spine and you're in desperate need of more.

"Please, Negan," you say, barely a croak.

"Shh, let me take care of you," he soothes, his voice low and gravelly as he tries his best to stay quiet. "Wanted to taste this sweet pussy for so long."

As if to affirm his words, he lowers his head and licks a stripe straight through your folds, groaning as he feels how wet you are.

He then moves his mouth to make contact with your clit, your hips raising at the action. He starts off by sucking gently, leaving you aching for more as you reach down to grab his hair, not knowing what else to do. He chuckles as you do so and sends vibrations straight through your core. Unable to control yourself, a moan escapes you lips and he squeezes your thighs warningly, wordlessly telling you to be quiet.

He takes his time to precisely pull you apart, but then his motions begins to get harsher, faster. You feel that rising feeling in the pit of your stomach begin to spread after waiting for what feels like so long. He alternates between kissing, sucking, licking, nipping until you're desperate for more. Sensing this, he teases one finger at your entrance.

"Please," you whimper, legs trembling. He answers your pleading by pushing his single digit inside you in one long push, as deep as he can go, and keeping it there momentarily. As he continues to eat you out, he begins moving his finger, fucking you gently. When he adds a second finger you have to clasp your hand over your own mouth to stop yourself from calling out his name. Your legs wrap around his head, wanting to pull him closer to you in any way possible.

Closing your eyes, you feel that white hot feeling flooding through your veins, but right as you're about to reach your peak, he pulls his fingers out and his mouth away from you.

You let out a guttural sound, one of desperation which causes Negan to laugh under his breath.

"Negan, God, please," you whine, putting both your hands on his head and pushing him back down.

"So bossy," he mumbles with a smile on his face, but he obliges.

He doesn't use his fingers on you again, but it makes no difference. You're already pent up enough as it is that it won't take a lot to make you reach your peak. Plus, you don't doubt that Negan's skillful mouth is more than enough for you.

He circles his tongue around your clit, going back to sucking while using his free fingers to absentmindedly trace little patterns into your thighs. The only noises are your heavy pants and the wetness of his mouth against you, and it fills the otherwise deadly silent bedroom.

He's starting to become more familiar with your body and your reactions and he can tell you're getting close again. To which he stops and pulls away yet again.

"Negan," you almost cry. Tears prick in the corners of your eyes as you throb for him. "Please, I need to-"

"I got you baby," he assures you, stroking the flesh of your thighs comfortingly.

You can't bare it. You almost despise him for doing this to you, but you can't. It's all so surreal: having this man between your thighs. So often you have fantasized of it and though it's so wrong, it's now happening.

Before you can beg again, his lips make contact with you. This time he's a man on a mission. His tongue flicks against your clit as two of his fingers slip back inside you. You're so wet that it's an easy motion, but you still feel the tight, delicious stretch. He allows you to get used to it, building you up until he adds a third finger and you have to use all your power not to yell out his name. You try your hardest not to hurt Negan by squeezing your thighs too much or pulling his hair too hard, but he loves it. He loves driving you crazy, seeing you unwind for him. The noises you make. The taste of you.

Relentlessly, he penetrates you with his fingers, pushing and curling his fingers deep inside you, hitting a spot that eventually brings you your release. One last push, one last flick of his tongue and you're falling over the edge. You squeeze your eyes shut and you can't help the animalistic sound that leaves you as white flashes behind your eyelids. He continues eating you out through your orgasm and it hits you that you think you're doing something you never have before.

Once you manage to come around again, you let your legs relax and look down to Negan who looks up at you. He smiles smugly, your wetness remaining in his beard and it causes you to go weak in the knees.

"Did I just-?" Squirt, you want to say. But somehow it doesn't seem like the nicest word to describe what just happened between of the two.

He nods with a glimmer in his eyes as he makes his way up the bed, his body above yours.

"I've never-" you croak. "I've never done that before."

"You just needed a man, that's all," he gloats and you roll your eyes. "It was hot as fuck, for what it's worth."

He leans down and places a soft kiss on your lips. You can taste yourself on him.

You're still shaking a little, but you manage to pull back a little to look him in his eyes.

"Are we really doing this?" You ask, bordering on timid.

"Do you want to?" He counters.

"Yes," you say, quickly, not wanting him to think you're having doubts. Because there is absolutely no doubt in your mind that you want the man above him. Hell, you need him. But somehow you find yourself feeling a little insecure and needing reassurance. "Do you?"

"Darling," he laughs. "Not to be crude, but you just came all over my face. I want this more than you know."

You nod and smile, feeling more confident. "I'm sorry, I just-"

He interrupts your babbling with a long kiss to your lips, silencing you.

"You need to worry less," he says, bringing his hand to stroke your cheek sweetly.

"Make me." You propose flirtingly, smiling up at him.

"That I can do." His lips crash down on yours and his tongue intertwines with yours.

Reaching down to his pants you fumble with his zip, which he helps your shaky hands undo. He shifts both his pants and boxers down off his ankles, and though you can't see his length fully from this angle, you can feel its hardness press against your lower stomach and he feels big.

"You ready, baby?" He raises his brow at you as he grips his member and teases it through your folds.

"Yes, please Negan," you pant, even after having the best orgasm of your life, you still need more. "Need you inside me."

He groans as he slips inside of you and the way you practically beg for him drives him crazy.

"So fucking tight, holy shit," he mumbles into your ear, his head dropping down to bite and suck on the crook of your neck. "Oh, baby, fuck."

Hearing him say such obscene things affects you in an indescribable way. His voice has always been massively attractive to you, but now...you're done for. The deep rumble, smooth like honey, even lower in an attempt to remain quiet to your family in the surrounding bedrooms. It's like dark magic. It has you hooked. He could say the right thing to you with that voice and you'd cum right there and then.

His movements are slow, savoring the sensation of you around him. He wants to take his time with you. He never wants it to be over.

Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his back and lift your hips up wanting more from you. He maintains his pace, but does start pushing deeper inside you like you wanted.

"I've wanted you for so long," you say, not even in control of your words anymore. It's like he's fucking them right out of you. He moans into your neck at your admission and starts thrusting a little faster, as if in response to your statement.

"Do you know-" he stops speaking for a moment to breathe and compose himself, clearly enjoying this as much as you, "how often I get myself off thinking about you?" He punctuates his point with a particularly hard thrust and that - in combination with the idea of him masturbating to the thought of you - causes you to cry out. You thought he would shush you, but he seems too far gone at this point.

"A fucking pretty little thing like you," he says, his hands groping at your tits, his touch rougher than before, "it'd be hard not to."

"Oh god," you whimper. "Harder, please."

His movements get harsher gradually, following your command and getting you closer and closer every second.

He lifts his head up and the way he looks at you makes your insides collapse. To be the sole object of his attention. How he looks at you like you're all that ever mattered.

"I'm so close, Negan," you tell him.

"Taking me so fucking well, darling," he praises, reaching one hand down to lazily play with your clit. That's all it takes and he can feel it coming as you begin to squeeze around him. He takes your lips in a long, sensual kiss as you climax, trying to muffle your moans as he fucks you through your orgasm. Your hands are wrapped around his back, squeezing into his shoulders as you try your hardest to be quiet. Pure pleasure surges through your veins as he presses his entire body weight into you: suffocating in the most beautiful way possible.

Gradually, Negan's movements come to a halt and he stops moving inside you briefly, letting go of you come down from your high.

"You're gonna be the fucking death of me," he declares and before you can reply, he suddenly starts moving inside you again, faster than the last time, placing a quick peck on the tip of your nose as he does so.

He soon reaches a pace much faster than before and you're rendered speechless.

Your attention is grabbed, however, by the open and shut of a door somewhere. You gasp and your eyes widen at the sound. The possibilities of who it could be and if they'd heard you start to race through your mind but your thoughts are cut off when Negan clasps a hand firmly over your mouth to keep you quiet. He presses you further into the mattress as he fucks you even harder than before, enjoying tormenting you.

