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obsessedwhyyes · 5 months ago

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A Sound Hypothesis

Part 1 of The Scientific Method series.

Summary: Inexperienced in the ways of love, you often find yourself labelled an overthinker. But then again, you are a scientist. When your incredibly beautiful travelling companion proposes a night you'll never forget, suddenly you're left wondering, are you really ready for this? Ever the scientist, you propose an experiment, and get more than you bargained for.

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4762 Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Reader Content: Act 1, smut with plot, inexperienced nerd reader, making out, oral sex (giving and receiving), hand job, cock worship, blowjob and handjob instruction (ie. Astarion teaches you how to pleasure him).

A/N: Can't believe this got to nearly 5k words, good lord. Actual smut comes in half way through, but it's still rather spicy before then. Also, writing handjobs is hard.

The events of the night prior felt like a dream, yet you remembered each moment vividly.

“I’m beginning to like the whole package, honestly,” he had purred, “and you clearly like me too, so I was thinking…”

You looked into his eyes as he gazed confidently, hungrily into yours. There was only him in this moment. Well, him and the quickened pulse of your heart pounding in your ears. You were certain he could hear it.

“We could take an evening to ourselves. Get to know each other a little more intimately.”

But you were struck with a hit of nerves then. You had lived a sheltered life before your abduction. A wizard and a scholar, your pursuits had been in the sciences and that of perfecting your craft, rather than in stolen moments of lust with beautiful strangers. Not to say you hadn’t experienced a few stolen kisses, however. But to give oneself entirely to another - that was a very different, much more intimidating affair. Yet there was no denying the spark that flickered between the two of you as you spent your days and evenings together, and that spark ignited a growing ache within you that lingered each night you retreated to your bedroll.

“I want to, Astarion. Gods, I really want to, but I’m…”

You hesitated and tore your eyes from him; fiddled with your fingers for a moment.

“You’ve never done this before,” he finished, causing you to look up suddenly from your busying hands.

“I had my suspicions. I’d have already bedded you twice over otherwise.”

You could only laugh, not only at the sheer audacity of his remark, but because of course he knew. Gods, he could probably smell the inexperience on you from a mile away.

“It’s your decision, of course. Should you wish to keep things light between us, we’ll end our evenings together as friends. If you decide you want a little more, however–”

He stepped closer to you - close enough to feel his cool breath on your skin and smell the freshness of his cologne.

“I’ll give you a night you’ll never forget.”

He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his hand lingering delicately where your neck meets the line of your jaw. He was playing you like a fiddle, and you knew it. But gods, if his tune wasn’t a siren’s song in the night. You wanted nothing more than to dance to it.

And then he kissed you.

Gods, the way he kissed you.

There was need, yes; a hunger not unknown to you even in your limited experience. But it was a hunger wrapped in a velvet blanket of familiarity, as though he had known your lips as long as his own. He was certainly skilled, there was no denying that.

The chill of the night air felt like a splash of cold water to your senses once his lips left yours, and you found yourself mourning the loss of his touch.

“Think about it,” he had said that night, before retreating back to his tent.

–

And here you are, wrapped in your bedroll, thinking about it. Ceaselessly.

About his voice, laced with the sweetest honey, speaking promises of nights wanton and dripping with ecstasy. About his smile, teasing and rakish, and the feel of his lips against yours which you missed like home.

You think about the times you let him feed from you; the gentle way he held you, one hand cradling your head. The soft, pleasured noises that would rumble from his chest as he grazed over the soft flesh of your throat - and sunk his teeth into it. Then, greedy, he would begin to pull you close, your chest flush against his own. Every time he fed, it was as though the gates holding back the flood of every primal vampiric instinct within him were unleashed at the taste of you; the ambrosia that is your life essence which you willingly gift to him. And every time he fed, before you reached the point of no return, you would break him out of his trance - a simple series of taps on his shoulder - and he would release you from his predatorial embrace.

It was in those moments, you would see the look in his eyes: ravenous, pupils blown, boring down into you as you lay there beneath him, vulnerable. Your gazes would linger and gods, how you imagined what it would feel like to be entangled with him; for him to take his pleasure from you.

No, you tell yourself. This has been going so fast. Your time together has been so short in the grand scheme of things yet, with the threat of ceremorphosis looming over you, your time on this mortal plane may be fleeting. One might argue that now is surely the time to experience that which you have not… isn’t it?

But what if this isn’t what you actually want and this aching need within you is simply a manifestation of the stress your increasingly bizarre situation has brought you? It is not unknown for one to develop bouts of hypersexuality in times of stress, or so you have read in books detailing such occurrences.

Suddenly, an idea presents itself. A scientist such as yourself requires a chance to gather all available evidence before coming to a conclusion. A little experimentation, perhaps. Then, you’ll know for certain if your attraction runs deeper than you give your body credit for. Your honed mind will not be governed by a set of primitive bodily urges - you’re better than that. You won’t allow it.

For now, sleep beckons. Tomorrow, you shall put your idea into practice.

–

The next day passes as swiftly as you had hoped. You’re eager to welcome the night. You and your companions had seemingly settled into a predictable routine when it came to your evening endeavours: your fellow wizard and friendly rival, Gale, would slave over the cook pot with the limited items you had procured over your journey, while the Blade of Frontiers himself regaled your group with stories of his adventures, punctuated with commentary from your remaining companions, ranging from crude to complimentary. Food would be eaten and domestic duties fulfilled, after which, everyone would begin their journeys to their bedrolls. Well, everyone bar you and Astarion. As the resident elves, you require far less rest than that of your travelling companions. It was in these moments, where the camp lay dormant and the two of you sit against a fallen log by the campfire, that you had developed something resembling a rapport with Astarion. You have become rather fond of your night time talks.

Tonight, however, you have plans beyond repartee.

You feel emboldened by your plan. Where before, you were thrown into territory unknown, unprepared and anxious, now you have the comfort of scientific method on your side. You know exactly what to say - you’ve thought of every possibility after all.

Sitting side-by-side, you turn to him, determined.

“I was thinking about your little proposition last night.”

“Were you now?” Astarion replies with a smirk on his lips and a gleam in his eyes.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself just yet. I always imagined that the first time I, um…”

“Did the horizontal dance with an esteemed companion? Engaged in amorous congress? Fucked?”

“Had sex,” you quickly correct, halting his attempts to fluster you further. “I always imagined the first time I had sex would be under slightly less unusual circumstances. We’ve been under nothing but stress ever since we got off that damned Nautiloid. I can’t tell if this desire I’m feeling is because I truly want to spend the night with you, or because my body just wants a distraction.”

“Is that such a bad thing? We’ve worms in our brains and danger is lurking around every corner. Our time is short, darling. If I can provide our dear leader a little respite in these tumultuous times; offer up my services in her time of need, that sounds like time well spent, does it not?”

He shuffles closer to you, resting his arm behind you on the log which you both lean against.

“Besides,” he continues, his voice low and close to your ear, “you’ve been so good to me, offering up your neck for me to savour. It’s only fitting that I offer you a little distraction in return.”

“I don’t want to just… use you as a distraction, Astarion. Gods, I offered you my blood because I wanted to help you, not because I expected a favour.”

For a fleeting moment, his expression shifts. And just as quickly, his smirk returns, embodying a practised sultriness that has surely wrapped many a soul around his fingers.

“No,” you continue, “if I have sex, it will be because it’s something I truly want to do; that I’m ready for. Not just a fanciful distraction. I hope you feel the same.”

That expression again, barely noticeable. You can’t quite decipher it.

“So, darling,” he purrs, “what do you suggest?”

“I was wondering if I could kiss you.”

“Ha! Can’t get enough, eh?”

“I just think that, with a little more evidence, I might be able to see if this is something I’m truly ready for; to discern whether this desire is real, or simply a physical response to this gods-awful situation we find ourselves in.”

He laughs, seemingly amused by your reasoning, and your heart flutters at the sound. Unexpected.

“Gods, are you always such an overthinker?”

“I just think it would help me come to a decision.”

“Is that what this is then? Your little experiment?”

“I’m nothing if not a scientist,” you tease back.

“Alright, my dear. Your terms are acceptable. A kiss, for scientific reasons, of course.”

Of course, you say to yourself. That… is what this is, isn’t it? Simple evidence gathering?

You have no time to consider this as Astarion places a finger under your chin, lifting your gaze fully to his, and suddenly, you hear your pulse pounding loudly in your ears once more. Gods, his eyes are beautiful.

An easy smile, a tilt of his head, and he presses his lips to yours, delicate and familiar. He’s gentle, at first: his lips linger on yours a moment before kissing you again, a tender sensation. As you close your eyes and immerse yourself in the feeling, the world around you quietens. No longer do you hear the crackling of the fire as it dies, the chirps of insects, or the rustle of leaves in the breeze.

At this moment, all you know is him.

You succumb to the coolness of his touch, the smoothness of his skin, the freshness of his scent - sensations so overwhelming that your body responds of its own accord, letting free a soft moan into his mouth.

As though in response, Astarion’s hand lowers from your cheek and trails from your neck, your shoulder, to your waist, as though committing each dip of your body to memory, before pulling you closer to him. Your hands, in return, plant themselves against his chest. His body feels hard and angular against the softness of your own.

As his tongue seeks permission to dance with yours, there is a hunger; a fieriness that threatens to engulf you. The kiss deepens, and you realise with a start that your legs have entangled themselves with his.

Pull yourself together, your mind screams. You’re meant to be in control of your body, not the other way around.

Or so you think, when suddenly, Astarion’s hand moves to your arse - the cheeky sod - and he skillfully, seamlessly rolls you onto his lap, taking advantage of your entangled legs, purposefully positioning you so that you’re straddling him.

Shit.

You gasp. You had forgotten to breathe. He notices and, gods, the smug look on his face. He knows he’s taken you off guard, and worse still…

He knows the effect he’s having on you.

The wall you had carefully constructed between your mind and body begins to collapse, brick by brick. As you kiss, the final fragments fall away, and everything that was once separated threatens to come together in a powerful, unified surge of desire if not for the final threads of your self-restraint.

His body desires this as much as yours, it would seem. As you straddle him, his hands caressing you as they drag up and down your back, you notice a distinct hardness digging into you, oh so close to your core. It takes more willpower than you’ve ever known to not grind into that hardness, seeking the release which you ache for. You are a tautly drawn bow, the tension between your mental focus and physical yearning almost unbearable.

Noticing how stiff you become, Astarion retreats from your lips, tilting his head in playful curiosity.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, darling?”

“I… I…” You barely recognise your own voice as it strains to come out of you.

The bowstring snaps.

You yield.

Your mind and body merge into a mess of lust and desire, and you kiss him hard and greedily. He returns the enthusiasm in kind, releasing a groan into your mouth as he does so. You want this. You want him.

Astarion pulls himself from your lips and turns his attentions to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses where, other nights, he had sunk his fangs. As he does so, you hear his voice, husky in lust.

“You know, if you still need a little more “experimentation,” I have a couple more ideas for you…”

His voice gives you goosebumps.

“... I’m particularly skilled with my tongue, after all.”

You nod.

“Your tent or mine?”

–

As you’re pushed against the bedroll within the privacy of your tent, you’re overwhelmed by a desire to feel every inch of Astarion’s cool, hard body on yours. It was such a primal need, to be enveloped by him; an urge beyond anything you’ve experienced, causing you to wrap your arms greedily behind his neck as you kiss each other, pulling him closer, but never close enough. His hips grind against you slowly, deliberately, granting you a brief, delicious friction which sends shivers up your body and fuels the incredible ache between your legs.

Astarion sits back up on his knees, admiring the mess of you, a smile on his pretty lips. You can only imagine the state you must be in: hair wild, eyes wide and hungry, clothes dishevelled. But your appearance is a distant notion in the back of your mind as Astarion lifts the hem of your skirt and removes your undergarments, sopping wet from your arousal.

You feel vulnerable, exposed to him like this, your desire on full display in front of the very man who you spent nights dreaming about. While his lustful gaze lights a flush of red across your cheeks, it doesn’t cause you to recoil; instead, you find yourself emboldened as he lowers himself between your legs, holding your gaze with eyes hungry and hooded.

He drags his lips up your thighs, leaving kisses so teasing that brings forth the neediest of sounds from your chest. When he reaches your core, he slides a tongue up the slit of you, agonisingly slowly, painfully gently.

Head rolling back, you anticipate the feeling of his tongue within you, but then…

He diverts his attention back to your thighs.

Bastard.

“Astarion..!”

“Eager little pup, aren’t you? Don’t you worry, darling - you’ll get what you desire. Once I have my fun with you, of course.”

He shifts, propping your legs over his shoulders as he grants you an audacious glance and grazes his tongue over you once more, sending a wave of tingles radiating across your body.

You begin to pout at his teasing action, and–

His tongue enters you.

He glides it firmly from your entrance to your clit, lapping you up in one motion, releasing the most wondrous groan, as though the nectar of your arousal is sweeter than any honey.

And so, like a man starved, he devours you, gauging quickly the sensations you prefer, alternating skillfully between firm strokes of his tongue, and the most teasing of flickers across your clit.

Your back arches, and you can do nothing but grasp at the edges of your bedroll as he works at you, leaving you in a state so blissful that you don’t notice the wanton sounds being cried from your lips.

“Easy, love,” he purrs, the loss of his tongue against you causing you to whimper. “As much as I enjoy hearing those delectable sounds of yours, let’s not wake the others, hm?”

You can only cover your mouth with your hands in a feeble attempt to hush yourself as he continues his ministrations. As your eyes meet and the pleasant ache in your core begins to swell into an all-encompassing warmth across your body, you wonder if this is what it feels to be revered as a deity would, your every sensation treated with the kind of awe that only a god might know.

It is when he enters you with his fingers - first one, then two, thrusting in rhythm with his tongue - that the warmth, now an inferno, reaches its peak. It surges through you like a divine crescendo, each wave of your climax a new blessing that floods your senses with a celestial rapture, singing his name like the sweetest hymn.

He caresses your thighs as he brings you down slowly from your high, grounding you.

As you return once again to this mortal plane, the lingering euphoria elicits a fit of giggles from you.

“Well,” Astarion smiles in return, removing himself from the home he has made between your legs, “you certainly seemed to enjoy yourself.”

“I did. I really did. Thank you.”

As you both sit yourselves upright once more, he presses another kiss to your lips. You taste yourself on him.

“I hope our little experiment was very informative for you,” he says with a wink. His words are teasing, but spoken with a gentleness that surprises you.

The truth is, you do have one more idea.

“Can I, um… Can I do the same for you?”

“What?” He says a little too quickly. Noticing this, he brushes his hair back with his hand to a more presentable condition, regains his composure, and continues. “I mean, you don’t have to. To see you squirm under my touch, that’s pleasure enough for me.”

“I want to make you feel good too.”

“You want to?”

That same indecipherable expression. A man with as many notches on his bedpost as he claims must have had some less than favourable conquests every now and then… Perhaps he’s had some bad experiences when receiving too? You suddenly find yourself cursing your lack of experience in these matters. You’re not exactly brimming with social expertise either.

“I probably won’t be the best - not as good as you - but I want to try. I always find that the best way to develop one’s skills is to practise under the guidance of a trusted expert. So… could you teach me how to make you feel good?”

Your gazes linger for a moment as he seems to assess your resolve.

Seemingly satisfied, he smirks, a well-practised aura of sultriness fitting back into place once more. All traces of that mysterious expression dissipate before your eyes.

“Well, darling, if you’re so eager to please me, who am I to stop you?”