You listen closely to the footsteps. They're quite loud - that of a man - probably your dad or uncle. The pitter patter grows closer and your heard races, both from the fear of getting caught and from the sensation of Negan deep inside you. Hitting places you're sure no other man ever has or ever could. You relax a little as you hear the footsteps pass Negan's bedroom and head into the shared bathroom, the door closing afterwards.

Negan takes his hand off your mouth and you gasp for air.

"Oh my god, please don't stop," you beg as he sets a pace and sticks with it, snaking his slender fingers back down to your clit and circling it gently.

"I don't plan on," he chimes. "You're taking me so well."

You've never felt anything like this. Your entire body is numb and slick with sweat. All you can do is grab onto his hair and try your best to lift your hips to meet his thrusts.

To help you out, he grabs your body and switches positions slightly. He lifts himself up then clutches your thighs, lifting them onto his shoulders. Then his hands grip onto your hips and he has access to you in a way that allows him to go much deeper. You know you can't take much more. You're close to crying just from how much you want to scream his name.

Your eyes keep fluttering shut but you force them opening, wanting to keep them on the man doing this to you. His tousled hair, his flexed biceps, his tattooed chest.

"Harder, please," you whisper. "I'm nearly there."

Thrusting harder, he also adds his fingers back to your clit, rubbing harshly. It's almost painful on your sensitive nerves but it feels unreal and it's enough to build you up to near-ecstasy.

Your mouth hangs open but you refrain from making any noise. In one unexpected motion, he lands a slap to your clit and it sends your orgasm rushing.

"Good girl, that's it," he guides you through as your body starts to spasm.

He continually pounds into you and turns his head to the side to place soft kisses to your inner thigh, contrasting the way he now ruthlessly moves inside of you.

You contract around him as you cum and you can tell he is trying his hardest to hold on as he visibly hesitates, not knowing where to release.

"Cum inside me, Negan," you give permission. "Want it so bad."

Those words were all he needed as he spills inside you, the warm liquid filling you.

Gradually, his movements slow down as he fucks you through the both of your orgasms, fucking his cum deeper inside you, and then pulls out and collapses next to you.

You rest your head on his shoulder and to your surprise, he pulls you closer to him, placing a kiss to your forehead.

"Holy shit," you giggle, the whole situation setting in.

Negan's about to speak but his sentence stops forming when the bathroom door opens and closes again. You'd completely forgot about that.

The two of you exchange a glance as you wait for the footsteps to disappear down the hallway. Once they're gone, you relax back into his embrace.

Absentmindedly, you place your hand on Negan's warm chest, tracing the ink of his tattoos. Its surprisingly comforting having him this close, to be held by him. You're entranced by the smell of his cologne and the way his chest heaves up and down, catching his breath. He smiles as he watches you, equally as entranced by you. He can't quite believe that the daydreams he thought were exactly that - daydreams - have come to life.

"We'll have to do this again," he grins coyly, "some place where you can scream my name as loud as you need to." His hands run over your body, cupping your breasts as if to appreciate as much of you as possible.

"I'd like that," you smile back, snuggling into his arms. You know you can't stay here all night, but you'll appreciate it for as long as possible.

[grandline-fics]

Hi lovely, hope you’re doing well. If you feel like it, would you write Smoker not realizing he’s got a crush on you until Tashigi has to point it out? It seems so Them ™ thank you 🫰

DESCRIPTION: He has no idea he has a crush on you

WARNINGS: mutual pining/ crushes

CHARACTERS: Smoker

WORDS: 1,225

A/N: I was only intending on making this a short and sweet drabble but it went a little longer than that. Not that I'm complaining. I hope you like what I came up with for this and thank you for requesting.

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

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Smoker is normally straightforward and very aware of his surroundings and those that are in his immediate vicinity. He likes his space immensely and rarely allows anyone to encroach in that personal bubble. Outside of attacking pirates, or training very few tend to be given the privilege of staying next to Smoker for more than a few seconds. Tashigi would be the one to stay next to Smoker the most given she was his second in command although an interesting development caught her eye that Smoker somehow failed to notice for himself. You. Ever since you were transferred to the G5 base she noticed more and more how you and Smoker had gotten closer, to the point that now as she watched the two of you talk in the hallway her keen eyes took in how Smoker’s arm was all but a hair’s breadth away from fully touching yours. 

By her observation that was practically the equivalent of anyone else straddling their lover's lap by Smoker’s standards. Her gaze took you both in and she fought back the giddy smile, her boss had a crush and endearingly, he had no idea of his feelings. For a while she was happy to just take the revelation in and enjoy it for herself, unable to give up the chance of a lifetime to see Smoker like this. It was like winning the lottery to see the gruff, almost socially distant, stoic leader show his softer side. Now that she was aware of the change that overcame Smoker when you were near, she couldn’t help but see it take effect instantly. 

When you talked with him about mission reports, changes in shifts, or engaging in general conversation, Smoker would keep intense eye contact with you, taking in everything you had to say but his eyes would soften just enough to unconsciously seem less intimidating. Tashigi found that you’d never shied away from Smoker’s presence that others would normally feel nervous around. If you didn’t have time to stop and talk, you and Smoker still made sure to smile-albeit a small one on Smoker’s end- and offer a courtesy nod before continuing on your separate ways. Tashigi spotted out of the corner of her eye that as you passed by one day that Smoker’s head followed you for just a second. That day Tashigi decided to put Smoker’s feelings for you clearly into perspective. As she inspected the debrief of the upcoming mission that afternoon, she began the conversation by stating your name. As expected, Smoker’s head turned towards her curiously. “You going to say goodbye to them before we leave?”

“I’d be here all day if I said goodbye to everyone that wasn’t coming on the same mission as me, Tashigi.” Smoker stated with a confused frown, eyeing his second in command warily. “Did you get enough sleep last night?”

“Of course I did.”

“Then why the strange question?”

“Dunno just thought, you might want to say goodbye.” Tashigi shrugged with a playful smile. “We will be gone for at least a month. Won’t you miss them?”

“Tashigi…” Smoker abandoned the papers on his desk and turned in his seat to look at her, unwilling to indulge her antics. Especially if she was bringing you into the conversation. “Just say whatever it is you want to say so I can actually get on with my work.”

“Fine. You like them and before you say ‘they’re an asset to the base’ I mean you like them. Romantically.” Smoker blinked at Tashigi and she could see the gears turning in his head as her statement was being processed. The expression alone made her wish she had pointed it out to him sooner. Still, Smoker was a stubborn man and even with her nudging him towards the revelation, she needed to continue to really drive the point home before he could dismiss it. “I can see the way you look at them, and seek them out to talk to. They like you too y’know?”

Smoker couldn’t help but tense at that. An almost hopeful jolt ran through him involuntarily but even then he was reluctant to believe that you held a romantic interest in him the same way that he had for you. Now that Tashigi had pointed it out to him, he felt somewhat foolish that he hadn’t realised his own feelings on his own. He wasn’t a child and he wasn’t some lovesick teenager either but out of fear of sounding like one he refused to ask Tashigi how she knew you would reciprocate his feelings. Instead he gave a noncommittal grunt and quickly looked to the papers on his desk again. Tashigi grinned broadly and used all of her will to keep her voice even and calm when she was all but squealing on the inside. “The next time you go to talk to them, watch how their eyes light up. Perhaps if you went to say goodbye before our mission you’d see?”

The was a moment of silence as Smoker continued to stare at the papers but not reading them. Then with a curse he stood abruptly and headed towards the door. “Only because you won’t shut up about it.” 

“Whatever you say, sir.” Tashigi nodded, watching Smoker leave with the most satisfied smile on her face. As much as she would have loved to have follow close behind and see the next part for herself, she decided to give Smoker his space out of fear of pushing her luck with interfering into his personal life even though sometimes he sorely needed the obvious being pointed out for him.

Smoker strode down the corridors, seemingly doing his routine patrols before having to set off on the mission when really he was hoping to coincidentally run into you. He turned the corridor sharply just as you came from the opposite direction. Your body collided with his and instinctively Smoker’s hands firmly caught your shoulders, keeping you from falling. You let out a nervous laugh and looked up at him, an embarrassed warmth spreading over your face as you stared at your boss. “Sorry! I should really look where I’m going right?”

“No harm done on my end.” Smoker mused, taking Tashigi’s advice to observe your face as you spoke to him, to really watch your eyes. 

“Just as well.” You joked, smiling brightly as you met his gaze with only warmth as opposed to the use caution the others on the base would. “Last thing you need is an injury before going on a mission.” At that you seemed almost disappointed. Smoker tried to keep his expression neutral at the prospect that you’d miss him. “Jero said it was going to be a long one?”

“A month is the estimate.”

“A month…” Your smile lessened slightly before you mentally lectured yourself. This was how it went. Missions could range from a couple days to nearly a year, even longer. “I wish you a successful mission, Vice Admiral. I’ll see you when you get back.”

“Promise?” The word was out of his mouth before he really considered the implication the weight behind it would be. Smoker momentarily got lost in the way surprise lit your eyes and how your lips slowly spread into a smile far brighter than he’d yet to see grace your face before. 

“I promise.”

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TAG LIST (If I've missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @sanemisnonexistenteyebrow , @fiery-captain-spider-santa @kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @ane5e , @stuckinthewrongworld

[miel-ji]

Wanted It Forever

Genre: angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort 

Pairing: Seungmin x Fem!Reader 

Word Count: 2k

Warning: argument, crying, depression 

Summary: After a fight unresolved, you’re left to wonder if there is even a relationship anymore to salvage

A/N: based on this request!! I hope this is what you were looking for <33 love when I get asks!!

“Oh my god, Y/n! Please, how many times are we going to have to go through this?” Seungmin asked you with wide eyes, his hands running through his hair for the nth time that night making it look wild and unruly. 

“Until you prioritize me for once in your life!” You shouted back at him. Your voice was strained, and it came out sounding more like a plea, desperate to get him to understand how you felt. 

You weren’t sure how long the two of you had been fighting for, but it felt like hours of just going in circles. You weren’t even sure what exactly started it, but the second you got to the root of the problem, everything seemed to unravel from trying to pretend that it was all fine for so long. You were in a standoff in the middle of the kitchen with him on one side of the island and you on the other, creating the distance that you had been starting to feel inside. You had tried to be patient with Seungmin, but it felt like the more you ignored it, the more he stopped even trying. 

He let out a long and frustrated sigh, “why are you being so needy and unreasonable? You know that I’m an idol. You know that I have a lot of responsibilities. I try to give you as much attention as I can. Why isn’t that enough for you?” Seungmin was always trying to maintain an even tone during an argument, but you could tell this one was wearing the both of you thin. It scared you a bit as the thought of this being the final argument played in the back of your mind. 

You scoffed disbelievingly at his words. You had no time to feel hurt by his accusations as you only felt anger simmering inside you from him not willing to see it from your perspective. “Needy? Unreasonable? Seungmin, you really think this is all about attention? This is the third time you’ve stood me up on a date. We haven’t properly gone out as a couple in over a month!” 

“You think I want to? I’m busy, Y/n! I thought you knew what you were getting into when we started dating.” He threw his hands up in frustration as he offered you the same excuse as he always did. 

“The Seungmin I started dating actually made me feel like his girlfriend! You put me on the backburner for everything these days, not just work. Am I so wrong for wanting to feel important to you?” All of your emotions were starting to bubble over, and you could feel the hot tears welling in your eyes. You swallowed thickly and clenched your fist, trying to stay in control. 

Seungmin leaned back against the cabinets with his arms folded. He was silent for a moment with your collective breathing being the only sound in the room. His head was bowed as he pinched the bridge of his nose, “You are important to me, Y/n.” He said, stressing each word firmly before looking at you again. “I don’t know what else you want me to do. I can’t just ignore my career for you.” 

You dragged both hands down your face, “You’re not listening to me!” 

“I am listening to you, but you’re not being fair!” he volleyed back defensively. 

You laughed sardonically as you took in the absurdity of looping back through another circle. “I can’t do this anymore,” you rubbed your temples as you started to pace. 

“Do what? This relationship?” Seungmin asked you bitterly. You froze in your spot, and the tension in the room was palpable. Were you both really calling your relationship into question? Had it really gotten that far? 

Your heart was quickening in pace at the thought, and it was getting harder to breathe. You were trembling from all the pent up emotion, and you tried to take a deep breath before facing Seungmin again. He was watching you closely with his eyebrows furrowed, and the hurt you saw reflected in his eyes made your anger slightly recede. “No, Seungmin,” you started defeatedly, with your shoulders slumping. “I just need a break.” 

“A break,” Seungmin repeated before it was his turn to laugh sardonically and shake his head. “You know what, fine. I’ll go.” He grumbled as he grabbed his keys with urgency and stalked over to the doorway.

You just watched as he quickly slipped on his shoes and paused as he reached for the door handle. He tilted his head up, and you could see his eyes were glossy as his bangs fell away from his face. It felt like a knife was twisting in your heart as you clearly saw how torn up he looked in that moment, seconds from breaking down like you. You wanted to reach out to him, but you couldn’t say anything as he took a deep breath and walked through the door. 

The air was stiff with finality as the sound of him harshly closing your door reverberated off the walls. As soon as he was gone, you crumpled to the floor and hugged your knees to your chest, and you purged yourself of the tears and frustration. Sobs wracked your body as you thought back on everything that had just happened, and how much it hurt you that Seungmin couldn’t just tell you what you needed to hear. You just needed to know that your relationship was worth making time for to him, but he did little to reassure you. 