You slide up to sit next to him as he begins to unlace his trousers, and suddenly you find yourself unsure of where to look. You’ve a scholar’s knowledge of the physical form; men’s anatomy is no stranger to you from an analytical perspective. And yes, you’ve fantasised about Astarion’s… parts before, as much as you have tried to deceive yourself into believing it was nothing more than a passing, intrusive thought. Yet, now that you’re here, about to perform the most intimate of acts to your beautiful travelling companion for the first time, you become bashful. You can’t quite believe the situation you’ve gotten yourself into tonight.

Yet, as he lowers his trousers and underwear to his thighs, revealing himself to you, all thoughts of bashfulness, of anxiety, cease to be for a moment.

“Hells, Astarion.” You look upon his hardened member with disbelief, measuring its girth against your arm. “How is that going to fit inside me, exactly?”

A slip of the tongue.

He grins, very pleased with himself. “Getting ahead of ourselves, are we?”

… And there returns that familiar flush of heat to your cheeks. Shit.

His chuckling lets you know that he has, in fact, noticed your embarrassment.

Seeking to swiftly change the subject to the much more pressing matter at hand, you ask, “can I touch you?”

In wordless agreement, Astarion guides your hand to his cock, which glistens slightly from the beads of precum elicited from the head. As you hold it, his hand remains over yours, coaxing you to move up and down the shaft.

His cock isn’t warm as you would imagine a regular man’s to be, owing to his vampiric nature, but you note its hardness; the way it pulses beneath your touch; the way his foreskin glides over the head so seamlessly. You squeeze him, fascinated.

“Gently, love. Like this.” He demonstrates by applying a light pressure to your hand and twisting ever so slightly as you both reach the tip, then loosening his grip as he slides you back down his length. You repeat the motion, tentatively. Gods, you hope you're doing this right. He made you feel incredible. You want him to feel incredible too. But oh, what if you hurt him, what if you–

“A-ah…”

The softest sigh of pleasure from your companion interrupts your thoughts. It sends wonderful shivers throughout your body. You find yourself eager to coax more of those little sounds from him.

A newfound confidence flares within you, and you gradually increase your pace, up and down and up and down the shaft, squeezing and twisting lightly as your beautiful instructor taught. In a sudden bout of curiosity, you glide your thumb over the head on your way back down and–

“Ah!”

There it is again. That most delicious sound.

“Exactly like that, darling. Exactly like that.”

He removes his hand from yours as you continue to pump him - you are a fast learner, it would seem - and moves it to reach your cheek, turning you to face him. As he leans his forehead against yours, you notice his breathing has become heavier, just ever so slightly. Instinctively, your breathing begins to match his, and you feel an intensity in the air that gives you goosebumps. Then he kisses you, and it is hungry. Ravenous. Greedy. His hand moves from your cheek to the back of your head, gripping your hair lightly, pressing your lips firmly against his.

As you continue to pleasure him, you find yourself becoming greedy too.

You want to taste him.

Between gasps for air, you ask him, “can I use my mouth on you? The way you did for me?”

“Mmhm,” he says into your kiss. It feels almost a shame to remove yourself from his lips, but you have greater plans yet.

You both reposition yourselves. He turns to lie himself back on the bedroll, and you crawl down his body to position yourself between his legs. So close to his cock, you find yourself admiring it, taking in every detail: the thick vein on the underside of the shaft, the way the head throbs a colour darker than the rest, eager for release.

You're overwhelmed with a primal desire - a need - to please, to give.

To worship.

“Gods, it's beautiful,” you think aloud.

“I know,” he remarks confidently in return. You roll your eyes at his arrogance, but in this moment, in your eyes, even you can't deny that his cock is perfection. Your mouth waters at what is to come.

You hold his member delicately, like a jewel most precious, planting kisses up his length. A soft sound escapes from Astarion’s lips and suddenly you are emboldened, determined to gift him with bliss as he had gifted you. To do so, however, you would need a little instruction.

“Tell me how to please you,” you plead, and you feel him twitch at your words.

“You are eager,” he purrs, propping himself up with his hands to gaze down at you. You notice a shiver and a sigh, ever so slight, when you trail a line of wetness from base to tip with your tongue.

“In that case,” he continues, brushing a strand of hair from your face, granting him a better view of you, “lick your lips and hold it at the base. Then I want you to get to know it a little, so to speak. Use your mouth around the head and start slowly - there's no point in rushing in, eh?”

You obey, shaking off the lingering feelings of bashfulness at the directness of his words, and wrap your lips around him. Out of curiosity, you swirl a flattened tongue around the head and gods, his skin is so smooth, still slightly salty from precum. His cock twitches and you hear him gasp above you - he’s especially sensitive there, it would seem.

Where are his other sensitive spots, you wonder.

Time to experiment. You are nothing if not a scientist.

You bob your head and relax your jaw to the best of your abilities, taking in just a little bit more of him each time your mouth glides up and down, keeping your tongue flat against him to flick against the sensitive tip each time you glide back up the length. The sounds he makes - oh, those sounds. His moans are like velvet, a soft, deep timbre that caresses your senses and makes your loins ache once more. Every murmur seeps into your being, igniting your senses and fuelling your need to explore every inch of him. You continue your journey down and down his length, savouring the taste and the texture and–

You gag as his cock touches your throat.

Astarion recomposes himself. “Easy, darling. Use your hand where your mouth can’t reach.”

“Like this?” Your hand pumps the shaft in rhythm with the motions of your mouth and tongue, and Astarion’s head rolls back for a moment.

“Like that,” he exhales heavily, “and suck gently.”

There’s a certain sense of empowerment, unravelling him like this. You relish in every moan that escapes his lips, every twitch and pulse of his cock as you attend to him. The lewd, wet sounds emitted as your hollowed cheeks suck his length. His hand finds its way to your hair, fingers weaving through the strands with a gentle authority, pushing you hard enough to guide you to an ever-quickening rhythm, but gentle enough not to force himself down your throat.

“Use your other hand,” he says between breaths, “hold the balls softly.”

You do as he says, giving them the gentlest of squeezes as you attend to him, and his breaths grow deeper, uneven. You sense the rising tension in him, a tide gathering strength beneath the surface.

He gives one final instruction.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes meet with a stormy intensity and, as you pump up and down with your lips and fingers at a dizzying pace, the intensity seems to surge through him with the force of an ocean swell, powerful and all-encompassing.

With a tremor and a groan so delicious that you find yourself moaning instinctively in response, his cum fills your mouth. Your eyes water, taken by surprise by the force of his release, but you do your best to swallow each wave, releasing him with a wet pop as his climax subsides.

Some moments pass and, in the afterglow, the tent is filled with a comfortable, profound stillness, and only the sounds of heavy breathing - yours and his - as you both return to your senses.

“Did you just..?” He asks, breaking the silence.

“I did,” you reply with a grin, showing him your tongue to reveal that not a drop went to waste.

He laughs warmly, and your heart flutters.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” He kisses you deeply as he sits up, seemingly undeterred by the taste of himself.

“I think I’ve gathered enough evidence to consider your proposition,” you say teasingly.

“Tomorrow night then, darling?”

Bastard.

But yes, you think to yourself. Tomorrow night. You’re ready.

Part 2, An Empirical Study, can be found here!

Masterlist can be found here.

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion smut #astarion fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction

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kryllia · 22 days ago

Text

Through His Eyes

Yandere boyfriend x reader

art from pinterest

The first time you met Aiden, he felt like a breath of fresh air. His smile was soft, his words laced with sincerity, and his eyes—oh, those eyes—were warm pools of honey that seemed to melt away all your worries. He was perfect, almost too perfect, but you never dared question it. After all, wasn’t this what everyone wanted? Someone who understood you without words, someone who loved you so wholly and selflessly?

Aiden was the embodiment of devotion. He knew your coffee order by heart, memorized your class schedule within days, and always texted you right when it was needed most. If you were stressed after a long day, he’d already be waiting at the door with your favorite snacks and that soft, knowing smile. It was as if he could read your mind.

And in a way, he could.

But you didn’t know that yet.

It wasn’t until much later—much too late—that you realized Aiden wasn’t just attentive. He was obsessive.

Aiden sat in his dimly lit room, multiple monitors casting a faint bluish glow on his face. Each screen displayed a different angle of your apartment: the kitchen, the living room, the bedroom. His eyes lingered on the feed from the bedroom camera as you shuffled under the covers, sighing softly before drifting off to sleep.

He sighed too, mirroring you from miles away.

“You look so peaceful like this,” he whispered to no one in particular, his finger tracing the outline of your face on the screen. “So beautiful... mine.”

His phone buzzed, pulling him out of his trance. It was the tracking app. You had left your phone on the nightstand, unmoving for the past hour. He smiled, knowing you were safe, knowing you were his.

You had always wondered how Aiden seemed to know everything so well. He’d always have your favorite song playing in his car, always know when illness was about to hit before symptoms even showed. It was... uncanny. But it felt good. It felt like love.

“Do you ever get tired of being so perfect?” you teased one evening, sitting across from him in a cozy cafe.

Aiden chuckled, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Perfect? Oh no, I just... pay attention to the things that matter.”

You.

It was always you.

The first red flag appeared on a rainy Thursday night. You had been at work late, phone dead, and bus delayed. When you finally got home, drenched and exhausted, Aiden was already there—waiting by the door, umbrella in hand.

“How did you...?” you stammered.

His smile didn’t waver. “You mentioned your shift would be longer today, remember? I wanted to make sure you got home safely.”

You shrugged it off. Aiden was sweet. Too sweet to question.

But the nagging feeling in your chest wouldn’t go away.

It wasn’t until weeks later, when you stumbled upon a small black device tucked discreetly behind a picture frame in your bedroom, that reality came crashing down.

A camera.

Your hands trembled as you held it up, your breaths shallow. Your mind raced as puzzle pieces began snapping into place: the perfectly timed texts, the way he always seemed to know where you were, the way he... watched.

Your phone buzzed.

Aiden: Are you okay, sweetheart? You seem upset.

The camera was still in your hand.

He knew.

When Aiden arrived at your apartment that night, his smile was softer than usual, his eyes alight with something... dangerous.

“You found it, didn’t you?” he said quietly, stepping into your space.

Your voice trembled. “Why, Aiden? Why would you—?”

“Because I love you,” he interrupted, his voice trembling with an intensity that sent chills down your spine. “Don’t you see? I can’t lose you. I won’t lose you.”

His hand reached for yours, but you pulled away.

“You’re scaring me,” you whispered.

His expression crumbled, hurt flashing across his face. “No, no, please don’t say that. I’d never hurt you. I just... I just needed to be sure. I needed to keep you safe. They don’t love you like I do. They don’t understand you like I do.”

Tears welled in his eyes, but behind them, you saw something unhinged. Something feral.

“You don’t have to run from me,” he pleaded, stepping closer. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

Your phone was in your hand now, your finger hovering over the emergency call button.

He saw it.

Aiden lunged.

Hours later, you woke up to the feeling of soft fabric against your cheek. You were lying on a plush bed in a room you didn’t recognize. The windows were covered, the air filled with the faint scent of lavender and... him.

Aiden.

You tried to sit up, but your wrists were bound with silken ropes—tight enough to hold you, soft enough not to bruise.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Aiden’s voice cooed from the corner of the room. He stepped into view, his face illuminated by the faint glow of a bedside lamp.

“You’re safe now. No one can take you away from me here.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“I love you so much. You understand that, don’t you?”

His eyes glistened with something almost holy, like he truly believed every word he said.

In that moment, you realized one thing with chilling certainty:

You belonged to him now.

And he was never going to let go.

#yandere #yandere blog #yandere boy #yandere male #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere boyfriend #soft boyfriend

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harrysfolklore · 7 months ago

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charles leclerc answers the internet’s most searched questions

gif by @countingstars-17 <33

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

"Hi I'm Charles Leclerc and today I'm going to be answering the web's most searched questions about me."

Charles said to the camera, he was wearing his typical media day outfit, a Ferrari half zip up jacket and his baggy jeans, ones that no matter how hard his girlfriend tried to get rid off it was just impossible because he liked them too much.

"First question, what is Charles Leclerc's number?" he read on the iPad the Sky Sports team had given him to read the question, "I hope we are speaking about the driver number, because my girlfriend won't like that people are searching for my phone number on the internet and I'll be very worried if you can find it," the crew laughed at his comment, "But it's number 16."

"What is Charles Leclerc's favorite song?" he read the next question, "I think overall, it's Where is the Love by the Black Eyed Peas, but recently I've been loving Sabrina Carpenter's songs, and that's thanks to my girlfriend."

"Did Charles Leclerc retire?" he couldn't help but let out a laugh at the question, "Are people really asking this question? The answer is no, I'm not that old and I hope I don't look that old. I've still got many years in me I hope."

"Did Charles Leclerc win in Monaco?" a small smile played on his face, "The answer changed just a few weeks ago but yes I did. It was a really special moment, my mum cried, my brothers cried, my girlfriend cried. It was beautiful."

"Did Charles Leclerc adopt Oscar Piastri?," he couldn't help but laugh again, "That answer also changed a few weeks ago and yes I did. He's one of my sons now."

"Does Charles Leclerc speak Italian? Yes I do."

"Does Charles Leclerc have a sister? No I don't."

"Does Charles Leclerc have a girlfriend?" he could feel his cheeks blushing as he read, "Yes I do. And as you can tell, I talk a lot about her, so much that there are compilation videos of me just talking about her, I've seen them."

"Will Charles Leclerc win a championship?" he made a thinking face, "I'm curious to know what Google says about that one, but I'll say yes. At least if I work day and night for that, so I hope it will happen one day."

"Is Charles Leclerc good at cooking?" Charles chuckled. "Well, I like to think I'm decent. I can make a mean pasta and I really enjoy it, but my girlfriend is the real chef in our relationship. She loves baking, and her cookies are the best."

"Can Charles Leclerc play the piano? Well I'm not a pianist but I have enough skill to really enjoy it. So yeah, I can play the piano.

"Does Charles Leclerc have any pets?" he smiled warmly, "Yes, my girlfriend and I have a dog named Leo. He's a an absolute sweetheart. He even comes to some of the race weekends with us."

"What is Charles Leclerc's favorite date night activity?" he chuckled, raising an eyebrow, "Did my girlfriend search that?" the crew laughed, and Charles continued, "If she did, she knows I love our cozy movie nights at home, eating whatever we want and just chilling on the couch."

"Alright, last one," he said, looking back at the iPad, "What does Charles Leclerc do in his free time?" he read, "When I'm not racing or training, I enjoy spending time with my family, friends and my girlfriend of course. I love going to the beach, traveling or just relaxing at home."

He set the iPad down and looked directly into the camera. "Thank you for all the questions! I hope you learned something new about me. Until next time, ciao!"

did i reference my own fic here? anyway i hope you like thisss

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eddies-ashtray · 7 months ago

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♡ falling asleep on eddie’s bed in the middle of the day & the sweet things that ensue after. (cw: g!n reader, eddie calls reader ‘pretty’ once).

Eyes still closed, you smile lazily as you tune into the rattling and whir of the yellowed fan. Basically all it does is push around warm air, but its gentle gust brushing your bare shoulders pleases you nonetheless. Sometime in the early afternoon when you’d first dozed off atop Eddie’s covers it stood, unplugged, on his side of the bed.

You know he’s next to you before you’ve fully woken from your brief slumber. The dip in the mattress, the quiet scratching of a pencil on paper. These signs not only alert you of his presence but encourage you to blink your eyes open as you draw in a deep breath.