The feeling of Seungmin’s absence was overwhelming, and you couldn’t do anything to ease the sense of dread from the thought of losing him. You felt as weak as a puddle on the floor as you cried until you could only hiccup, and your head was pounding. You mustered up the strength you could to get yourself up only to bury yourself under the covers in your bed to block out the rest of the world. Not even sleep offered you comfort as your dreams were plagued with memories shared with Seungmin. 

~~~

Seungmin and you were alike in so many ways that he made you believe in twin flames and soulmates. You both have the same way of thinking, you both reach the same conclusions, and overall you both just have the same perspective. You understood each other on a level that you had never felt understood with anyone else, but it also meant you shared the same flaws. Right now, you were worried that being such mirrored souls would be what caused the end of your relationship. 

You were both stubborn and hated admitting when you were wrong, so making up after a fight was always another struggle until eventually you both caved in. This fight had been different though. When you and Seungmin had parted ways, you weren’t even sure if there was still a relationship to be mended. You were hesitant to reach out as you replayed the argument in your head, but the moment that stuck with you the most was the look in Seungmin’s eyes before he walked out, making you doubt if he even wanted you to reach out. So you waited, and when a week went by without communication, you were feeling like you had your answer. 

You had just been going through the motions of life ever since then, and if you did feel something other than miserable, it was just numb. With each day that passed that your and Seungmin’s relationship was still in the air, you felt that hope slipping further and further away from you that it was just another bump in the road. You had been with him for over a year, and you couldn’t just forget the plans and promises you made together. For the first time, you had wanted it forever. 

Some of the members had guessed that something was wrong between you and Seungmin with how long he was staying at the dorm and tried to check up on you, but you didn’t have the energy. You were just tired, and everyday you came home and crawled right back into bed, hoping to finally get some proper rest. However, your heart didn’t agree with your head as it couldn’t stop waiting for Seungmin until your eyes welled with tears and spilled down your cheeks. That’s where you were when you heard another knock on your door, and you groaned as you dragged yourself out of bed. Assuming it was one of the members again, you quickly tried your best to make yourself look presentable. 

You took a deep breath to open the door, only to have it stolen by who greeted you on the other side. “Seungmin?” You asked tentatively, your voice barely a whisper, almost afraid that he was just a mirage curated to console your heart ache. 

“Bubs,” he said, voice just as delicate and wavering slightly. The pet name made you feel a pang of sadness in your chest, but also a sense of relief in the same moment. He took a shaky breath, “can we… can we talk?” He looked up through his bangs with wide, pleading eyes and a tilt of his head that made him look like a wounded puppy. 

All you could do was nod and step aside to let him in, still trying to process he was here, and you felt a sliver of hope for the first time since he walked out. You softly closed the door and took a second to gather your courage as you turned to face him. You crossed your arms over your chest, waiting for him to continue, but you could tell that he was nervous from his hands fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt. When his eyes met yours again, they looked tired and sad. 

He looked as afflicted as you felt inside, and you wondered if he’s been going through the same struggle as you had this week. “I’m… I’m sorry,” he started, shoulders slumping as he looked deflated. “I know I haven’t been the best boyfriend lately, and I’m sorry for not listening to you.” His eyebrows were furrowed and lips parted as he collected himself to continue. “But I meant it when I said you were important to me, and if you forgive me…” He took a cautious step towards you and gently took your hand in his, “I’ll do everything that I can to prove that to you. I love you, Y/n. Please forgive me?” His voice slightly cracked as he asked you the question, looking up at you with tears welling in his eyes. 

“I love you too,” you said softly, looking back at him with round, vulnerable eyes. The corners of his mouth turned up a little in a small smile, and your heart picked up pace with how much you’ve missed him. “I want to make this work with you.” 

At your words, he pulled you into a tight embrace, and your body fit perfectly against his as he wrapped his arms securely around you. He cradled your head softly with his fingers tangling in your hair, and you buried yourself in his neck, letting his comforting scent wash over you. He let out a shaky breath, and you felt his body shiver against you as he laughed in relief, “I want to make this work too, more than anything. I can’t lose you, bubs.” His voice was still raspy with emotion. 

You pulled back to gaze into his eyes again, seeing nothing but love filling in the deep dark depths of them. You cupped the sides of his face with both hands, “never.” You reassured him before leaning in to give him a sweet, tender kiss on his soft lips, conveying all the love and longing you have felt. It was balm for your soul as you felt him kiss you back, warm hands gripping your waist with a familiarity that you craved. You finally felt peace in his arms, knowing this wasn’t the fight that ended everything, but the one that would make everything stronger in the end. 

[lani-heart]

|| series masterlist || next // previously ||

genre(s) -> angst, fluff, smut, non-idol, hybrid au, poly au paring(s) -> ( eventually ) ATEEZ x reader warning(s) -> smut, oral / receiving, words -> 1K

abstract -> “Just watch and enjoy the show. Maybe you’ll learn a few things””

seonghwa’s perspective 

“You’ve been hogging her,” Hongjoong said and I scoffed. “You had her for a week, let me have my time with her,” I said and he rolled his eyes. “You’ve had her for two weeks already. The others are getting angsty without her” he said and I clicked my tongue. 

“Not my fault nor my problem,” I said but before he could say anything– “Hongjoong?” I heard… “Great look, you woke her up,” I said and he sighed. “It's my room too,” he grumbled. 

“He’s been mean to ya?” he asked, plopping beside her on MY bed. “You’re dirty–” “If you're tired you shouldn’t be pushing yourself,” he said ignoring me. 

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” she said and he smiled softly… I was glad she grew on him. “I’ll always worry,” he muttered. “Besides, Kun said his heat should finish in a little over two weeks so any day now he should be tired and sleep for days” she teased. 

“Maybe then it’ll be my turn again,” he said, her cheeks flushed. “Are you sure? We were a little tired that she should probably have my cum in her still” I said and he scoffed. “Seonghwa has a possessive streak doesn't he?” he said, turning to her, who seemed to only get redder. 

“So embarrassed… we’ve done the same thing together, don't be shy now” he teased and I had an idea pop into my head. 

“Hey, Hongjoong… wanna see what I did yesterday?”

no one’s perspective

Seonghwa didn’t like the thought of sharing you but for some reason, he could make an exception with the fellow tiger. The two on the bed seemed confused by what he said. He suddenly crawled over to learn about you. 

“Want him to join us, princess?” he asks you and it shocks you at first but then looks towards Hongjoong who then looks away embarrassed. “Aren’t tigers super–” “Possessive… yeah, so I wanna prove I'm better” he said earning a growl from Hongjoong. 

“Hongjoong do you want me to help you?” you asked and he stayed silent. “He’s trying to control himself,” Seonghwa teased, making him scoff as the white tiger laughed. “I think he needs a little push,” he said as he now took off your blankets to reveal the soaked-through panties that you lazily put on after Seonghwa came a few hours prior. 

“With how desperate you smell you might push my heat to be a few weeks longer. Let’s show him what he’s missing, princess” he said with that pet name of his… It was a funny coincidence that San and Wooyoung only ever use pet names during sexual times whilst Yeosang said it all the time… so similar to him and yet maybe that's why he argued a lot with the Doberman.

Seonghwa soon took off his shirt that he gave you lazily before sleeping after your last sex session. “Don’t you wanna touch her? Have you ever taken the time to feel her up? I bet you were a selfish heat partner” Seonghwa said as he trailed his tongue around your nipple.

He continued to make marks on your chest until he stopped and stood up from the bed. “Come on,” he said as Hongjoong followed what he wanted. The older pushed his shoulders down wanting him to kneel down to which the orange tiger complied and I had an idea of what he was positioning him to do.

“Come on Hongjoong… stop acting like you didn’t fuck her a whole week,” he said and Hongjoong scoffed. “This is different'' he said and Seonghwa chuckled “Ah, you’re right I’m so nicely decided to share her with you. She’s our lovely owner who’s offers to help us when we need it” he mocked.

“Look at how wet she is… all my cum already in there, waiting to be stuffed again,” he said while you tried closing her legs when I subconsciously put my hands on her thighs… “Hongjoong” you whimpered and he was trying to control himself from cumming in his pants.

“What? What’s wrong princess?” Seonghwa asked and he realized how flushed you were… The two chuckled at how cute and innocent you looked despite the situation you were in…

“What do you want him to do?” Seonghwa asked and you whimpered… Hongjoong not waiting for anything to be said kissed your clothed clit.

“Do you want him to eat you out? Make you cum with his mouth? Clean up my cum?” Seonghwa said as he now sat next to her head to pet her hair. Hongjoong continued to kiss her thighs, teasing her… “Please” she muttered and he chuckled. “Please stop?” Hongjoong teased and you shook her head. 

“Isn’t she cute?” Seonghwa asked and the orange tiger agreed. “Even when she’s moaning, she still manages to look so innocent,” he said and the two laughed.

“Mean” you muttered and they laughed again. “We’re being too mean, Hongjoong” Sseonghwa said “I’m sorry, do you want me to do this instead?” he asked as he ripped the soaked-through and messy panties.

Now they started by teasing your clit with his fingers as Seonghwa worked her up by kissing her neck and chest again before tasting her.

It was almost like the two were under a spell and they couldn’t stop… now you even gripped Hongjoong’s hair so tightly making his tail shiver…

“Pussy drunk Hongjoong” Seonghwa muttered as he stared at the other tiger with sadistic eyes… The tiger growled being pressed up against your clit but must’ve felt good for his efforts to be rewarded with another orgasm clearly shaking again. 

“Move,” Seonghwa said and the orange tiger couldn’t react when he pushed him off so easily. He lined up against her and the other scoffed. “I’m the one in heat,” he said and he laughed as he pushed into her making her squirm. 

“And I’m the one who’s mated with her before,” he said.

“Hongjoong, just watch and enjoy the show. Maybe you’ll learn a few things”

@wonuangel @danirael @angelsaway @krissroo @minkysmilk @mayonnaise-on-toast @robertsbbygirl @superbbananananana @hyukssunflower @kitty4hwa @justconniez @senpai-of-doom @kibs-and-bits @caityelise99 @ilovekinny @ateezennie23 @wooahaelemons @purplelady85 @watamotee33@chidess97 @littlelostdemonofthelight @maliamaiden @burntarm1n @spooo00oky @eastleighsblog @momo-peachy @kitstar1117 @quartzpirate @sunnyhokyu @iwishiwasrichasfuck @theginger543210 @pandolinka @ddaeing @kpopnightingale @slid3er @kekdo-520 @puppyminnnie @sparklinghwa222 @calicanbeevil @itsvxlentine @atinism @loumin908 @smally97 @rxnexxi @acetruepunk @majesticbeluga @namjooncrabs @tashizxy @itstheghostofmypast @smilefordongil @teeziny @totallynotlyntv @kyeos4ng @prodsh00ky @acescavern

please don't be a silent reader !! reblog, comment, and like <3

[shaisuki]

yandere kaiser & sae respond to their chubby!darling have a feelings on somebody else because of their both past where the yandere used to mock & bullies the darling's weight & appereance, please make this noncon cus i like it more darker. as if its spicier ✨

❝ CAN'T HAVE WHAT'S MINE. ❞

FEATURING. MICHAEL KAISER, ITOSHI SAE

CONTENT WARNINGS. degradation + history of past bullying + babytrapping + forced affection + manipulation + gaslighting.

SYNOPSIS. you shouldn't have dared to love someone that is not them.

MICHAEL KAISER

he was above everyone else and yet, how dare you fall for someone else who's beneath him. you, out of fall people should be grateful for him giving you the attention that many would die for.

he can't take it. not when he's the embodiment of perfection and you choose someone who's not even his equal for your attention. don't get him wrong. michael wouldn't lower his pride nor self for you but why does he sees red everytime you associate yourself and sing praises for that trash?

the familiar terror you felt and watch how your bright eyes turn lifeless brought him joy. he was glad he still have that hold over you. one touch. the tone of his voice changing into a snarl and his vein popping in his forehead. your lips tremble when his face gets nearer at you.

“i get to give you attention and you dare to ignore mine. who taught you that?” he laughs in a scornful manner. his smile wide but never reaches the eyes that is cold and seethes in betrayal at your found fondness for the other who is not him.

his grip was painful. his fingers digs at your cheeks. his palm hard as it holds your jaw in a firm manner. you look ridiculous similar to a blobfish. your round cheeks puffier from how hard he grips it. the flesh gathers in a confining state. you know from the reflection of his blue yes that you dared to meet.

“it's my own decision to choose who i want to love. your opinion does not matter in my own affairs.” you state matter of fact. biting your lips to prevent the tears from spilling from your waterline. years of being the center of the attention of his mockery and the endless degradation you received — you learned to despise him. michael kaiser is nothing to you despite with his fame and talent. you don't need someone like him in your life.

ah. you learned to talk back. it's fine. he will put you back to your rightful place like what he did years back before he is now. you will love him. worship him. offer your body and soul for him.

the pressure of his hold in your cheeks got firmer. it was starting to bruise your skin. you tried to pry his wrist off you but to no avail it was like clawing on a wall with no damage taken. michael chuckles at your attempt.

“i love him and nothing would change it.” you look at him straight in the eye and michael was unfazed by it. you were comparable to a dog resisting until being held by the scruff.

“do you?” he smirks, and then faint footsteps came nearer where you are being held by michael and then your boyfriend stumbled between you both. you were relieved by his appearance and you called his name but michael was quick to squish your cheeks harder and the position in your boyfriend's perspective finds it rather intimate yet he isn't bothered by the fact that his girlfriend is being held in a uncomfortable manner by someone.

you met his gaze. tears threatening to fall as your lips utter the word of help and that's when you thought he will come rescue you. he shakes his head. taking slow tentative steps backwards before disappearing.

he recognizes michael kaiser. the ace of bastard munchen and there is no way he will come fight or mess with him and so he ran.

“you love that cuck, huh?” the blonde taunts you. “no one can give you this kind of attention without me. be grateful, liebe.” the endearment made your stomach churn.

“i will never — ever love you!” you snarl at him and the air in your lungs got knocked out of you when he slammed you in the cold hard wall.

michael grabs your jaw. pulling him closer and his breathe is closer to you. “you will love me.” he says before crashing his lips into yours. slipping his tongue inside your mouth and claiming you as his.

you fought him. kicking your legs but michael was quick to trap you. his tattooed arm wrapped around your waist and his hand grabbing your clothed ass and giving it a firm squeeze.

“m—michael!” you managed to croak out. your hands in his chest. desperately trying to push him but he simply won't budge.

“resistance is futile. take what i give you and you will be rewarded, hmm?" he hums. grasping your chin in his fore and index finger. “you will follow me.”

forcing you to grind in his clothed thigh. he latches to your neck. sucking and biting the skin until bruise starts to bloom from it. “i will let this one slide.” he warns you, continuing his assault in your neck while his hand fondles your belly under your shirt. you let out a whimper when he squeezes the flesh in his hands.

“defy me again and you will learn the hard way.”

ITOSHI SAE

sae was never one to bother himself with distractions until he got a wind of his "childhood friend" planning to settle down with someone who is not him. of course this isn't something he would oversee. you belonged to him.

it was a headache seeing you glowing and unabashed. nothing could stop you from falling in love and show how much you adored the person you are with now.

“i just left you and this is what i come home to?” there's the passive-aggressiveness in his voice. you raised a brow at his statement. finding the words odd after just being home a few hours ago.

“a hello would be nice, sae. and what does it even mean?” you asked him curiously. unclear of the meaning behind those years and it's not like you were both close.

“you going behind my back.” his teal eyes gleaming with some unknown emotion while looking at you.

“going behind your back?” you want to laugh at him. “we're not even a thing, sae. the only thing or decent thing you had done for me was to leave. i was happy with you gone.” you bit your tongue to further stop the retaliation. the words coming more of a personal grudge against him. you didn't mean it but seeing sae after a long time just brought back the memories you desperately wanted to forget and sae is similar to a memory that randomly pops whenever a happy memory surfaces.

gone. you wanted him gone. sae is used to being trashtalked. wether it's online, personal or in the field but nothing stung like what you had said. he kept quiet. he shouldn't be acting so brash right now, not when you're within his grasp. he still have plans.

“what the hell do you think you're doing, sae!?” you screamed at him. you were in a unfamiliar place and your body is sore and heavy. your sight a bit blurry as your head spins.

“stop screaming now, won't you.” he sat at the foot of your bed. his gaze fixated in you. “i just saved you from being tied to someone you didn't want.” he says. his stare dark while he slowly crawls in front of you and the action agitated you. instinctively moving backwards until your back hits the headboard.

“you always ruin things for me, sae. i genuinely consented to be with him! not you, you fucking asshole! i love him! get that through that thick skull of yours!” you spat at him. you were about to scream again when his hand came wrapping around your neck. therefore cutting your air and the fear settles in your bones at him.