Your gaze settles at his hip. The curled edges of Eddie’s cut up band tee rest just below his waist, exposing a sliver of pale skin.

“Mmh,” you grumble, squinting up at him as the sunshine casts a glow across the bed. “What time is it?”

Eddie’s eyes, appearing much lighter as they soak up the glowing rays, crinkle in the corners as they meet yours, a smile playing at his lips. “Hey, sleepy.”

“Dopey,” you greet in jest.

He smiles bigger, squeezing his eyes shut as a quick breath escapes his nose.

“Very original.” Eddie’s deadpan tone does not match the delight kissing his features.

You shrug with some difficulty (only one shoulder lifts as the other is pressed into the bed), as if to say ‘What did you expect? It was right there.’

Rolling over onto your back, you stretch out like a cat, your whole body lengthening as your arms reach above your head, and release an involuntary groan of pleasure feeling as your muscles stretch.

Outside, trees rustle in the breeze and children shout and laugh as they play in the summer sun. They’re such nostalgic sounds they make your heart ache for the briefest of moments, like they’d evoked a sweet childhood memory which melted away before it could fully resurface.

Sensing his eyes on you, you peek back up at Eddie as your right hand comes to rest on your stomach, the left one falling palm-up by your side.

“You look pretty when you first wake up,” he expresses, all warmth and love.

“No way.” No one does. He just loves you.

“Yes way,” He mocks lightly as he stares down at you, his hand coming to settle over your forearm as he rubs his thumb into your skin.

You concede because you know you could both go back and forth like that forever. And because you’re too warm and feel too much like jelly to argue.

Instead, you sigh contentedly before pushing yourself up so you’re shoulder-to-shoulder with Eddie.

Lolling your head onto his shoulder, you whisper, “Time?”

So apparently taken by your slightly puffy face, he’d likely forgotten you’d even asked.

Immediately, he extends his left arm out to you so you can read the watch settled on his wrist.

2:22pm.

Tugging his arm gently to your face, you press a quick kiss to his hand, “Thanks.”

He hums as you place your head back on his shoulder, the sound reverberating deep in his chest. Despite the warmth in the room the sound gives you chills.

“Watcha drawin’?” You sing-song, though you can see his sketchbook from this angle.

“Watcha think?”

You almost jest, say, feet, before you realize, “Are those my hands?”

They must be. You know it not because of how detailed the drawing is. It’s more of a sketch so far. You know it because of the ring on the middle finger.

Eddie had found it while thrifting and gifted it to you one day. It wasn’t a birthday or anniversary or holiday. Just a normal day in March. It was a particularly frigid day, all grey skies and icy window sills. You’d arrived at the trailer after your shift about 20 minutes before Eddie. But when he did arrive, he went straight to you, and he said, I got ya somethin’ with that charming smile of his, all fidgety and excited like he was about to open presents on Christmas day. And then presented you with that beautiful ring he’s so carefully sketching onto your graphite hands.

“Mhm. You’ve got nice ones,” he says, taking hold of one of yours and softly tracing the ridges of your knuckles before thumbing the silver ring. It never comes off.

Your heart aches in the best way. You feel so content being here with him. Napping on his bed and waking up to him drawing you, caring for you, loving you. You squeeze his hand in yours before tilting upwards to press a sweet kiss to his cheek.

“Keep drawing, please?”

You can’t believe you get to sit here next to him in the middle of a balmy summer’s day while he presses pencil to paper with that rickety old fan sitting on your side of the bed.

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rubyarerosies · 2 years ago

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bf!suna who has an album of you filled with pics and the often stupid videos he takes when he’s feeling silly with you.

bf!suna who has a video of him standing behind you whilst you’re reading a book on the couch and his hand is in the video, faking a jerking off motion to you til you notice and then he releases his hand like he just finished.

bf!suna who has a video of you sleeping where your shirt has ridden up that your boobs are so close, if you stir in your sleep again they’ll, for sure, pop out. and in the video is another stupid clip of his hand, shaking madly while he gently (and reluctantly) pulls your shirt down, hand still shaking like it’s the hardest thing to do.

bf!suna who has another video of you sleeping and he’s just poking your cheeks softly, occasionally pinching them as well.

bf!suna who has a video of him creeping up behind you while you’re doing the dishes and he proceeds to cup your ass while bouncing it in his hand “hey everyone, back with another, this time featuring my girlfriends ass—with a review!” You obviously proceeded to wet him with the dirty sink water (he’s done this before, many, many times.)

bf!suna who has a video of you drunk and crying to the ending of coco while clinging to his side. his lips are pursed together while he’s giving you the nastiest yet nonchalant side eye, nodding once and a while to your complains, “this boys family is a menace Rin! Can you believe that?”

bf!suna who has a video of you squashed to his chest because your shirt is off out of annoyance to the heat of summer. You were bathing in the new chill of having no shirt that you didn’t notice he’s taking a video of him cheering silently while your side boob and his side of his chest are in view, mf is cheering like a teenage boy.

bf!suna who has a video of him randomly coming up to you and pressing your foreheads together while he opens his mouth wide in a funny way. You’re grimacing and he’s just in a silly mood to mess with you.

bf!suna who has a video of you walking from the water in your bathing suit, it flips back to him who falsely claims he’s been shot through his actions, “I’ve been shot by sexiness, someone help me,” it cuts after he pretends he’s dead on the sun-chair.

bf!suna who has a video of him after he’s done being your professional photographer. He pretends he’s taking more, going around you while you laugh, “look here, baby, yes! perfect! one more ms. Suna! Give me fierce!” Completely doesn’t care about the public walking past.

bf!suna who has a video of him pretending to be a YouTuber again. He has a cute headband on and a pink face mask on along with you who is busy doing a lip mask,

“hey everybody, welcome back! Today I am venturing into a women’s skin care,” you punched him in the chest playfully, “excuse you, i’m not just a women, thank you very much,”

he chuckled, “right, everyone, this is my beautiful, sexy, caring, and perfect girlfriend #soon-to-be-wife.” (he whispered that to the camera, hoping the songs playing on your speaker was loud enough.)

And finally, bf!suna who has a video of you crying while laughing after he just proposed, your quite literally balling and this mf is just smiling while cradling you to his side, “#soon-to-be-wife !”

bf!suna who just loves those videos so much (and taking more) that he hopes his storage doesn’t run out soon because he’s on his last storage plan.

#haikyuu x reader #suna rintaro fluff #suna rintarō #haikyuu #haikyuu suna #suna x reader #suna headcanons #suna x you #suna x y/n #rosiesroseas

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avianyuh · 3 months ago

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Jeon Wonwoo as a boyfriend...

Other SVT as bf's { S.Coups , Jeonghan , Minghao/The8 , Hoshi }

Like most, I'm sure Wonwoo appeals to you because upon introduction, you think he's the quiet, brooding type

But he'd show a different side of himself in a relationship with you

A goofball all the way

Any carat knows that he's a secret comedian

I think he'd always be trying to make you laugh

Had a bad day? He'll make you watch a funny video he saw

Texting him that you miss him?

You will be sent stupid pictures as his response

GAMING

He's not competitive though

He likes to play chill games with you just because he likes to spend his time doing one of his favorite things with you

And that makes him really happy!

Please encourage him and geek out with him over video games

I think he can be sensitive sometimes

But strikes me as the type to not verbalize when something is bothering him

So being with someone observant would do him good, get him to open up more

Especially in the beginning of the relationship

I think overtime, you won't have to try as hard to get him to share his feelings with you

He'll just naturally start to feel really comfortable around you

The g-gl-glasses

Ughhhh

I know you love them

You get to see him in his glasses basically everywhere

Barely takes them off to begin with

Even some promotions he keeps them on

Imagine late night gaming with him

The lights are all out and your sitting as close to each other as possible

And the reflection of the computer screen is in his glasses and he's all happy because he's really enjoying himself omg

You're just looking at him and thinking Damn that's my man...

As I've pointed out in my previous dating seventeen posts, you have to pass the vibe check and get approval from all the members if you want to be a permanent part of Wonwoo's life

Strikes me as the type to see you on the down-low for a few months

Would probably mention you to Mingyu since last I heard, they're roomies

You'd be introduced to Mingyu first

Then he'd probably mention that he met someone to the rest of the guys

Then he'd bring you around the dorm, or a dance practice, somewhere you can meet as many members as possible

That way Seungkwan can be his extroverted self and make you feel comfortable.

Like, imagine meeting another relatively quiet member like Jun or Woozi

"Nice to meet you😐🙂"

Please tell me you can see that happening cuz I can

Maybe even Minghao or Seungcheol would be sorta awkward

Like not in a bad way, but introverts need time to warm up to someone new (speaking from experience)

But once everyone has been acquainted and they like you, you will be family and it will shift from like to love

Because you treat Wonu right and you make him happy

Wonwoo being with you would make him more energetic and outgoing

He's a homebody

Normally I would say opposites attract, but in his case I definetly think being with another introvert would be ideal lol

Would recommend you a lot of books

And would want you to read his favorites so the two of you could discuss them

Same with video games

Remember I told you to let him geek out?

PLZ LET HIM BE A GEEK!!!!!!

I think Wonwoo would love to go on vacation every once in a while

I think he can drive abroad

But even just driving in Korea

Going on day trips

Just talking, singing to your favorite songs

Teasing him by playing some of SVT's music

Or just sitting in a comfortable silence

That's the best type of silence and it's very underrated imo

One thing about Wonwoo is how tall he is

6 feet I think? (182 cm for those not in the U.S.)

And he has very broad shoulders

Imagine watching a scary movie with him and hiding your face in his chest, and he wraps his arms around you

Lowkey protective

Just wants to keep you safe

Loves everything about you

The type to stare at you and just blurt out that he finds you beautiful

He's well read so he'd probably say something really poetic

Just makes you feel special

Shexy Shtuff:

Okay, we need to sit and have a conversation about how buff this man is...

Look at those pecs

Damn

He's ripped

He's not a gym bro, but he definitely likes going

Imagine him coming home and he's all sweaty and his muscles are all visible

He loves a good sweater or hoodie so I think seeing his physique is rare

The quiet ones are always great kissers...

This bitch is all dark and mysterious

A.K.A most likely a FREAK

Uses tongue when he kisses

Like, probably pulls you on top of him if you're on the couch or lays you down on the bed

Or pins you against the wall if he's frustrated or hasn't seen you in a while

If you ever got in an argument he's apologizing profusely and then making up for it in bed

Definitely a grunter

Not overly vocal

More concerned with your needs

Definitely a giver

I don't think he's that adventurous when it comes to location

Bed, shower, couch maybe

Most of the time, you'll be watching a movie or maybe sitting on his lap if you come in while he's playing games on his computer (or just doing something on his computer in general)

So there you are, sitting on his lap, not trying to do anything sexual, just asking what he's playing or doing

And at first everything's good but as you're readjusting yourself in his lap, you're shifting around and suddenly he's getting turned on

He'd start kissing your cheek, your neck, moving his hands up to waist

Eventually getting impatient and scooping you up and taking you to his bedroom

Shower sex after the gym

Or late at night after practice if he isn't too tired

I see him being a big pillow-talker

Get's really emotionally vulnerable with you after sex

And that's how you know he trusts you

And congratulations, his voice is already deep as is, but in the morning, omg he'd sound so hot right after he wakes up

Would love to just keep you in his arms and lay in bed for a while, especially if he had nothing to do that day

Okay, i think this is long enough now

In conclusion, I think he'd be a great boyfriend

{A/N: AHHH, omg I'm sorry I've been inactive the past two weeks, I got pneumonia. I'm still recovering but felt really bad that I hadn't posted. I've been trying to make up my missed schoolwork. I couldn't think of a fanfic to write so I decided to do a headcanon for seventeen to add to the series. Wonwoo was my first bias back in 2017 before I realized I'm a coups girl. But I'll be honest, sometimes I'm creeping on Wonwoo's fancams (sorry Cheol) Anyways, I love you guys so much whether you're a frequent reader/follower or this is your first time reading anything from me. I love you, have a great day/night, whenever you're reading this, mwahhhh❤️ I put in a continue reading because this one was so much longer than my previous bf headcanons, Wonwoo, a man of substance lol}

#wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #wonu #jeon wonu #seventeen #seventeen headcanons #seventeen as boyfriends #wonwoo as a boyfriend #svt #svt smut #svt fluff #svt x reader #svt imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #seventeen fluff #svt headcanons

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yourfavoritewitchbitch · 1 month ago

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Snow Angel

Summary: Steve suggests a snowy drive through Hawkins that gets heated at his favorite overlook.

This is COMPLETELY self-indulgent, because for me, Christmas doesn't feel very festive this year. It's soft and sappy with two people very much in love. This is for anyone that needs to feel something a little extra for the season. ❤️ And since I couldn't get those pictures of that truck out of my head, enjoy some smut!

18+ Only! Minors DNI!

CW: No use of Y/N. Pet names (angel, honey, etc). Fluff. Soft Smut. Slight fingering. P in V. Creampie.

WC: 4K

Snow fell softly, adding to the already six inches or so that blanketed the quiet little world of Hawkins. The forecast called for at least six more overnight, but you hadn't minded. With Christmas a few days away and nowhere to go, it was easy to busy yourself making dozens of fresh baked cookies for your friends and loved ones.

He finally swung open the front door in the early evening, with a shiver but his senses were delighted with the smell of vanilla and cinnamon wafting through the air. Ever mindful, he quickly undid his boots and toed them off at the door, sitting them alongside yours and hanging his coat on the small rack.

A soft smile pulled at the edges of your lips when you hear him enter, taking the last batch from the oven before setting them on the cooling rack. He leaned against the door frame, with a low whistle, eyes roving over your frame.

“Have you been baking all day?” He asks with a grin, cheeks and nose tinted pink from the bitter cold, the soft knit beanie you had gifted him a few weeks ago sitting atop his head.

Turning to face him, you grace him with a beaming smile to match his own. The “kiss the cook” apron, dusted with flour hung haphazardly around your neck made a breathy chuckle escape him as he took a few more steps toward you, holding out a bouquet of red and white roses.

“What's all this for?” Removing the oven mitts so you could take them from him, lifting the flowers to your nose, inhaling the fragrant blooms.

“Just saw them and thought of you.” He shrugs, moving closer, until his hand reaches out to rest on your hip, pulling you into him.

You quickly maneuvered the flowers to the counter to wrap your arms around his neck. He was warm despite the frigid temperatures he had just come from.

“Steve, they're beautiful.” You comment, knowing that he hadn't just seen them. They weren't just supermarket flowers, venturing you to guess he had gone to the square to stop at the flower shop on the way home in this dreadful weather.

“Beautiful flowers, for my beautiful girl.” He smiles, wrapping his other arm around your waist and leaning in, until his nose nudges yours. You wrinkle at the chill, as your lashes flutter across your cheeks before his lips find yours in a soft, tender kiss.

He tasted of peppermints, the same ones he stuffed in his pockets every morning before heading into work, wrappers pushed back into those pockets that you had been emptying every time you washed his jeans.

You hummed, fingers running through his hair at the nape of his neck as he pulled away, leaning his forehead to yours. Slowly you open your eyes to see his golden brown, mossy infused orbs staring back at you.

“Got any plans, gorgeous?” He asks, fingertips running up the length of your spine and back down.

You giggled at the question as you answered, “Just spending the evening with you. Why?”

“How about…” He smiled, gently swaying you to some invisible song he alone seemed to hear. “You and I take a little drive. We can look at Christmas lights, and you can sit really close.” His voice dropping seductively at the last part.