“you don't love him. i was the one who dealt with your bullshit ever since and i won't allow you to be with someone who is not me.” his eyes never leaving you while he slowly pries your creamy thighs open to accommodate him.

your cries fell into deaf ears. sae was cruel. always ways. he didn't care for anyone not even you. he only cared when it was for his own gain. he will be keeping you by his side. you will have no qualms over it and take it over and over again.

he seals your fate when he dumps his load inside you. a baby he says. just to keep you occupied. this wouldn't be more difficult if you just have set your feelings aside until he comes back but you will always be his stubborn, chubby childhood friend and you are to be with him until your last dying breath.

[sierrale8ne]

40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS CHAPTER FOUR

thought i’d be lying if i said ‘i didn’t want you to myself.’ when you look me in my eyes and, tell me that it’s mine, i…

pairing wnba!paige bueckers x singer!oc

taglist @thaatdigitaldiary @rosemariiaa @patscorner @makethemhoesmad @wbbgetsmewetter @authentic-girl03 @ohbueckers

kalena speakss 🪽! i had no clue what to write for this chapter but i scrapped something together and here it is! pls know this was supposed to be out like two hours ago but most of it got deleted and i had to rewrite it, so ignore any typos for the moment, ill fix em eventually 😭

May 2025 — Los Angeles, California

My leg bounces anxiously in the passenger seat of Julian’s car. The vehicle is silent, oddly enough, a complete 180 turn from the atmosphere of the last few days.

Things were really good. Julian and I were getting along better than ever, date nights and sleepovers. Up until we were arguing again. About schedules, staying out late, and of course the biggest disagreement in our relationship; the public.

We stayed up through all the hours of the night last night yelling at each other because I didn’t post about our date on my story; which I thought was childish but Julian evidently thought it was very serious.

Maybe I was wrong.

Maybe it was a big deal. Even when I thought about it from his perspective, I would probably be upset too. But the issue was we’ve talked about this before, countless times.

I sat looking out the window, an air-pod in my right ear that softly played music to keep my head clear. Briefly interrupted by my text tone going off.

Marayeeeee

Paige. Obviously. She’s been the most consistent number in my phone since the dinner party a while back.

don’t ask me for more banana pudding please

You trippin 😭😭

Wanted to see if you were busy, I miss you

“Who’s that?” Julian asks me.

“Just Paige.” I responded, my eyes only briefly looking up from my phone to look at him. It didn’t take a genius to notice how his demeanor changed. The slight roll of his eyes, and the shift in his seat.

“You guys have been talking a lot lately, no?”

He would be right. Aside from the texting throughout all hours of the day, we’ve gone out for lunch a few times over the last couple weeks. She was good company, and very easy to get comfortable around.

“Yeah, something like that.”

i’m actually heading to the airport rn…

Oh

Where to?

dallas! i have a few shows in texas and atl

but i’ll be back next weekend since you miss me so bad ;)

She doesn’t respond right away and I take that as the opportunity to shut my phone off and stick it into my pocket.

Julian lets out a long sigh as his hand runs over his face. “You know we still have to talk about last night, right?”

“What is there to talk about if we’re just gonna keep disagreeing?” I ask softly, trying to avoid raising my voice and starting yet another argument.

“You want me to stop bringing it up? Fine. But don’t get mad when I don’t put up with it anymore.”

The LAX drop off comes into my view and I turn my head to avoid looking at him once more. I don’t miss the lump that sits in my throat, or the tears that sting my eyes. I’ve never considered myself emotional, normally just keeping how I felt to myself or writing it in music, but that one stung.

“Okay Ju.” I shake my head, unbuckling my seatbelt when the car comes to a stop. “That’s fine.” I comment before stepping out of the car. Even after all that, he still hops out to help me get my bags, and I know he’s upset with me and I’m just as upset with him but the way he hugs me and kisses my forehead nearly makes me forget about it.

Nearly.

Because even then, I’m thinking about how his arms don’t feel like they used to. And after a few seconds the kiss that is lingering on my forehead just feels like slobber that I can’t wait to wipe off.

—

May 2025 — Las Vegas, Nevada

I sit comfortably on my hotel bed, a game playing as background noise in front of me and film on my iPad. We play the Aces tomorrow on prime time television and though I should probably be getting some rest, there’s only one person that could possibly be keeping me up at midnight before game day.

Maraye. Obviously.

I can see every bit of her from the phone screen. She’s laying on her bed quite literally giving me a show of her entire upper body. She has on a gray tank top, and I have to remind myself to look up at her face rather than the way her tits sit in that top.

“Paige?”

“Yeah, sorry. What did you say?”

“I said shouldn’t you be watching film instead of me?” She joked. I turned my head before she could get a look of the flush of my face.

“Yes, actually, but you wanted to talk about um, what’s his name again?”

“Julian?”

“Yeah him, and I’m trying to be a good friend.” I shrugged. “What was the issue again?”

Maraye sulks on the other line, shaking her head before speaking. “It’s like we always argue about the same shit. I don’t have the energy to put up with it anymore.”

I’m probably the world’s biggest asshole for giving her relationship advice while wanting her in my bed right now, but oddly enough there isn’t a bone in my body that cares.

“Don’t y’think you should tell him that? That it’s tiring or something?” I suggest. My head leans to the side to get a better look at her and it’s so hard to stay focused on the topic at hand when she’s looking the way she does right now.

Maraye’s skin is glass. I swear if I were to look hard enough I would see my reflection in it. There’s a few freckles that sit on her skin that I can’t just barely see in the light. She has on her reading glasses, wide round frames that complement her brown skin and brown eyes beautifully.

“I tried! But then it makes me look like the bad guy, and I don’t wanna seem like an asshole.”

“How would you be the bad guy for saying how you feel? It’s not that hard, I mean you’re doing it with me right now.”

She laughs at this. “That’s not the same.”

“Yeah? How?”

There’s a silence on the other end, and I notice the way she breaks eye contact with me. Her head turning away from the phone screen and instead looking up somewhere else in the room.

She’s right, it’s not the same. I’m not the one she goes home too, or will introduce to her family, no matter how often I daydream that I am. Nevertheless, still I convince myself that it is.

“We’ve been friends as long as you guys been together, and you can tell me everything, right? Why not him?” I ask. My eyes trail away from the phone screen and over to my iPad to make the silence a bit more comfortable.

“You’re just easier to talk to, Paige. I don’t know.” Her voice trails off at the end of her sentence. “I’m just being dramatic, it’s fine.”

Now in the last two-ish weeks that I’ve been blessed with the pleasure to call Maraye my friend, I’ve picked up on quite a few habits of hers. One of which, being her ability to toss her feelings to the side as if they don’t matter. There’s probably nothing I hate more than that.

“No you’re not.” I sigh, looking back at her. “I’m sorry, but if he’s gonna be mad about how you react to how he’s made you feel instead of fixing it, then he ain’t the one for you, angel. You should find someone who is.”

—

June 2025 — Atlanta, Georgia

Paige’s words have hung over my head like a cloud over the last week.

I’ve made a great handful of friends since leaving Atlanta for LA, all of which I’d like to think have made huge impacts in my life, but none of which even compare to my friendship with Paige.

She’s amazing. Not a flaw in her Godsend personality. And not just in the building-a-grocery-store-in-her-hometown kinda way, but in literally every way imaginable. I laugh harder around her, she gives me amazing advice, and we just clicked almost instantly. It was so, different?

That’s probably the best word, different.

At first I thought it was admiration. I was a fan of hers and as such I felt a certain way about being friends with her. It felt good.

In reality, my idea couldn’t possibly be more far fetched.

I’ve never once questioned my sexuality. For me, my “normal” has just always been guys. There was never a girl friend of mine that made me feel a certain way, or a girl crush that was anything more than a brief fixation. So believe me when I say that how I feel about Paige— when she texts me, or calls to say she misses me, and especially when she calls me angel— that is far from my normal.

It all happened too fast, too much for me to process. I thought my connection with Julian was quick, I mean after a week I was all about him. But me and Paige? We clicked off of one conversation, maybe even the second she fell into my lap at the game. I have no idea how to feel about that.

So as a result, I haven’t spoken to her since that night in Dallas. It thought it would be simple, since it gave me the opportunity to focus on my shows and my career. Yet, all it has me doing is fucking missing her.