Ever since Steve had brought home that shiny new truck, he had insisted you sit right next to him on the bench seat, making sure you were pressed into his side. His hand would either be on your thigh or slung over your shoulders at all times.

You were hesitant to say yes, eyes drifting to the window, worried the two of you might get stuck out in the cold if the snow continued to come down at its current rate. As if he could sense your trepidation, he cradled your jaw, thumb running soothingly along your cheek pulling your focus back to him.

“I'll make sure it's warm and toasty for you. Want to make some hot chocolate to take with us?” Eyes wide with a mix of reassurance and excitement, awaiting your response.

And how could you say no to that puppy dog look? The pouty lips and pleading gaze did you in each and every time.

Sighing softly, you nod, and he grinned immediately, kissing your forehead and reluctantly pulling back from your warm embrace to fish his keys from the front of his jeans and make his way back to the front door.

As he got dressed, you began making the hot chocolate, opting for instant because you knew Steve would be eager to head out. You left the water to boil, hanging the apron up and padding down the hall to your shared room to change into warmer clothing.

Flannel pajamas were exchanged for wool socks, jeans and a sweater, red to match his. You momentarily stop in front of the mirror to wipe a smidge of flour from your cheek and swipe on some lip gloss before returning to the kitchen just in time for the kettle to whistle.

He returns a few minutes later, waiting by the door, cupping his hands against his mouth to warm them up as you emerge to greet him with a thermos full of hot cocoa for your little adventure.

“Here, my little snow angel.” He says softly, setting the thermos down on the small table in the foyer to grab your coat, helping you into it, then taking your matching beanie and pulling it over your head, ensuring it was snuggly in place.

“Ready?” He asks, with a warm smile that reaches his eyes, grabbing onto the thermos once more.

“Ready!” Parroting with as much enthusiasm, as he opens the front door to the awaiting winter wonderland.

The snow was still falling, large powdery flakes landing all around the two of you as winter's cold embrace fought against your warm attire. The blue and white Chevy Silverado sat idling in the driveway, a warm safe haven ready to welcome you in.

He jogged ahead to get the door for you, waiting until you slid into the seat handing you the thermos before shutting it, briefly illuminated by the headlights as he crossed the front to hop into the driver's seat.

“Shit.” He breathes out, slamming the door against the frigid cold, watching a few flakes melt into the fabric of his jacket. “Warm me up, angel.”

He sweeps his arm around you, tugging you over and gently tucking you into his side, not a space between the two of you to be had. A giggle escapes you as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, icy nose brushing against the underside of your jaw before his warm breath follows.

A few moments pass, before he sighs, placing a kiss where his lips rest against your exposed skin as he reluctantly pulls himself away. Utterly and hopelessly head over heels for the boy in front of you, hoping he can see it conveyed on your face when you lean in, pressing a soft but brief kiss to his lips. A dopey, lovesick grin graces his features when you break away.

“I love you.” He hums, squeezing your waist.

“I love you too, baby, but we can't see these Christmas lights if we sit in the driveway all night.”

He sighs again, knowing you're right. This was his idea after all but being this close to you always makes him feel dizzy. He pulls his arm away from you to put the truck in reverse and slowly eases out of the drive. As soon as he's on the main road, his hand is firmly planted on your thigh.

He throws the windshield wipers on high, fighting against the onslaught of pelting flakes melting on contact. The streets are empty, peaceful even, as the headlights shine a path ahead cutting through the snowy landscape. He takes it slow, rightfully so, as the plow trucks have turned in for the foreseeable evening since no one else seems brave or dumb enough to be out in this weather.

You turn off of your street and head north toward Loch Nora, the wealthy neighborhood that Steve grew up in. It holds both special memories and times he would like to forget but they always knew how to decorate for Christmas.

It's a quiet journey for the most part, passing the hot cocoa back and forth, listening to the radio at a reasonable volume, letting soft rock or the occasional Christmas song fill the comfortable silence. It wasn't long before he turned off into the subdivision, twinkling string lights illuminated the sign as you entered.

Bright, sparkling bulbs of all colors could be seen up and down the sleepy street, as he eased to a crawl, allowing you both to bask in the soft glow and nostalgia. Seeing all the houses lit up paired with him by your side, made your heart leap with an immeasurable fondness.

He rolled to a stop in front of a home tucked away at the end of the cul-de-sac that he recognized all too well. White lights in abundance, clean and crisp, not a strand out of place. Much like the sterile environment he had grown up in. Mrs. Harrington would rather die than ever have the gaudy multicolored lights. Calling the neighbors absolute fools for the mismatched catastrophes.

Your heart aches at the way his eyes drift over the exterior, with a heavy sigh. Christmas was a touchy subject with Steve for a long time, though it was still his favorite holiday. He was never allowed to help decorate the tree, it was a showboat, much like anything else the elder Harrington's did.

The first Christmas with you had brought the magic back for him. A fresh, live tree was picked out and brought into your home, decorated with mismatched ornaments from your childhood, multicolored string lights and tinsel. He smiled and laughed the entire time until his cheeks ached. Now that you shared a home, he enjoyed it even more, spending every evening curled up with you on the couch the entire month, watching a different Christmas movie when you could.

You take his hand, intertwining your fingers, as you look back over to him, catching the way his small frown transforms back into the smile he carried before, bringing your hand up to his lips for a kiss.

He eased back into a slow drive, leaving that house in the rear view, making an exit out of the neighborhood.

“I've got one more place to show you.” He states with a hint of softness to his voice. “It's not far from here.”

“I'll go wherever you take me. We've got plenty of hot chocolate.” Holding up the thermos for emphasis.

You ease back into a comfortable silence, your thumb rubbing soothingly across his hand where you still grasp it. The road gets a little more snowy and the trees more dense the further he goes. The path winds and travels up until he reaches a small clearing, parking it with practiced ease and shutting off the headlights.

Out beyond you lay the town of Hawkins. It looked like a snow globe, lit up from the streetlights and jolly decorations as the snow fell.

“How beautiful!” You gushed, leaning forward in the seat to gain a better look, eyes sparkling in the dim lights of the dash.

“Beautiful.” He uttered, looking at you instead, placing his arm back around your shoulders as you melted back into his embrace, kissing your temple then leaning his head onto the top of yours, muttering “I love you” into your hat.

“I love you too, Steve.” You echo, pushing away from him slightly so you could see his face, taking in the way the moonlight partially illuminated his best features. The angular slope of his perfect nose, the soft lines of his pouty lips, and the curve of his sharp jaw all stood out. His eyes drop as you take your lip between your teeth, studying him as he studies you.

He untangles his hand from yours to find your cheek, his thumb grazing along your bottom lip when you release it, causing your breath to hitch and your heart rate to tick upward as if you hadn't kissed him a hundred times before. Steve always had this effect on you, and you hoped right then and there he always would.

You both lean forward, noses grazing as he tilts your head just right for your lips to meet, closing your eyes. It was sweet and tender, his grip on your shoulder tightening slightly as if you might pull away but you reach up, gripping the front of his jacket to pull him in.

His tongue parts your lips, as you softly moan, melting further into him. He takes the lead, deepening the kiss, as it becomes hungry and heated. That familiar spark of desire shoots through you. His fingers trailing lightly down your neck finding the zipper on your jacket, tugging it down smoothly until your sweater comes into view. His hand snakes down, finding the edge of the woolen fabric, running his palm across your soft stomach, causing you to shudder, before ultimately landing on your hip.

His free hand comes to cradle the back of your head, as he pulls away to kiss a path across your jaw, nipping at your earlobe and finding the little spot below your ear that makes you gasp. He grins against you, sucking a little harder at that spot, his tongue then licking across your skin in a soothing manner.

“Steve.” You say, in that breathless way that makes him moan against your heated skin. You tug at his beanie until it comes free, running your fingers through his already disheveled hair to hold him in place.

His cock is already painfully hard, tented and straining against his jeans, groaning when you palm at his erection, hips grinding upward, pushing himself further against your hand.

“Need you.” He whispers, voice needy and strained.

“Need you too.” Replying as he parts from you momentarily to remove his jacket, watching as you do the same, tossing them both with reckless abandon into the floorboard.

He immediately grabs you by the hips, pulling you into his lap, chests flush, legs straddling either side of his.

He nips at your top lip, then your bottom lip, pulling back with a sly smirk, leaving you a little breathless and wanting before you roll your hips into his as he gasps, gripping you a little tighter to hold you in place.

“Not fair, angel.” He whispers, a soft mumble against your lips before crashing them into yours. You move in tandem, a slow and steady build, tongues dancing and gliding together in a messy crescendo of need and desire.

The cab of the truck is hot, suddenly feeling cramped with far too many layers of clothing between you, breaking the kiss to come up for much needed air you quickly ease off his lap, much to his dismay.

His pout turns into another grin, when you toe your boots off and he sees you unbuttoning your jeans, he starts to do the same. His buckle clicks open loudly, his deft fingers popping the button before unzipping and pushing them down his hips, leaving him in his very festive red and green checkered boxers, as you discard your jeans and panties with the growing pile in the floor.

Turning his head back to you, he sucks in a sharp breath, easing his hand down to rub against himself.

“Eager, are we?” He teases, taking your hand to help you back into his lap, taking up the same position as before, only the thin fabric of his boxers separating you. He presses himself up against your already soaked folds, hands at your lower back as his hips grind up, eliciting moans from the both of you.

His touch becomes more possessive and frantic, easing under your sweater, dancing up your spine and along your ribs, teasing the underside of your bra as his thumb brushes over your hardened nipple through the fabric.

He watches with hooded eyes as your back arches you further into his touch, breath becoming more erratic with each passing second. He roughly pulls your bra down, cupping your breast with his large palm, kissing back down your neck. Your hands grip the front of his sweater, throwing your head back as pleasure begins to course through your veins, when he pinches your nipple between his thumb and finger a moan, louder than the one before is ripped from your chest.

“That's it angel, love to hear those pretty sounds you make. S'just us out here, you can be as loud as you want.” He says in-between peppered kisses across your bared throat, easing his hand down between your splayed legs.

His fingers slide across your slick lips, teasing your entrance. The moment his thumb brushes across your swollen clit, your hips jolt, eliciting another high-pitched moan from you.

“Need your Steve!” You cry out.

“I'm right here, honey. Right here.” He curls his arm tighter around your waist, inserting a finger.

“No!” You breathe out, as he stills his movements.

“No?” He asks, looking up at you with furrowed brows.

“Need your cock.” Pushing at his boxers, with a whine. He chuckles, removing his hand from you to grab your wrists but who was he to deny you? Not when you were perched on his lap looking like a literal ethereal being.

“Okay, angel.” He kisses your forehead. “Ease up for me.”

You do so, allowing him to push his boxers down his hips, his girthy cock standing at attention.

“Ready, angel?” He asks, taking in a ragged breath of his own, before you nod.

“Good girl.” He coos, lining himself up at your entrance. “Just take your time. No rush.” His hand eases up your thigh.

You start to sink down, jaw going slack, tears already pricking at the corners of your eyes when his thick tip breaches, stretching you open in the best possible way.

“Relax, relax.” You hear him say, hands gripping his shoulders, releasing a deep breath, taking him a bit further into your tight heat. “That's it.”

You continue to ease down his length, with gentle praises mumbled breathlessly against your skin, until you're fully seated on his lap.

“That's my good girl, taking me so well.” He hums, wrapping his arms around you, burying his head into your shoulder.

“Ahhhhh! Steve!”

“I know, I know. You feel so good, angel.” Coming out slightly muffled, letting you go at your own pace, though it's killing him, cock twitching inside you as he groans.

Your pussy flutters around him, finally taking it as a cue to move, lifting your hips at an agonizingly slow pace, feeling every inch of him dragging against your inner walls, pausing before dropping back down.

“Oh, fuuuck.” He moans out, gripping your hips, as you start to set a more pleasurable pace, adding rolls with your movements, catching that wave of pleasure each time that thatch of hair at the base of his cock rubs deliciously against your throbbing clit.

The outside world fades away between frosted glass and panting breaths. It's just you and Steve inside the cab of his truck, safe and warm wrapped in each other's arms, connected in the most intimate way. Your bodies slot perfectly together, melding and molding, crashing into each other again and again in perfect rhythm.

Your tempo falters the closer you get to the edge of release, but he's there to catch you. He's always there. Your thighs begin to shake as broad hands start to aid in moving you up and down his length.

His lips part, watching as he disappears into your tight heat over and over, on the cusp of coming undone himself but holding back to see you fall apart for him.

Heated skin finds the frosted glass behind his head, shuddering as the cool pane meets your palm, leaving a perfect print before your continued movements drag it in indecipherable patterns, but a pattern that anyone outside would recognize.

“Gonna come for me angel?” He asks between labored breaths, feeling you tighten slightly around his shaft.

You quickly nod, too far gone to find your voice in the throes of passion. His thumb finds your aching clit, moving against you with measured precision.

That familiar heat rises up through your core, behind your navel, pressure building and building. Your whines get more high pitched, hands grasping at his sweater, wringing it between your fingers to the point that your knuckles have turned white.

He watches, with bated breath, steady praises stream from his lips, falling on deaf ears, your brain no longer registering the words. He sounds so far away but he's right here, beside you, under you and inside you.

The tension finally reaches a fever pitch, like a cork exploding from insurmountable pressure, your orgasm crashes into you with a blinding force, knocking you senseless. You clench and tighten around him, legs finally giving out, ceasing their rhythm entirely as you come undone.

He grips you, bruisingly so, holding you in place as he takes over, thrusting up into you only a handful of times before he's spilling hot and heavy inside of your needy cunt, giving you all he has to offer. He holds you to him, grunting out as his cock twitches with the last of his sticky spend.

Your chests heave, back and forth, shared breaths in the space between you as your heart rates return to normal. No words were spoken, your bodies doing more than enough to convey the feelings you both have.

A lazy, dopey smile finds you when he finally lifts his head. Cheeks flushed, hair sticking to his forehead, eyes sparkling with pure adoration as a soft “hi” escapes him.

“Hi baby.” You grin, with a breathy laugh. The absurdity of such a simple greeting after a complete out of body experience. Your lips find his, soft and slow, relishing in the afterglow for a few more moments.

He hums, pulling back, still breathless.

“We should head back.” He muses, eyes drifting out beyond the window, the snow still falling heavy around you.

You ease off of his softening cock, redressing in the quiet space, the radio playing lowly in the background. You take your place, pressed right in beside him as he eases back out onto the main road, snow already covering your tire tracks from before.

It was a slow ride home but neither of you seemed to mind, huddled together in the warm cab. Conversation flows, making the drive pass in the blink of an eye.

Once the truck was parked safely back in the driveway, he immediately hopped out, turning back to extend his hand to help you out, sliding his fingers between yours, guiding you both into the house.

Coats and boots were shed, outer gear exchanged for matching fleece pajamas. You emerge from the kitchen with an array of baked goods and made from scratch hot chocolate just in time for It's a Wonderful Life to start playing, setting the tray down on the coffee table.

“C’mere, honey.” He scoots over, patting the space beside him, lifting the edge of the blanket for you to slide in. And you do, handing him a mug, taking your own and leaning back into his embrace. The perfect end to a perfect night.

He brings the mug to his lips for a long sip, leaving behind a faint chocolaty mustache across his top lip, making you softly giggle before he turns, licking it away, his gaze settling on you.