I’m seated on the couch in my dressing room backstage before my show in Atlanta. My thumb is hovering over the girl’s contact. Her contact photo stares back at me dangerously. It’s a photo of the two of us from Cameron’s dinner party, Paige’s nose is scrunched as she throws up a peace sign and I’m showing all 32 while throwing up one of my own.

I’m about to press the contact. I don’t know much but I assume she doesn’t have a game tonight, and all I want before going on stage is to hear her voice as she talks about literally anything.

I don’t care about how wrong it feels to be thinking about her in this way, or the fact that I should probably be on stage in less than 10 minutes. All I’m thinking about is Paige.

So yeah, I’m about to click on the dial button when the janky silver door knob twists open. I catch a peak at some royal blue flowers before all 6 feet and 3 inches of Julian steps through the door. My face doesn’t even try to mask its shock.

He looks handsome in his outfit. He always does. A white shirt with a black zip up hoodie along with jean shorts and a pair of Timbs. He’s gotten a haircut, I can tell from how clean his lineup is. His natural curls are pulled into cornrows down the back of his head.

It’s my first time seeing his face in a few days and in person since our awkward goodbye at LAX last week. Oh yeah, I haven’t spoken to him very much this past week either. Oddly enough, it was easier to do than with Paige.

When he steps closer, Julian hands me the flowers first before sitting next to me on the couch.

“What’re you doin’ here?” I ask incredulously. He pulls me into a hug from where we sit on the couch, cologne travels through the air and up into my nose. Dior Sauvage, I could point it out anywhere.

“I haven’t seen you in a minute.” Julian says. He leans into me and our lips connect softly, much different to the manner we’ve been treating one another with over the last couple weeks. Even then I don’t hesitate when I kiss him back. His lips feel so familiar, and they are because I haven’t felt them in quite some time. “Thought I should surprise you.” He mutters against my lips.

I pull away haphazardly, his eyes stare back into mine. Only this time it’s not as familiar, namely the fact that they aren’t big blue orbs that I swear dilate ever so slightly when they look at mine.

My feet lift me off the couch and over to the vanity. I place the flowers he gave me, roses, on the surface. “Sure did surprise me.” I joke. When I turn back around, with my hands pressed to the vanity chair behind me, Julian is manspreading slightly, the look on his face one that I call suggestive. “I have to be on stage in like… seven minutes.” I announce awkwardly with a glance to the gold watch on my wrist.

“So?”

“So, you have to get outta here and I have to finish up sound stuff.” I explain. My fingers fix the smeared lip gloss on my chin while I look down at him.

Julian stands up and approaches me, it’s times like this where I forget how tall he actually is. And the shoes on his feet give him another inch or two.

“What’s up wit’ you, babe? If you don’t want me here, I can go back to LA.” I don’t like the tone in his voice, mainly because it’s pointed as if he wants to say something to me but knows that it would upset me.

“What? No, I literally have to be on stage. You know how Kaylee gets.” I tell him. My hand reaches up for his tanned cheek and he doesn’t fight me off. I hear my phone ring in on the couch, but I can’t take it on stage with me so ignore it. It’s probably Kaylee cursing me out for being late.

Julian presses a kiss to my palm and I internally shudder. “You sure?” Just like that his tone is different. It’s the soft and deeper baritone that made me fall for him in the first place, not the aggressive accusatory voice I’ve become used to.

I nod. My mouth opens up to speak when I’m cut off by multiple bangs on the door before it swings open.

“Julian, I told you to wait until after the show. Raye we gotta go, now!” It’s Kaylee, as it always is. She reaches for my arm, which is bare due to my stylist's decision to fit me in a strapless top for tonight’s show. “You give me gray hairs, I swear.” She mumbles as she pulls me away from Julian.

In my head I’m silently thanking her for what I think was either Julian trying to have sex with me or him trying to start an argument about me not wanting to have sex with him. Either way I’m thankful.

As we leave, I hear my phone ring again from the couch. Julian reaches for it, and just before the door shuts I see him press a button and toss it back onto the couch.

It shouldn’t bother me because I have bigger priorities, namely the crowd of 10,000 people who paid money for this show. But still, it plays in the back of my mind while Kaylee scolds me and my sound manager fits the earpiece to my ear and puts the microphone in my hand.

[btnclmrttn]

How they react if you send a spicy picture (OPM) (+18)

Under the assumption they have a phone imagine having to email a nude asdghdksvs

(bored and horny tbh I'll figure out the other three boys later 😭)

Saitama

💛"Wow, you have no idea what I'd do for some of that right now"💛

If he didn't turn so red in the face he could probably play it off in public if he were to open it. Has definitely cracked his screen on accident over the shock/initial embarrassment of hoping no one saw that.

Always a pleasant surprise when he's alone. He's probably bored anyway. One of the best cures he could have in those moments is "excitement". Exchanging texts and nudes gets him super jittery, and he loves the addictive anticipation.

Building up self confidence slowly, but is rather shy with returning the favor. He doesn't wanna be unfair and not send any at all, but they usually are just body shots, seldom face. Muscles like that though? It's hard to get a bad angle on a body like that

Like 2 saved in gallery max. Would just rather have the real deal, but the couple he keeps is because they're generally pleasant for him to look at. Huge sucker for panties/boxer shots. They don't have to be full nudes for him to get riled up. He can confidently return his own underwear shot as well! (fucking love me a dick print pic ughhh)

Genos

🩵"Oh you're perfect. I would love to see more of that angle"🩵

Around the public he doesn't show visible embarrassment, but he's very quick to pull up his phone. That could be the only obvious tell he's looking at something he doesn't want anyone else to see.

Full attention on you for sure if you managed to send at a time when he was alone. No matter where he is he's quick to respond, but much more detail and thought is put into responses when alone.

Always will return the favor. Has a couple of his own in his gallery if he was ever out and received one. It's only fair in his eyes! They're also never basic he makes an effort to look like the prettiest boy for you and he does a damn good job. Not only is the cyborg body cool, the way he takes pictures with angles and perspectives makes it much more sexy.

Yes he saves all of them it's taking up a huge space on his phone storage that's also photos of you in general. Doesn't really have an urge to get off to the photos or texts because it's never the same or as satisfactory, but he still likes to appreciate them because you're attractive. (Lemme throw in though that he would definitely love to get riled up to your voice/phone sex. He would end up hanging up and showing up shortly if he's over excited)

Garou

🖤"fuckkkkk just you wait till I get my hands on that"🖤

Around people he doesn't get super embarrassed, and couldn't care. Will try to keep his phone close and low key as he studies your body so no one else sees what's just for him. If it's around Bang he might have a fuss or a fumble.

Might take his time to respond, but he's definitely not ignoring you. He's taking that shit in every fine detail he can see like you're a work of art. The pauses between all his messages is just him drooling over you

He'll send back, but not the full deal. Garou can make more of a game out of the tease. Loves sending pics back of his dick print through his pants (usually sweatpants yessirrrr) to show you what you just did for him. Will progress to more skin, like his abs and hem of his boxers, until you get some real nice pictures~

He's got a couple few favorites that never fail to get him off. Any shot from an angle above you will be saved definitely. Although, he ends up not getting completely satisfied taking care of it himself with pictures/texts alone. It's a last resort kind of thing if he knows he can't see you. If he knows your wear abouts, he will just show up.

[pedriscroquettes]

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐀 – PABLO GAVI

summary. you try to forget about your crush with a certain midfielder.

warnings. switch!gavi, reader likes someone else, kind of public s3x?, & ruining friendships.

a/n. making a series based on some of my fav bad gyal songs <3!! this one is based off santa maria.

the apartment was full of people you knew yet, you felt alone. parties that the boys invited you to always ended up like this. with you alone. every time you thought you’d crossed new boundaries with the guys you were proved wrong with the way they quickly abandoned you for their other friends. at first you didn’t mind you barely knew them anyways but it started to annoy you when you realized you had started to fancy one of them.

your feelings for ferran scared you. you weren’t even sure if you liked him or if you just thought you did because of all the guys he was the one who payed attention to you the most. maybe it was because your love language was affection and every time he placed his arm around you, you couldn’t help but blush. you kept your hopes up that he would one day read your mind and would feel the same way. instead he showed up one day with a girlfriend he had apparently been dating for over a year.

you felt stupid and you still did at the current moment watching them dance together at gavi’s birthday party. you felt like an idiot for thinking that ferran actually liked you. you realized you looked creepy just staring at them so you made your way to backyard.