His dulcet, sincere smile makes your heart flutter against your ribcage. Here in the twinkling lights and glow of the TV, a picture of what the future might hold was clear.

Steve had similar thoughts swirling around and come Christmas morning he hoped you would say yes right there in front of the tree.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #joe keery #steve harrington truck smut #steve Harrington Christmas fic

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macfrog · 11 months ago

Text

psyche and cupid | one shot

happy valentine's, beautiful people. i love you with all of my heart. xx shoutout to @familyvideostevie for putting joel's slutty little thigh holster into my head and, well. yeah. pairing: jackson!joel miller x fem!reader summary: valentine's day with joel doesn't go to plan. warnings: part two never happened!!!!! abby who!!!, established relationship, cursing, half joel pov, unspecified age gap, hints to reader having a sliver of ptsd, jesse is alive and well because he is my prince and i said so, reader has dark pubic hair, masturbation, somnophilia (not discussed in this fic but she is a-ok with it) and therefore dubcon, sprinkle of praise kink, oral (f!receiving), someone comes in his underwear, these two goofballs are big in love word count: 5.5k

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It’s not in his nightstand.

Not hung over the newel post, either.

He said he left it on the kitchen counter yesterday, right after he got home; said he woke up this morning and it was gone. And then he muttered something of an accusation that someone had tidied it away and forgotten where, and that started a whole new argument.

You know what, Joel? You’re following his tall figure as it sways down the hallway, his strides longer and considerably smoother than your flurrying shadow in his wake. Maybe if you weren’t going out today, we wouldn’t be having this problem.

His chin tilts upward, salt and pepper scruff angled to the ceiling with a ha slung from his throat. Yeah, he tosses a glance over his shoulder, we’d just be havin’ it tomorrow, instead.

You scoff in response, stepping where his boots lift off from, following the heavy thud thud thud like a cat at his heels until he’s rounding the corner towards your bedroom.

You pass over the messy trail of your jeans and Joel’s pajama bottoms, your underwear and his leading in a trail to the unmade bed – sheets like a rippled wave painted golden by the dawn.

The two of you split off – Joel lifts the cotton and watches it float back down over the flat of your mattress. Nothing.

You take the closet – the squeal of metal on metal harsh in your sleepy ears as you shove the hanging clothes aside, swiping around at the floor. Also, unsurprisingly, nothing.

Deflated, you straighten, stars peppering your vision and a tatty sleepshirt pinched in your fingers. Led Zeppelin – some band Joel was into before everything went to shit. You’ve listened to him out on the porch before, plucking strings in time with the record wobbling on the turntable inside.

The collar torn, sleeves pecked with holes, print lost to the years and the dryer – but each time you drape it over your shoulders, he smiles and hums some song from a world you’ll never know.

It’s sweet, when you’re in the mood to be wooed.

Which, incidentally, is not right fucking now.

His eyes flit down to the peeling, grayscale image – and that same smile attempts to bloom on his lips. That’s cute, but it ain’t my holster, pretty bird.

His smirk dampens quickly when he looks back up, snuffed by your stony expression.

You whip the tee down to the foot of the bed. You are a piece of fuckin’ work sometimes, do you know that? you growl, storming by him for the en suite.

Joel’s rough hand slips around your wrist, tugging gently but letting you drag him through to the bathroom.

Just go, Joel, you groan, the chill of the room prickling goosebumps on your naked legs. Give me some peace and quiet. ‘s not like I’m gonna be seein’ much of you today, anyways.

Is that what this is about? His voice echoes in the morning blue, round in your ears as you hang your head over the sink. Pickin’ a fight ‘cause you’re pissed I’m goin’ out?

I didn’t start the fight, you protest. You’re the one who lost his holster.

Didn’t lose it… he mumbles, lips closing around the sentence when he catches your glare in the mirror. He crosses one ankle over the other, toe of his dusty boot on the cracked tile, and sighs. What do you want me to do, baby? I gotta do my job.

On Valentine’s Day? When I worked extra to get it off, and you can’t even get your brother to swap one shift?

Joel’s expression seems to stiffen, tense with a realization that you know, and now he knows, too – he should’ve had days ago. A weighty breath falls from his nostrils, admitting some kind of defeat, and then he’s wandering carefully over to you, two hands curved over your shoulders.

He lowers his forehead onto the nape of your neck, a slow breath which flutters the loose collar of the flannel you’re wearing and sweeps down your spine. I’m sorry, pretty bird. I didn’t know it meant that much to ya.

It doesn’t, you admit, adding, usually. I just thought we could have a day to ourselves, for once.

He’s nodding, sweep of his fringe tickling the slope of your skin. It’d be a lot more romantic than spendin’ it with Jesse, that’s for sure.

Your bodies fall together with a shared laugh, a bright and charming thing in the dull bathroom light. Joel kisses the soft cushion of your shoulder and hooks his chin over, beard grazing your skin.

I’ll be back before you know it. ‘n then we can do whatever the hell you got planned for us, hm?

He’s steady behind you when you lean back, turning to place a damp kiss to the hinge of his jaw. A reply, a plea – a promise.

In the echoing dripdripdrip from the faucet, Joel pulls apart from you, two fingers pinching the hem of your shirt to pull you back into the bedroom.

You wanna walk me to the gate? he asks, pulling the zipper on his jacket.

What about your holster?

He smiles. I’m sure I’ll survive without it. C’mon. Put some pants on.

February is bitter even by Jackson’s standards – a bite of ice in the air which numbs the tip of your nose and stings the helix of your ears. The chill slips a long, sharp finger down the collar of your – Joel’s jacket, and you wrap the baggy canvas tighter around yourself.

Told you to wear som’ thicker. Joel sighs, grip light around the strap of his shotgun. His elbow nudges into yours, a wide arm wraps around your shoulder and draws you flush against his side. Head on back if you’re cold, he says, rubbing until the friction warms your upper arm.

I’m fine, you lie, eyeing the line of horses up ahead. The eager crunch of their hooves in the frozen ground, the pinkish light on their backs from the sky flooded crimson overhead – a warning from the horizon, you think.

It seems to agitate the animals as much as it does you, their heavy heads tossing nervously, ears flicking and inky eyes blinking.

Jesse meets you by the paddock, slipping Joel the reins of his horse with a curt nod, before hoisting himself atop his own.

It bleats from your lips before you can hold it back. Be careful.

Your frozen fingers claw around the zipper of his coat, tugging it upwards until it brushes against his bottom lip. The weather gets bad, you turn back. Okay?

He’s nodding, paying half his attention to your words, the other half to the little crease between your brows. Sure could use my holster against the cold, baby, he mutters, smirk lifting his cheeks and folding similar creases at the corners of his eyes.

Your eyes narrow, palms landing flat against his strong chest. Home soon?

He hums a little laugh, lips ghosting across your temple as he shifts by. Home soon, he mutters, breath steaming against your cold skin, and he leads the mare off towards the gate.

There’s a lot about Joel you admire.

Each part of him like a pebble stolen on a hike; some more jagged, a little more weathered than others, some well-rounded and smooth to the touch. Each one turned and turned and turned between your fingers until you’re fluent in every pore and vein, then dropped into your pocket alongside the others you’ve collected.

Clacking against one another until you arrive home, coat heavier with the happy burden of how much you love him. The same weight you feel behind your ribcage when you think too much about it.

He takes good care of you – has done since you first happened across one another. As if hanging his hunting jacket over your frail body was a wing over your shoulders; as if, from then on, you would never make a single move again without your grizzly bear of a man making it first.

Quiet about it, sure. Subtle. Opens the crook of his elbow for you to hook your wrist around as you wander through town together, and waits until you’re under the cover of nightfall or behind the close of your front door to do much else.

Asks with little more than a fleeting glance if you’re okay; a squeeze of your knee under the table in the dining hall. A conversation shared between closed lips and the meeting of his honey-flecked gaze, and yours. A language which lives and dies with the pair of you.

He’s guarded – and for all that he’s been through, you figure you can allow him that. Allow him his private peace. For all that he says without saying, all he does without making some big song and dance of it – there hasn’t been a second since you arrived here on the back of his horse, that you haven’t known he loves you.

It’s in him like it’s in you. A fever which broke at the first touch of his hand and yours, the first meeting of his warmth and your chill. Two opposites – cooling the painful sear in his heart, warming the barren frost in yours. Something sewn deep into your flesh, carved right through to the hollow of your bones.

And Jesus, if it doesn’t drive you fucking insane.

The front yard needs tidied up after winter, you notice, as you scuff your way up the path towards the porch. Once the last of the snow dries up, you two can get to repairing the damage done by the blizzards and the gales: fitting new shutters, planting new bulbs.

A cycle you’re still getting used to: the upkeep of a place called home. The strange feeling of having someone you call the same thing.

Your extra shifts at the stables and Joel’s long mornings out on the trails mean your home has gone neglected for a few days. Dishes and cutlery left in the sink, a pile of laundry slowly sprouting to new heights like a wild plant each time you cast a wary glance at it.

It’s not like you’ve much else to do, given Joel won’t be home for at least another couple hours. So you shuck off your jeans, letting the tail of his shirt dangle from your behind, and pick your way around each room – wiping counters and dusting corners, humming along to the crooning old records as they spin in the background.

Playing house at the end of the world. Pretending to listen for the tired exhale of a yellow school bus, mimicking the electrified babble of radio presenters between each track.

The bedroom is arguably the worst offender. Bedsheets used a few days too long, clothes strung across the floor – the relics of a late one at the Tipsy Bison. It’s no wonder you’re so fucking tired.

Echoes of stumbling footsteps and hushed, drunken giggles loop your ears, the groaning bedsprings and blunt thud of the headboard. You pluck the underwear and socks one by one, your body wincing around a satisfied ache still lingering, and shuffle over to the laundry hamper, lifting the lid to –

The dopey smile on your lips dissolves instantly. You gotta be fucking…

The buckle glints in the light, silver blinking up at you from its bed of dirty laundry. The tan strap coiled and neatly slung through its fastener; the pouch empty. Awkward and ashamed, lying there in front of you. Apologetic, almost.

Your eyes roll closed; a short, hot breath seeping past your lips. A silent promise embedding beneath your tongue to take him by the sleeve as soon as he crosses the threshold, force him to lift the lid himself. An I told you so already brewing in the pit of your stomach.

The holster’s actually pretty heavy when you lift it up in the light. Leather a little worn, stitching frayed where it should clip around his belt.

It’s the size and width of him: a thick, toned thigh slotted inside the loop of leather, fixed by fingers long void of feeling when he’s been riding to the outpost, chasing infected, plunging his knife deep into their necks.

Patrol was never your thing. Joel took you out just once – but there are cracks in your past which threaten to split you in two, it seems, the longer you spend outside the settlement walls. Phantoms which follow close behind in the form of snapping twigs, of the wind rustling in the trees overhead. Shadows living in your periphery with curled sneers and spits of filth.

You lasted twenty minutes, that first and only day, before Joel had your horses tied together and your body shelled in his own, taking you straight back home.

But the thought of this around his thigh, the thought of him adjusting it to the waistband of his jeans; his hand floating down to settle gently atop it when he’s listening for danger approaching, two fingers slipping into the trigger guard.

It…stirs something.

You pad over to the bathroom, hopping as you step into the strap. He wears it on his right leg, right? You pull it past your ankle, ball of your foot slamming clumsily back down on the tile.

Adjusting it to fit your thigh, you bunch the hem of his shirt in one fist and stare back at your reflection. Her nervous stance, hips swaying left to right as she peruses the figure opposite.

Who is she, this mirage – naked thigh decorated with her man’s leather, fingernails tracing the messy stitching and imagining the weight of his gun, keen in the pouch?

A strange aura of possession about it, like a part of him locked firm around a part of you, from however many miles away. You swear you can feel the ghost of his warmth on the inside of the strap, wrapped around your sensitive skin.

Yeah.

Stirs something, alright.

Joel’s been gone little over an hour. He’s probably at the outpost by now, logging All clear and pretending to let Jesse take the lead. Wide shoulders swaying as he wanders from room to room, a careful scope of the valley from each window, tongue tracing the bottom of his teeth.

Ridges of his knuckles white around the grip of his shotgun, squinting down the barrel. Lines drawn between his brows and at the corners of his eyes like scores on parchment, focus and concentration tight on his face.

You sink back into the cradle of your bed, that divot where his body and yours meet each night. Each part of you intertwining with a part of him: the place where you become one. His smell and your touch, your giggle and his teeth.

A sudden, powerful thing which hammers through your veins and jumps your body for a few seconds – you pull the first orgasm from between your legs within a matter of minutes. The sight of his shirt disturbed over your stomach, the feeling of blood squeezing past taut leather enough to throw you under by itself, never mind the fast snap of your fingers deep inside your body.

Another – slower, lazier, still vibrating from the first – then almost a third, but the crinkle of sheets at your ears, the pillow-soft landscape beneath your heavy body, begins to sweep you off somewhere.

And in as little time as it took to entice you into the water in the first place, you slip beneath the waves.

The house is quiet when he finally makes it home.

Jesus, Joel thinks, what a shift.

Not one infected the entire run, he can’t quite believe – but Jesse caught his palm on some warped sheet of chain link fence, then almost passed out when he looked down and saw the scarlet seeping from his shredded skin.

The pair sat for half an hour, unsheltered in the unforgiving wind, waiting for the kid’s head to stop spinning and the cold to rob the feeling from his hand.

All Joel wanted was to get home to you. You, and your hips swaying as you stand by the stove, and his hands kneading into the velvet plush of your waist, and the smell of burnt sausages and spatter of angry oil from the pan.

He’s so late. He said he’d be as quick as he could, said you’d barely know he was gone, and he’s so fucking late.

But he’s here now, at least.

He’s home.

As he kicks off his boots, snow sprinkling from the soles onto the doormat, he notices the absence of your arms around his waist. The missing weight at the back of him, no ear flat against his spine and hands interlocked above his belt. No relieved, I missed you, no nuzzle of your head under his arm.

The house is still and dim. The turntable spins in the corner, a dead crackle playing nothing for no one. Joel sniffs, eyeing the room and its new, orderly form: the books slotted neatly on their shelves, the rings of coffee wiped clean from the table.

Lifting the needle from the record, Joel calls out, Baby?

Maybe you’re in town somewhere. Maybe you’ve gone to spend the morning with the horses. But then, you would’ve been watching for his arrival. Would’ve skipped out from the stables and swung around his body, a gleeful smile and an outstretched hand. Take me home, cowboy.

And you wouldn’t have left the lights still burning, the player still turning. Your coat is still on its hook, smaller and brighter and where it belongs on the right of Joel’s. The cushions on the couch are fluffed and smooth, perched contentedly in place; the curtains draped in their tie backs.

You’re home. You’ve been home all morning.

So where the fuck are you?

Joel crosses over to the bottom of the stairs, blinking up at the painted cowboys and horses staring down from the landing. Calls your name, a faint singsong as he slowly ascends the stairs. You up there?

Down the wintery dull hallway to the bedroom door, figuring he knows the answer. And he’s right, isn’t he, when he nudges the door open and peers inside, spots the tiny lump of you in your double bed. Sunk deep into the mattress – covers you’d come in here to change, swallowing you whole.

A crooked, exhausted smile pulls across his lips; his thumb hooks around a belt loop, knee cocking.

You’re so…perfect. So heavenly, so still like this – stretched out on your front, breathing in the scent of his pillow and breathing out little puffs of air.

Joel leans over you, a heavy hand pushing into the mattress above your shoulder, and runs a featherlight knuckle over your cheek.

Pretty bird? he whispers, lighter than the long breaths from your sleep-swollen lips.

You don’t stir. No movement, save for the rise and fall of your shoulders wrapped up in his flannel.

Joel feels a pang of guilt, numbed only by the chill still through his body: he woke you this morning, before even the sun had lifted her head. Had you hunting all over the house with him, for some dumb holster that he wound up not even n–

His eyes trail down the shape of your body, draped in the sheets like white marble carved into the round shape of something beautiful, hands following the curve of your thigh. His wrist freezes when it meets the odd bulge of something, an awkward bump beneath the cotton.

He peels the sheet back, lifting it from your shoulders, your waist, your hips – until your angled thigh lies on full display for his feasting eyes.

His fucking holster…wrapped tight around your fucking thigh.

A disbelieving laugh at first – a She told me so, before he notices the indents in your skin, the stretched leather snug around your leg, riding higher than it should at the doing of your slumber.

Christ, baby, he breathes, stare glued to the folds of plaid hooked around the belt loop. Following the tatty hem down past your hip, along the underside of your ass – riding up some, right where your legs part.

And between them, all sheer and thin, twisted around itself and slipping between: your underwear. The threading of pubic hair peeking over the frilled hem of it; the sight filling Joel’s mouth with saliva.

A heavy heat forms in his jeans, an irritable weight which aches when he moves; which hardens when he pictures the image of you in his bed, his shirt, his holster wrapped around your thigh – playing with yourself while he’s been gone.

Fuck. Fuckin’…shit.

He lowers, running lips he knows are freezing cold along the burning surface of your skin, tongue slipping past his teeth to drag a wet trail along your thigh.

Your leg shifts under his touch, the startle of his chilled fingertips behind your knee, nuzzling of his nose where the holster sits smugly on your thigh. Smelling like leather and salt, the sticky sheen of sweat still glowing on your skin.

Joel takes your waist in two hands – he can’t fucking help himself, can he? – and turns you, patiently, watching as you roll onto your back so he can drag you further down the bed. Tongue flicking at the corners of his lips, thirsty for something he only wants you to feed him.

Slow, slowly. Every effort put into not waking you, to keeping you in this peachy haze between asleep and awake; your movements long and staggered, held firm against the mattress by the weight of your doze.

With a sigh, your jaw turns to one side. Joel pulls you in, kneeling at the edge of the bed with your socked feet resting on his shoulders. His shirt gathers around your waist; your hips and the thin twine of your underwear spotlighted by stripes of weakened sunlight spilling in through the blinds.

Oh, pretty bird, he groans, slipping his open palms under your ass, rough and squeezing the pillows of flesh in his hands. This all for me?

A moan wrapped in a hefty breath twists from your lips. Your knees fall limp; legs open almost eagerly, like your body inviting him in. And he accepts, takes it with eyes blown black and hungry lips parted – leans in and nestles his nose against the thrumming heartbeat pounding through your clit.

Such a good girl, he whispers, closing his lips in a kiss over your clothed mound, and your hips jolt.

You’re so fucking warm. So wet; sticky and so ready for him. He kisses your folds, suckling gently and letting his tongue dart along the inseam of your lips in flicking movements – collecting the taste of salt and feeling his cock throb against rough denim.

Off? he asks – you and the room and himself – fingers hooking around the underwear rolled on your hips.

When your back arches, body feeling the loss of his tender kiss, rolling like a wave seeking to crash against the steady rock form of his – he smirks to himself.

Joel nods. Off.

He takes his time peeling them from your body, watching as more and more of his paradise is revealed. The waves of your folds, the sheer glisten of arousal along them; the dark hair peppering either side as damp and slick as the skin beneath it.

Your panties drop from a hooked finger without a sound and he turns back, hovering over your waiting cunt with wide eyes and a slack jaw. Out front, voices call back and forth to one another – some neighborly greeting and affable conversation – but Joel doesn’t hear. Deafened to anything but the sound of your sighs and his own blood hammering through his ears.

It’s a little rushed, a tad rough, the way he presses his lips back to yours. The way his beard grazes against your most sensitive spot, and the gasp he swears he hears lift from your tongue.

But fuck, he’s missed this, the way he always does – without knowing, without actively thinking about it, without knowing it was even at home waiting for him. If his mind weren’t on an entirely different planet right now, he’d curse that goddamn chain link for holding him up, for keeping him away longer than thirty seconds from the sweet little angel resting in his bed, and the sweet little pussy between her legs.

He parts your thighs wider, tongue dipping lower and deeper as he laps at your core, almost fucking panting against it.

You squirm lazily beneath him, shoulders tensing and untensing, a half-limp wrist lifting to pet his hair and an attempt at his name between your lips. Joel, you whimper, thick with sleep and something more dangerous.

I know, baby, he’s telling you, I know, and his tongue slips inside again. His hips grind into the mattress, cock an agonizing stiff against the sturdy edge. He can feel the wet in his boxers, the precome sticking to the inside of the cotton.

Fuck, he wants to be inside you so badly, so desperately.

Another gasp sputters across your lips, cut short in your throat when his teeth bump against your clit.

Too hungry, too brash, he thinks. You’re too soft, too open for him to let it go to waste. Not like this.

He pulls back, a filthy thread of arousal and saliva between his open lips and yours, and places a sodden kiss to the inside of your thigh.

But you whine, you poor little thing – your head twisting to the other side, a second hand now blindly surfing across his shoulder, past the brush of his beard and sifting through his still-chilly hair. The loss of attention to your pussy aching between your legs; your hips lifting weakly to meet the scratch of his chin again.

And that same sound – that same Jo-oel – a sound like song, like saccharine dripping over his shoulders.

So, he lifts a hand – two middle fingers coming together to push open your cunt, instantly sliding in knuckle-deep. Sucked in by the wet mess left behind by his lips, stretching you out with slow, round movements.

You’re slowly stirring, blossoming from your sleep and turning slowly back into this world. The cold edges seeping in, the warm flush of pleasure sharpening at their meeting. He’d do anything, he thinks, to keep you here; keep you teetering on the edge, tangled up between your world and his.

J– oh, fu-uck, you whine, and he can tell you’re still blinkered by sleep. But you grind on him again – a long, languid movement which seems to spatter out at its end when the coarse hair of his beard catches against your clit.

The breath stops in your throat, punching out in a shuddered moan. Joel could come just from the sound of it.

You gonna give me one, baby girl? he pleads, forearms clamping down on the underside of your thighs. Desperate – desperate to feel you, hear you, taste you as you come undone. Just one.

You’re writhing around beneath him, as needy as he is. A winding which matches his, coiling at the bottom of your stomach; a feeling which pulls at the corners of your lips and shocks them into a smutty, half-conscious smile. Your eyes roll back, fluttering open and then snapping shut when the light floods in.

There, you say, clearest so far, movements the strongest he’s felt. Your fingers root in his hair, rough over his scalp. Keep – keep doin’ that.

Joel smiles against your mound; a cocky thing, emboldened by the sound of that little Texan twang, the curl of an accent which doesn’t belong to you. Rather, a result of your years spent with him, watching the way his mouth shapes the words, learning the low swing and swirling melody of his tongue.

As if he’s as alive within you as he is within himself; every little thing Joel knows is him, injected into your bloodstream – his dry wit, his blunt honesty, his thick fingers and his insatiable tongue.

He slips in a third, flicking them perfectly inside of you. Beckoning your release; tongue sitting in wait, a resting point for you to grind your clit against.

And he wants it as much as you do: wants to feel the clamping of your body around him, wants to taste the flood of your orgasm as it shocks through every bone in your body.

Wants to pull three soaked, pruned fingers from your pussy and slip them over your tongue, letting you clasp your fingers around his wrist; watching the half-dozing flutter of your eyelashes as you suckle on them and make those pretty little sounds for him.

Your hand knots tighter in his hair, pelvis circling steady against his suckling lips. He can smell it on you: smell the need seeping from your pores. The sleep spilling from the corners of your mouth, the happy whimpers and quiet cries for more, more, Joel, more.

And – Shit, he breathes against you, feeling a sudden rush of electricity he knows all too well between his hips. Not now, not now not before he’s been inside – Shit, baby, gotta let me go.

You whine in refusal – a petulant sound, all stubborn and greedy. ‘m so close, I –

Pretty bird, he groans, lifting his jaw. He places a messy kiss to the crease between your core and your thigh, wrist stammering with his sudden movements. You gotta – you gotta let go, you’re gonna make me come –

You’re echoing him, mumbling the words gonna, gonna come – fuck, Joel, ‘m gonna –

Shit.

Not – Fuck – not right n– Christ, baby girl, you’re gonna – you’re –

Your walls spasm, clamping and relaxing, squeezing around his huge fingers. But it’s not that – it’s not the gush of warm fluid which seeps from between your legs, coating his knuckles and dripping into his palm.

It’s not the arch of your back, the way your breasts lift to the ceiling and his shirt slips below one nipple. Not the way your head rolls back against the mattress, a broken moan tearing in shards from your throat.

No.

It’s the way your hands leave his hair in an instant, and grip around the leather on your thigh. Skin stretching thin over your knuckles, thumbs between the strap and your sticky skin; hips still riding out your high as you ground yourself, holding onto his holster.

And it makes Joel come. Hard.

Harder than he knew possible, grinding against a mattress and the inside of his fucking jeans.

He falls forward, breathing a guttural moan into the soft swell of your stomach below your navel, fingers hooking into the baggy shirt around your arms.

Shitshitshit, he pants, feeling the warm ejaculate spurt from his cock and all over the inside of his boxers. Oh, fuck, baby. Fuck me.

His hips shudder a few more times, pressing hard into the edge of the mattress before he’s coming down, slowing to a stop – still a leaden weight on your stomach. His cock almost painful, overstimulated and oversensitive.

But then – something gently tittering. A bird singing, cooing above his head. The ground beneath his temple shakes, tremors with laughter. The dust twinkles in the sunlight, now brighter, golden, streaming through the window.

You’re awake.

Joel drags his gaze upwards, bleary and glazed with sex, and catches your eye.

Feel good? you ask, sifting hair away from his damp forehead. When was the last time that happened? Fourteen?

I don’t wanna talk about it, he mumbles into your belly.

Your chest jumps, a laugh which echoes into Joel’s ear. Tastes that good, huh?

It takes a mighty effort for him to push up on his palms, slowly crawling up the length of your body until his elbows plant firm into the mattress either side of your head. He groans as he lowers his lips, parting them to let you slip your tongue inside.

The kiss is slow, tender. Your bodies melding together, teeth clacking and jaws moving in sync. A sharp taste, sweet with a singe of bitterness to it. Perfect, you think, smirking against Joel’s cool lips.

He pulls away, lips tickling the tip of your nose deliberately.

With a giggle, you push on his chest. You should shower. You smell like patrol.

Joel cocks an eyebrow. You comin’ in with me?

Nope. I got even more laundry to do now, old man.

He entertains the quip with a subtle smile, a thing which softens the creases on his face and lights a twinkle in his eyes. Quietly, genuinely, in a way which makes your heart ache a little, he whispers, Sorry I was workin’, pretty bird.

You shrug. ‘s okay. You made up for it. And – I found your holster. You lift your knee, letting the buckle shine in the sunlight.

You did that, Joel agrees, nodding and glancing down at the thing. He hooks a finger around the strap, giving it a little shake. Maybe I oughta lose it more often.

Hm, you shrug, or I can just keep it safe for ya. Looks good, don’t it?

He feigns a disappointed smile, a resigned sigh before he looks back up.

Better ‘n when I wear it, he admits, and his lips crash down to yours again.

#same universe as 'wish you were here' - if you want #joel miller #jackson!joel #joel miller fic #the last of us #tlou fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #tw somnophilia #tw dubcon

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ellieswrldd · 7 months ago

Text

about you

pairing: spiderman!ellie williams x female reader

summary: ellie is living a double life, one of a college student and one of a crime fighting hero. she wants you more than anything but is scared to put you in danger.

content warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI, oral sex (r!receiving), scissoring, use of alcohol and weed, ellie is kind of a nerdy loser, a little rushed! not proofread

a/n: writing this taught me that i should never try to estimate when i’ll finish something because “posting this week” quickly turned into “posting sometime this month”….sorry lmao. also this is inspired by the 1975 song!!

8:30 am

Good morning New Yorkers!

This was Ellie’s favorite part of the day. A bagel in one hand, the newest edition of Savage Starlight in her other, and her phone playing the morning newscast.

Today is April 12th and it looks like another beautiful day…

Moments like these were the only times she felt at ease. Her university classes kept her busy and when she wasn’t studying or in class, she was off protecting the city.

So, sitting on the rooftop of a building where nobody could bother her was Ellie’s idea of peace.

It was easy to lose track of time while in her spot and Ellie always tried to keep an eye on the time, but it seemed to end the same way almost every day.

We’re starting to see some traffic down by—

The reporter was cut off by Ellie’s loud ringtone. She glanced at the caller ID and sighed softly when she saw it was her best friend Jesse calling.

“Hey man, I’m kinda busy right now—” She said as she took a bite of her bagel.

“Dude where the hell are you? Class started fifteen minutes ago and we have that big lab today!” Jesse whispered-shouted into his phone.

“What are you talking about? I don’t have class on Thursday mornings,” She said.

“Ellie, it’s Friday, we have class today,” Jesse said sharply, clearly irritated by Ellie’s lack of organization. She couldn’t blame him– he always needed her help during labs, and without her, it was likely he’d get a failing grade.

“Oh shit!” Ellie groaned and began tossing her things back into her backpack. “I’m on my way right now, I swear.” She stated with her phone pressed against her ear by her shoulder. Stuffing her face with the last of her bagel, Ellie slid her backpack around her shoulders and stood up.

The streets were beginning to bustle with activity and the sky was bright, New York was awake and ready for the day. Ellie pulled her mask over her face and jumped off the roof, flying towards her class with the flick of her wrist.

—

10 pm

Going out was the last thing on your mind. You were still coping after a messy breakup, and partying didn’t sound like fun. The only reason you found yourself standing in front of a bustling frat house was because Dina had dragged you here. She had made a variety of arguments as to why you needed to come, mostly consisting of “You’ve been too sad, let’s get you laid!” or “I need you to be my wing-woman, Jesse will be there!”. Despite her nagging and desperation, you somehow ended up following her right to the party.

“Dee I don’t feel great, maybe I should just go back home,” You mumbled and tugged at the skirt you wore. It was Dina’s and it was far too short for your liking. In the past, you loved partying and going out with friends, but at the moment all you wanted to do was curl up in your bed.

“Just stay for a little bit, I promise you’ll have fun. It isn’t good for you to rot in bed every day anyways,” Dina linked her arm with yours and gave a soft smile. You sighed and nodded, she had a point.

You stood in the frat, holding a red solo cup close to you. Dina shifted nervously beside you.

“What if he changed his mind? Maybe he doesn’t want to see me,” She crossed her arms.

“Dina, he’ll show up, don’t worry.” You reassured her. “Have another drink, you need to chill out,” She shrugged and poured herself a drink.

“Hey, Dina!” A man greeted your friend loudly, a bright smile on his face. Dina grinned and gave him a quick hug.

“Jesse! I’m so glad you made it, I was starting to think you weren’t going to show,”

“Sorry, Ellie was taking forever to get ready, slowed us down,” He laughed and shifted his gaze to you. “I’m Jesse, you must be y/n,”

“Yeah, Dina’s told me a lot about you,” You glanced past him and looked at the girl standing awkwardly behind him. She was staring down at her phone, her lips pursed, clearly not excited to be there.