every time you came to gavi’s house you were always blown away by the view the young midfielder woke up to. you always knew barcelona was a beautiful city but seeing all of it from gavi’s backyard always put it into perspective for you. you’re too entranced by your confusing feelings you don’t realize someone is making their way towards you. it’s not until you’re face to face with gavi that you wipe the tears you didn’t know had formed.

“whiskey?” he offered you the bottle in his head.

“do you even drink whiskey?” you scoffed before laughing at his antics.

“oh, absolutely not. but it was a gift and who am i to say no?” he explained. “are you okay?”

you look up at him and he’s already looking at you with a caring look. it’s probably the most you’ve interacted with him and you wonder why because he seems so sweet.

“yeah-yes. you?” you tried to pretend you were fine.

“well apart from the fact that i wish i was back home rather than here? yeah, i’m fine.” he sighs.

there’s a moment of silence between the two of you but it isn’t awkward. it’s quite comfortable as the two of you just stare at the view. or at least that’s what you think because you’re oblivious to the way he scans your face studying it.

“he’s an idiot you know?” he speaks up.

“who?” ferran. your brain already knows the answer.

“ferran. we may be friends but i don’t like the way he leads you on.” he answers.

“no, it’s my fault i’m an idiot for thinking that there might be something between us.” you groan.

“are you seriously blaming yourself right now?” he begins to raise his voice. “he’s treating you like property and you’re defending him.”

“i’m sorry, are you mad at me? we aren’t even close for you to be so upset about this.” you scoff at his words.

“so, i can’t look out for you because we’re not buddies? that’s so stupid.” he rolls his eyes.

he’s so dramatic.

“there’s a difference between looking out for me and being mean and right now you’re being mean.” you try your best to keep your voice down not wanting to alarm the partying inside.

“how am i being mean?” he scoffs.

“you’re yelling at me for no reason. you and i haven’t even talked alone the whole time we’ve known each other and somehow you think you know what’s best for me. why are you even here? it’s your birthday.” you yell at him.

the more you argue the more he guides you to the side of his apartment. you’re too focused on getting final say in this stupid argument you barely notice how much you’ve been walking away from him until your back hits the wall. you’re trapped between him and the wall. your breath hitches when you see the close proximity between the two of you.

“are you even listening to me?” he asks as he notices how you’ve disassociated to the conversation.

“why are you so concerned with me and ferran?” you ask him softly.

“i just-” he sighs. “you deserve better.”

“you think i don’t know that? every time i see them together it hurts and i know i should move on but i can’t.” you start crying. “i just wish i could forget him.”

the next couple of seconds are a blur but the kiss he gives you is tender and sweet. his brown eyes meet yours as he waits anxiously for your reaction. his shyness kicks in and he’s internally panicking for his actions. sure on the pitch he was some intense player that wasn’t afraid of tackling anyone but with you it was different. he had never been able to muster the confidence to speak to you but now with alcohol and anger in his system he didn’t care anymore.

“i can help you.” he whispers. “forget him.”

you look at him to see if he’s joking but he’s looking at you with such an intensity that only proves he’s not joking. you’re at a loss for words not knowing what to say or even knowing what just happened.

“that’d be mean though.” you let out softly. “i don’t want to use you.”

“i’m asking you though. i want you to use me.” he can feel his cheeks heating up.

once again you stare at him. you don’t know exactly what you’re trying to see in him maybe it’s reassurance or something else. meanwhile, gavi is praying that he didn’t just make a big fool of himself. you step closer to him analyzing his features, his brown eyes boring into yours. they were intoxicating and they were pulling you in.

you think it’s a bad idea but you kiss him anyways. the kiss is hesitant but his lips are tender and he kisses you with so much fervor. you break away from him for a split second before throwing all your morals out the window and leaning in again. this time he cups your jaw with his hands and the kiss is longer and wetter. it’s not long before you’re full on making out with your back against the side of his apartment.

his lips start trailing down your neck leaving wet kisses all over your collarbone. while your hands make their way into his hair tugging it whenever he started sucking on your sensitive skin. the music could be heard from down the street so you don’t even try to suppress your moans which gavi is thankful for. he hasn’t even touched you yet and you’re somehow screaming for him already. he won’t admit it but it definitely boosts his ego.

“gavi wait.” you plead.

“did i do something wrong? sorry, are you okay?” his eyes grow wide with worry.

“no, it’s not that.” you try to compose yourself. “will everything be back to normal if we do this?”

“i-” he starts thinking. “i don’t know but we’ve already crossed boundaries.”

he’s right. friends don’t make out with each other. you shouldn’t even be out here with him. but the feeling of his lips on yours are stronger than your morals. so, you kiss him again.

“gavi?” you ask him.

“yeah?” he pants the make out proving to be a good exercise.

“fuck me.”

“yeah, sure i can do that.” he nods.

he was so cute. how unfortunate that you fell for ferran and not him.

you made it clear that you weren’t interested in foreplay but rather just a quick fuck that would distract. you mumbled a quick maybe next time to the midfielder when he insisted on making you feel good before getting straight into it. as soon as he gets the memo he lifts the bottom of your dress all the way up to your waist. as soon as he sees your panties he can feel his sweatpants getting tighter against him.

“fuck i don’t have a condom.” he groans.

“it’s okay i’m on the pill.” you assure him.

“oh-okay.” he can feel his heart racing.

although you didn’t let him pleasure you, you dip your hand into his pants. you can feel him shiver as you grab his length and begin pumping it. you pause momentarily and take your hand out again to spit on it. gavi on the other hand is close to cumming from the sight alone but he stops himself. if he’s gonna cum it’s going to be inside of you.

“fucking hell you’re good at that.” he groans as you move your hand up and down his shaft.

you pull him into another sloppy kiss and simultaneously lead his length towards your clothed core. you begin rubbing it up and down your core teasing yourself. soon, it’s gavi who grows impatient and quickly moves your panties to the side. the two of you make eye contact before he slides in. your nails dig down his arms as he thrust inside of you filling you to the hilt. he feels so good inside of you.

the pleasure is so much for him he begins releasing profanities all at once you barely understand him.

“is this okay?” he asks as he wraps your leg around his waist so he can hit you even deeper.

“fuck, yeah. you can move now.” you struggle to say.

he starts off slow pulling all the way out before filling you up again. as you close your eyes due to the pleasure he can only admire you. you always look pretty but you somehow have reached a new level of beauty under the moonlight with his dick inside of you. he’s never had such dirty thoughts before. he’s also lucky that he’s wearing a hoodie because your nails are digging so hard into his arms.

as he fastens the pace your hold on him gets stronger not wanting to let go. he sneaks one of his hands up your throat and cups your jaw.

“you look so pretty like this. all fucked up for me.” he rasps.

“just for you gavi.” you whine.

he can’t take it anymore so he turns you around and now your chest is against the wall. he begins thrusting into you even faster than before. you’re thankful he has his arm wrapped around your waist to balance you. his lips attack your neck desperately nipping at the skin wanting to mark you up. you don’t mind it at all or the way he begins to pull on your hair. quite frankly you thought he would be vanilla in bed. so, you’re blown away by his dominance.

“pablo, i’m close.” you whine.

“me too. come on cum for me.” he assures you.

you grow tighter around him before finally letting go. the feeling causing him to chase his own climax. you collapse against his chest and his heavy pants invade your ears. the two of you stay there against the wall trying to collect your breaths. he turns you around before kissing you. the kiss is sweet and long unlike the other ones.

“fuck, how are we going to go in like this?” he pants.

“we’ll just tell them we were laying down looking at the view or the truth which is that you fucked me.” you sigh.

he carefully takes you inside with his arm around your waist to provide you balance. and sure enough as if on cue the trio consisting of pedri, ferran, and eric approach you. when they ask about your appearance the two of you simply lie not owing them any explanation. pedri and eric buy the story not looking too much into it but not the valencian. he’s somehow the only one that notices the love bites on your neck and the way gavi’s hand creeps too close to your ass as the two of you walk away.

when he comes over the next day to ask about it you simply say that you don’t know what he’s talking about. you don’t understand why he’s so angry but quite frankly you don’t care because gavi is currently hiding in your bathroom.