“Oh, this is Ellie,” He turned and nudged Ellie with his elbow.

“Hi,” She offered an awkward smile and stood a little straighter. “Sorry, I don’t come to these things very often,” Ellie looked around at the frat, drunk partygoers dancing and screaming, the floor covered in red solo cups and sticky liquids, it wasn’t really her scene.

“That’s alright, it’s nice to meet you,” You shook her hand. “I’m going to go out and get some air,” You shouted into Dina’s ear and she nodded. Waving to Jesse and Ellie, you pushed past the crowds and made your way outside.

The cool air against your skin was a relieving change. You leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. It was nice that Dina was looking out for you, but it was honestly overwhelming.

“Mind if I join you?” You turned to look at Ellie, who stood a few feet away with her hands in her pockets. You simply nodded and tipped your head to the spot next to you. Without all of the flashing lights, you could get a good look at the other girl. A red flannel hung loosely around her frame, her short hair was in a messy half-up half-down style, and her face was covered in light freckles.

Ellie’s eyes lingered on you for a moment before she spoke again. “You look stressed,”

“I guess that’s one word for it,” You chuckled. She dug her hand into her back pocket and pulled out a neatly rolled joint.

“Jesse gave me this, do you want some?” Your eyes lit up a bit at the sight of the joint and you looked back at her.

“How could I say no to such an offer?” Taking the joint, you held it between your glossy lips. “You got a lighter?”

Ellie’s eyes widened slightly as she realized she had been staring at your lips. “Ah— yeah, here,” She took the lighter from her pocket and fumbled with it a few times before she got a steady flame. You leaned in and watched as the end began to burn.

“You don’t smoke much, do you?” You giggled softly as your eyes drifted toward her. She watched you intently and shook her head.

“No, not really,” You breathed out the smoke and offered her the joint.

“Do you want to try?” Your voice was soft and sweet, Ellie couldn’t help but take the joint from your fingers. “Just breathe in slowly and then exhale,” She followed your instructions, still watching you as she took a drag. Coughing, Ellie passed it back.

The two of you passed the joint back and forth in silence, staring up at the night sky until you were able to drown out the loud noise of the party.

“Jesse and Dina are definitely hooking up right now,” You blurted and started laughing.

“Oh my god they totally are,” She shook with laughter. As your shoulders touched Ellie’s and you laughed until your cheeks grew tired, you realized that you were actually having fun. You hadn’t thought about your ex in hours.

Eventually, Ellie offered to walk you back to your dorm, and you accepted gladly.

The walk back was full of mindless giggles and seemingly innocent brushes against one another’s arms. Ellie leaned against the frame of your door as you fumbled with the key.

“Do you want to come inside?” You muttered with a smile once you managed to get the door open. Ellie’s heart pounded at the offer and she could feel heat rush to her cheeks, but she found herself shaking her head no.

“I—I’m sorry, I can’t,” She bit her lip and looked down at her sneakers. “I’ve gotta be up early tomorrow for work, but I’ll see you around, yeah?” You tried not to look disappointed but Ellie could see it on your face almost immediately.

“That’s fine, see ya,” You sighed and closed the door with a small smile.

Ellie could feel her heart sinking, and she almost regretted her words. Almost. She knew better than to get involved with someone while in her position, she could put you in a lot of danger, and it was too risky.

The next few days were rough. Ellie seemed to be actively avoiding you for some unknown reason and it felt like Dina and Jesse were too wrapped up in one another to even notice you. Every time Jesse came over to see Dina, he used the same excuse to cover for Ellie’s absence. “She’s busy studying, couldn’t make it today.”

“Hey, have you seen Ellie lately?” You asked Dina as the two of you walked to class.

“Huh? Oh, no, I haven’t, why?” Dina glanced at her phone before looking back at you.

“Well, I thought we kinda hit it off at the party, but I haven’t seen her since.” You sighed and trained your eyes on your shoes. “I invited her to come inside our dorm, but she said she had work and bolted,”

Dina looked confused. “That’s weird, she doesn’t work in the mornings,” She shrugged. “I can invite her to come with us to that bar tonight, how about that?” Dina bumped her arm against yours.

“Sure, that’s great,” You smiled, relieved to see your best friend was still looking out for you. Her words stuck with you, why would Ellie lie to you? Maybe she was avoiding you.

That night, Dina got ready with you in your shared dorm.

“Did she say she was coming?” You asked nervously as you stared at yourself in the mirror.

“She just liked the message,” Dina snorted and rolled her eyes. “What an ass.”

You sighed. “She’s definitely avoiding me,”

“I’ll have Jesse drag her ass down to the bar if she doesn’t show, don’t worry babe.” Dina pat your shoulder. “Are you ready to go? I think some of the other girls are there already.”

“Oh, yeah.” You took one more glance at yourself. You wore a sparkly fitted dress, one that had been growing dusty in your dresser. It was pretty, but a little loud for your taste. “Let’s go before I change my mind,” Dina laughed and nodded.

The bar was busy already, filled with college students and their fake IDs, overpriced drinks in their hands. Dina ordered the two of you some drinks and you stood beside her at the bar.

You couldn’t help but watch the door as Dina told some exaggerated story. You hated this, the feeling of self-doubt and disappointment that coursed through your body every time a girl let you down. It had only been a few weeks since your last girlfriend dumped you, and yet here you were repeating the same vicious cycle with another girl.

Just as you were about to make an excuse to leave, the door to the bar opened and Ellie strolled in. She was by herself, fidgeting with her hands nervously as she looked around the room.

You turned back to Dina before you could meet Ellie’s gaze. You had decided that if Ellie wanted to speak, she would have to come to you first.

“Hey,” Ellie tapped your shoulder and stood beside you at the bar.

“Hi Ellie,” You gave her a tight-lipped smile and took a sip of your drink. Ellie glanced at her shoes for a moment before speaking again.

“Can we talk?” She asked quietly. Was she nervous?

“Sure, yeah, outside?” Ellie nodded and followed you out.

“Okay, you wanted to talk so let’s talk.” You crossed your arms and faced her once you stood outside.

Ellie took a deep breath and stuffed her hands in her pockets. “I know this is kind of forward, but I like you, and I want to get to know you better, but—”

“But?”

“I’m just,” She sighed, seemingly frustrated. “I can’t, I can’t be around you,”

“What is that supposed to mean?” You scoffed.

Ellie pinched the bridge of her nose as she struggled to think of a reply.

“It’s not a good idea,” She mumbled.

“You’re still not making any sense,”

Ellie hesitated. “Can I show you something?”

“Sure,”

“You seriously can’t tell anyone about this,” Ellie glanced around. “Like anyone, not a single soul,”

“Jesus, I get it, Ellie, I’ll keep whatever secret you’re sharing.”

Ellie nodded and took one more look to make sure nobody was nearby.

“I’m, um, kind of like a superhero of sorts, like I fight criminals and protect people sometimes,” Ellie’s cheeks seemed to burn red as she spoke. “I just— I don’t want you to be put in danger because of it,”

You stared at her for a moment before you laughed. “Is this some kind of joke? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard! You’re a superhero? Forget it, I’m going home, Ellie,” You turned away and began to walk toward the bar.

Ellie reached out and grabbed your arm. “No, I swear I’m not lying, I can prove it!” She said frantically.

“You can prove it?”

“I can,” She nodded.

“Okay, prove it.” Ellie nodded and offered her hand to you.

“Let’s go to my dorm, I can show you there,”

“Are you trying to get me to sleep with you?” Ellie rolled her eyes.

“Not at the moment, no. Would you just come with me?”

“Alright then, let’s go,”

The walk to Ellie’s dorm wasn’t long, but the tension between you and her made it feel insufferable.

“Here we are,” She nodded toward the building and unlocked the front door. Ellie led you up a few flights of stairs before finally arriving at her room.

Ellie’s dorm room was covered in colorful posters and pictures. A small telescope was leaned against the wall by her window, comic books were stacked high on her nightstand, and some science textbooks were left open on her desk alongside scattered papers and assignments.

“This is cute,” You muttered as you ran a hand along her navy blue bed sheets and looked around the room.

“Oh, thanks. You can just make yourself at home,” She smiled and went to open her closet.

You sat on her bed and watched her rifle through her clothes. “How do you plan on proving this?” You asked, slightly amused by this whole situation.

“Just wait and see, I don’t think you’ll find it funny in a minute.” She said, glancing over her shoulder to look at you. Ellie finally pulled out a hanger covered by a black zip-up cover.

She held the hanger up and unzipped the cover, letting it fall to the floor. Underneath the cover was a bright red and blue suit.

“What is that? Some sort of cosplay outfit?” You snorted.

Ellie narrowed her eyes at you. Without a response, Ellie slipped off her flannel and started tugging her shirt off.

“What are you doing?” You gasped and covered your eyes.

“I’m just changing, don’t cream your pants.” She said sarcastically. Ellie stepped into the suit and pulled it on.

The suit itself seemed good quality, it was a shiny, bright red with black and blue highlights, and it fit her like a second skin. With a closer look, you could see the little details of the suit were designed to resemble a spider web of sorts.

“This is what I wanted to show you,” She said and held out her hands. On each wrist was a complicated gadget that wrapped around her wrist and lay in the palm of her hand.

You reached out to touch the device but Ellie pulled her hands away.

“Don’t touch them, you’ll regret it.” She said with a small smile.

“What do they do?”

“I’ll show you,” She walked across the room to her window and pulled it open. “C’mere,”

You went and stood by her side, an anxious feeling bubbling in your stomach. Ellie reached behind her head and pulled the mask of the suit over her face.

“Do you trust me?” She asked, her arm snaking around your waist.

“Do I have a choice?” Ellie laughed and pulled you closer to her side.

“Hold onto me, and uh— don’t look down,” Before you had time to ask her what that meant, Ellie flicked her wrist and sent the two of you swinging out of her window.

As you flew through the air, all you could hear was the wind blowing past you and the sound of your screams. It was then that you started to believe that Ellie could be telling the truth.

“Ellie Williams put me down right now!” You screamed as you watched the buildings fly past you in a blur.

“Calm down, we’re almost to my spot.”

Ellie slowed down and stopped on a rooftop. She pulled her mask off. “This is my favorite spot in the city.” Ellie helped you find your feet and kept a hand on your lower back. From the rooftop, you could see the glittering lights of the city life and the usual noise seemed to be quieter.

“That’s great and all but I think I might vomit,” You let out a shaky breath and sat down. “You wanna explain what the fuck you just pulled?” You looked up at her.

Ellie grinned and sat next to you. “The nausea will pass, just take deep breaths. As for that,” Ellie showed you the gadget on her wrist. “They’re web shooters, I made them myself. They shoot something similar to spider webs, but much stronger.”

“So what, you’re like a spider-girl or something?”

“Well, when you say it like that you make it sound childish.” Ellie chuckled.

“Okay Spider-Woman, why is this stopping you from taking me out?”

“I’m scared,” She sighed. “I already put myself in so much danger by doing this, do you know how much worse it would be if I had to worry about keeping you safe as well? I can’t guarantee that you’ll be protected from everything I deal with, and I can’t even imagine what it would be like for you if I ended up hurt or worse.”

You stared at her for a moment and reached out to rest your hand on top of hers.

“You’re forgetting that I’m my own person, Ellie, I can make those decisions for myself. You don’t have to protect me, I can do that on my own.”

Ellie, careful not to touch the web-shooter on her palm, squeezed your hand gently. “I want you and I want this so bad, you have no idea,”

“Show me,” You murmured as you turned to face her. Ellie let out a shaky breath and leaned in.

Your lips tasted exactly how Ellie had imagined they would. They were sweet, presumably from the lipgloss you always used, or maybe you just always tasted like cherries, Ellie couldn’t tell, all she knew was that she wanted more.

“Let’s go back to my dorm,” She murmured as her lips chased yours.

“Okay,” You agreed, every thought in your head was focused on Ellie, and suddenly the only thing you cared about was getting that comic-book-looking costume off of her body.

The quick trip back to her dorm wasn’t as scary as the first, though you weren’t sure if you could ever get used to the way your stomach dropped every time she swung.

The moment your feet were on the floor of her dorm, Ellie had you pushed up against the door, her lips traveling down your bare neck. Your hands ran down Ellie’s back in search of a zipper or button to take off the suit, but you grumbled in frustration when you failed to find one.

“How do you take this fuckin’ thing off?” You muttered while Ellie ran her fingers along the hem of your dress. She laughed softly against your skin.

“The zipper is right here,” She whispered into your ear, taking your hand and guiding it to the side of her torso. Hidden beneath her arm and within the detailing of the suit was a tiny zipper.

Your lips met hers again, and while you slowly dragged the zipper down, you let your other hand slide around her waist.

And just before you were able to completely unzip the suit, a loud banging on Ellie’s door startled you both.

“Yo, Ellie, you in there?” It was Jesse, and he sounded very drunk. Your eyes widened as you looked at Ellie, waiting for her to say something.

Ellie held a finger up to her lips and signaled for you to keep quiet. She was sure that if Jesse assumed she wasn’t home, he’d find someone else to bother.

Jesse banged on the door a few times and groaned loudly when he realized Ellie wasn’t answering. You sighed softly once you heard him shuffle away.

“Where were we?” Ellie smiled and pulled you close to her. Finally, you were able to pull down that zipper and the suit came loose enough for Ellie to pull off.

Ellie slid her fingers under the straps of your dress and let them fall down your shoulders. “Can I take this off?” She asked.

You simply nodded.

As if trying to tease, Ellie slid one strap down at a time, then moved onto the zipper, which she pulled down as slowly as she possibly could.

After what felt like years of waiting, your dress fell to the floor, pooling at your feet.

The feeling of Ellie’s skin against your own was everything you needed. She was warm and gentle, even her calloused fingers felt like butter on your skin.

Hungry for more of her, you reached out and ran your fingers along the waistband of her black boyshorts. Everything about her drove you insane, the sight of her in the simple black sports bra and boyshorts that she wore was enough to make you go practically feral.

Ellie followed your lead and copied your moves, tracing the waistband of your panties, then going further and dipping her fingers inside. Ellie could’ve sworn that the gasp you let out when she brushed against your clit was enough to make her cum, god she was already completely soaked just by standing there with you.

“You’re so wet,” She breathed and her fingers slid against your pussy again.

“Fuck,” You whined.

Ellie pulled her fingers from your underwear and licked them clean.

“I gotta have more of you,” Ellie said desperately.

“Then stop talking and do it,” You bit your lip. Your words were the last bit of confirmation she needed. Ellie grabbed your thighs and picked you up with ease.

Just as quickly as you had said those words, Ellie had swept you off your feet and sat you right on her bed. Your legs spread and her head in between them.

She didn’t waste time taking off your panties, she couldn’t stop herself after she had that first taste. Ellie’s lips brushed against your cunt almost hesitantly but soon enough she was diving into you like she was starving. Your hips bucked up against her tongue as you searched desperately for release. Ellie’s hand snaked up around your thighs and held you down, causing you to whine out loudly.

“God, you taste so good…” She groaned against your cunt.

“I’m getting close,” You gasped as you felt Ellie swirl her tongue around your clit.

“We just started, baby,” Ellie chuckled and ran her tongue up along your slit. “Think you can wait a few more minutes? You just look so pretty like this…” She squeezed your thigh and looked up at you with a playful smirk.

You stared at her, stunned by how she could be so dirty when she was the same girl who had been nervous to talk to you at the bar. How could she look so sexy when her chin and nose were both glistening with your slick and her hair was messy from you pulling on it? Was this the same girl who had choked after taking a drag from a joint?

“Please…” You moaned loudly and let your head fall back against the mattress. Ellie pulled away and kissed the inside of your thigh.

“Fine, but only because you asked so nicely,” She smiled and stood up, pulling her underwear down and straddling your hips. “I wanna cum with you…” She mumbled as she leaned down and kissed you gently.

A sharp gasp escaped your lips once you felt Ellie position her cunt against yours. Ellie let out a whiny moan and slowly rolled her hips forward, drawing out a loud sigh from you. Your bodies moved together slowly as if you were performing some heavenly dance.

Her wet folds grinding against yours seemed to stop every thought in your head. You couldn’t recall the last person who had made you feel nearly this good– hell, you could barely form a coherent sentence. You reached out and grabbed Ellie’s hands, intertwining your fingers and squeezing her hands gently.

“God, Ellie I can’t–” You stuttered and squeezed your eyes shut.

“I know, me too…me too,” She groaned and tossed her head back. It wasn’t hard to tell by the way her thighs were beginning to shake or the loud profanities leaving her mouth that Ellie was just as close to orgasm as you were.

It only took a few more moments before you came completely undone. A hot, sudden pleasure overcame you just as Ellie climaxed. As soon as the pleasure lulled, Ellie climbed off you and settled down next to you on the bed.

“I didn’t want it to be like this,” Ellie whispered and turned to look at you.

“What?” You giggled.

“This,” She said and slid her arm around your waist. “I would’ve been more…romantic. Take you out to dinner, maybe show you all my favorite rooftops, I would’ve made this special.”

You cupped her cheek and ran your thumb along her cheekbone. “I think tonight was pretty special. It was the best night I’ve ever had.”

Ellie’s cheeks flushed slightly and a stupid smile tugged at her lips. “Don’t say that, it’ll inflate my ego.”

“Alright then,”

“Hey, promise me you won’t tell anyone about my–”

“Your secret identity? Trust me, I’ll take your secret to the grave.”

“Thank you.” Ellie took your hand and placed a gentle kiss on the back. “I just want to keep you safe,”

“I know,” You sighed.

On her nightstand, Ellie’s phone buzzed. You passed her the phone without hesitation.

‘Active robbery occurring at…’ The headline flashed across her home screen.

You watched as Ellie sat up and started grabbing her clothes off the floor. It had barely been ten minutes since the two of you had finished and she was already getting ready to run off and stop crime.

“I’m so sorry, I just–”

“You have to go,” You smiled and watched her slip into the suit.

“Sorry,” She murmured, leaning down to kiss you before pulling the mask over her face.

“Good luck and be safe,” You waved as she leaped out of the window and swung into the darkness of the night.

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longingforrotkehlchen · 23 days ago

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My 2024 Top 10 Favourites.

On Melancholy Hill Tumblr's and my absolute favourite. There isn't much to say. I just remember turning around while counting geese, and there it was - an idyllic scene. A crow extraordinarily relaxed, loafing on a nice spring afternoon. I came a bit closer thinking I *really* hope it stays. Then I crouched fearing the same, but the crow, watched me attentively and stayed. I was blessed - the luck of photographing birds more used to people. The slope gave me the perfect height for the shot, and the crow just chilled there, looking like something was occupying its mind. I got what I wanted and left. The crow stayed there, but it also stayed with me forever.

Sweet mommy's love It was Graugansito season and fortunately I was right in time to see the very little ones. This scene was beautiful, and obviously the geese just chill by the lake and all you need is a perfect moment to capture. This one stood out for me. And I can neither confirm nor deny whether there were more goslings hidden under mommy's wing.

Europe's angriest bird This picture was taking by cheating. So call me a cheat. It is nice, but I cheated. And even worse, I made a little guy angry. Yes, I did play playback (even though I believe that's wrong) in this one because I had seen a pair of goldcrests here the previous week and I was very curious to see if they were genuinely staying and breeding in this place. The male came and sang immediately –that's how I got him nicely close to me–, but the best thing about this encounter wasn't the pictures - it was realizing that the bird seemed to know there wasn't another bird. That I was the source of the goldcrest song. That I was his enemy. I haven't managed to make a bird love me, but that day, I managed to make one hate me.

The light of duckling This pond lends itself to high contrasts and you can play a little with that. I didn't have much time, and the ducklings were all over the place, but I got lucky (otherwise, this post wouldn't exist). As I was leaving I took one last shot with the settings I had for a different spot - and it turned out well. Some of my favourite photos are those that transmit emotions when you look at them. I think this is also one of them.

Spring has arrived It's easy to forget you don't have to be very close to the bird to get a nice photo. In any case, here I was taking a photo out of excitement at seeing Hausrotschwanzkehlchen back, before getting closer to the bird. I never intended it to be anything more than a 'proof' shot, but sometimes those turn out way better than expected.

Is this fluff real? It was peak migration, sunny late afternoon, Schwanzmeise flock and there I was, trying to capture this so-called product of my imagination. It was difficult to get the right angle as the sun was behind them and I had to avoid the backlight, but the good thing about them is that they don't seem to care much about your presence. I got this one really really nicely, and right after they left, I saw my first black storks in the sky. Last September was good.

One more shot As I focus on birding and photography comes second, sometimes I might just leave with zero nice photos to post. That day was no different, but that day I was also thinking: "I'm running out of current photos to post." So I gave it an extra shot, overstayed, and tried to find a subject. A big Blaumeise bunch showed up, many of them, busy foraging, and (I think it was always the same) one came so close that allowed me to take some cute photos.

The pose There's little challenge in taking photos of the coots in this pond. If that wasn't enough, the light was nice that day and someone had thrown a pallet in it. The coot was standing on it and I thought the opportunity was too nice to ignore. Then it even started stretching, giving me the chance to capture this nice pose. The poop is just extra.

The babiest Wacholderdrossel As I was leaving the S-Bahn station, coming up the stairs, I saw this baby perched on a handrail. I could barely believe it, so I emerged, went there, and took my camera out. The baby was going nowhere despite people walking right in front of it. I took some photos, in awe, and I don't know what everybody else contemplating us thought, but I thought that I was so damn lucky to have such a cute photo without even having started.

Just a moment If you're learning photography, nobody is going to tell you "just shoot at whatever you see," but that seems to work sometimes. It's not my intention, mind, because here I saw a little bird perching above my head and I really needed this shot to indeed confirm I was seeing Fitis and not Zilpzalp. But look at that little face, that smoothness... I guess when you take thousands of shots while going places, a few might also be nice. It's never easy to decide, but here's my selection with some background/behind the scenes. As usual there isn't much to it. Mostly just press the button. Let's hope 2025 brings us more bird joy to all of us!

#year recap #birds #birding #bird photography #photographers on tumblr #my photography

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khaylin27 · 8 months ago

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So Long, London

pairing: carlos sainz x norris reader; lando norris x sister reader; a teaser of oscar piastri x reader hehe

series: the tortured poets department

synopsis: when carlos joined mclaren, it was easy for y/n norris to fall in love with him. throughout 2020 to 2023 y/n norris could see that carlos was drifting away from her. this could be due to carlos' suggested depression after leaving mclaren to go to ferrari, him being unready for marriage, and his infidelity towards in their relationship.

warnings: infidelity; depression; mentions of sex; one sided relationship; also let’s pretend charles was with alexandra in 2021 to now

author's note: this is literally my favorite song from the album. it describes a time in my life where i put so much into a relationship but they kept drifting away. hope you guys like it 🥹

2020

I saw in my mind fairy lights through the mist I kept calm and carried the weight of the rift Pulled him in tighter each time he was drifting away

It was so easy to love and be in a relationship with your brother's team mate, Carlos Sainz. But once the pandemic hit, you saw the spark of your relationship fade slowly.

"No quiero estar en McLaren más hermosa." I don't want to be in McLaren anymore beautiful. Carlos tells you as he shows you the contract Ferrari sent him for 2021 to 2023.

During the pandemic, you and Carlos were sharing an apartment together in London. He would teach you Spanish so that he can speak to you in his native language. "I thought you loved being in McLaren babe? What would my brother say if you leave?"

"There's no 'if' hermosa. I don't care what your brother says because he was on board with Zack on putting Daniel in my seat for next year." Carlos says angry because you brought up your brother. They've had a great relationship throughout the 2019 to 2020 seasons, but once Lando sided with Zach on putting Daniel in Carlos' seat their friendship tore apart. "My decision is final. I'm going to Ferrari whether anyone likes it or not."

You kept calm and walked to where Carlos was to give him a tight hug. "If it makes you happy babe, I'm with you on this one." He didn't hug you back the same way you hugged him.

You didn't know it at the time but this was the first sign that Carlos was drifting away.

2021

My spine split from carrying us up the hill Wet through my clothes, weary bones caught the chill I stopped trying to make him laugh Stopped trying to drill the safe

Once the 2021 F1 season started and covid regulations lifted, you thought your relationship would get better since Carlos joined Ferrari but it didn't. Ferrari kept him busy with back to back events that you weren't invited to because of your connection with McLaren.

When Carlos would come home from these events, drunk and not mentally there. You knew he would drink himself away due to the depression he was going through after leaving McLaren. You would try to keep the relationship alive by having sex with him. Even though it did keep your sexual relationship somewhat alive, it felt like your spine was going to split from carrying your relationship alive.

Ferrari did invite you to an event after you complained to Alexandra (let's pretend Charles was with her during this time) one time during a Grand Prix weekend. It was a different atmosphere than what you were used to at McLaren. You felt wet through your clothes and chill through your weary bones during the event.

You and Carlos were sitting in a booth with Charles and Alexandra. You smiled at Charles and Alexandra's interactions together. She would always make Charles laugh and it made you miss when you used to do that with Carlos. Making Carlos laugh made it feel safe in your relationship with him, but not anymore.

I didn't opt in to be your odd man out I founded the club she's heard great things about I left all I knew, you left me at the house by the Heath

The event that Ferrari was hosting was in a club in Monaco. Carlos left your booth to get a 'drink' while you were talking with Alexandra and Charles.

"So Y/N how do you like the event?" Charles yells through the loud music.

"It's okay I guess. It's different than McLaren events." You say uncomfortable. McLaren was like home to you, they were family. You left all that to be with Carlos and follow his dreams. Yet you both aren’t happy with leaving McLaren.

Alexandra can tell that you were uncomfortable with the question. "Why don't we go to the bar Y/N?" You nod at her question as she takes your hand to walk together to the bar.

Once you arrive at the bar, Alexandra orders drinks for both of you but you hear something that was interesting. "Girl, I just had the best sex with that one Ferrari driver."

It was two girls that got invited to do press for this event. The other girl asks "Oh my god. Which one?"

"The Spanish one! Let me tell you, he's very good with his hands." You start tearing up as she continues to explain what your boyfriend did to her. It was things that he never did to you. "He told me that he hasn't had sex like that in months."

Alexandra looks at you with the drinks in her hands. She notices the tears going down your face and ruining your makeup. "Y/N are you okay?"

"No, I'm not." You say politely as you wipe your tears. "Is it possible for you to call an uber for me? I want to go home."

Alexandra nods and goes on her phone to reserve you an uber. While she was doing that you were breaking down crying on the bar counter.

I stopped CPR, after all it's no use The spirit was gone, we would never come to And I'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free

Hours after you got home from the event by yourself, Carlos comes home late. Usually you would have sex as soon as he got home to keep your relationship alive, but it's no use. Why would you put so much into him if the spirit he had for you was gone?

"Hermosa, beautiful can we have sex?" He asks drunkenly while your body was turned away from him. "Por favor." please

"No Carlos." You say as you try to go back to sleep.

"Why not hermosa? beautiful You looked so pretty in that dress you wore?" He peppers your arm and back with kisses trying to get you in the mood for sex.

"Carlos stop. I'm pissed off at you right now." You sit up and look at him. You can tell he was drunk because he didn't care that you were crying. "I'm pissed off that I spent so much of my youth on you. We left the only place that we were happy at thinking it was better for you but it wasn’t. Only for you to hookup with a whore at an event while I was there. What happens when I’m not there? Is that why Ferrari doesn’t invite me to anything??"

"I'm sorry hermosa. beautiful It’s just been emotionally draining after the past couple of months." He hugs you.

"I know it's been but you're not helping if you keep doing this." As you wipe your tears you then add. "I thought this move would be better for both of us. Remember how we dreamed of getting married and starting a family?"

"That's not my dream Y/N, that's your dream. My dream is to be World Champion and I won't let any distractions get in my way." It was like a slap in the face when Carlos told you this. All your life you've always wanted a husband and to start a family. You thought it would be with Carlos but it would be a 'distraction in getting World Champion.'

"Goodnight hermosa beautiful Te amo I love you" he says as he hugs you and falls asleep.

And you say I abandoned the ship But I was going down with it My white knuckle dying grip Holding tight to your quiet resentment

Ever since the night of the Ferrari event, you haven’t been to any Ferrari events or even to the Ferrari garages. Instead you’ve been hanging out with your brother in the McLaren garage.

It was 2021 of the Russian Grand Prix, Lando had spun and grazed the wall on one of his laps that caused him to not win the Russian Grand Prix.

Once Lando gets back into the garage and gets out of his car, you can see the tears in his eyes. “It’s okay little bro.” He pulls you into a tight. You knew that this was race was emotionally draining on him.

“If I just pitted and changed my tires I would’ve won.” He continues to cry.

“There’s nothing you could’ve done Lan. I just thank god you’re okay and nothing happened to you.” You hug him tighter.

“Thank you for being here Y/N.” He says as he pulls away from hugging you. As you both wipe your tears, he looks at the screen and sees Carlos on the podium. “You should go and be with Carlos. At least get to celebrate with him.”

“It’s okay. I’ll wait until he’s done to celebrate with him.” You give him a fake smile in hopes that he doesn’t see that you’re faking it.

Little did you know, you weren’t going to be celebrating with Carlos tonight.

“Why the hell weren’t you with me celebrating my win?” Carlos yells at you while you’re sitting on the couch just staring at him.

“Didn’t think you needed me since that whore was wrapped around you.” You saw the photos that F1 gossip accounts were posting on Twitter.

Carlos looks at you with frustration. “I’m sorry hermosa beautiful but I needed to let off the excitement .” You role your eyes at his response.

“‘Let off the excitement’ you have a girlfriend at home waiting for you.” You explain to him.

“Well you should’ve been around me instead of that girl.” He says putting the blame back on you.

“I was taking care of my brother. Your best friend that could’ve won today but didn’t. At least try to comfort your best friend instead of having whores going around you.”

“I swear ever since that night, you’ve just abandoned me and everything we’ve built.”

You laugh at what Carlos says, “you’re saying I’ve abandoned you and everything we’ve built. Oh honey, I’m just going down with it.”

Your knuckles are turning white as you’re clenching the pillow so you don’t cry in front of this man. “I’m leaving to London to be with Lando. Fix whatever is going on with you to fix this relationship.” You knew deep down that Carlos resented you for what you said that night.

My friends said it isn't right to be scared Every day of a love affair Every breath feels like rarest air When you're not sure if he wants to be there

Once your plane landed in London, Lando was waiting for you at the arrival terminal. After you got your bags and got in his car you explained to him what’s been going on with Carlos for the past two years after he left McLaren.

“That’s not healthy Y/N and you’ve been going through this for two years now?” Lando asks you and you just nod in silence.

“It feels like every day is a love affair. Every breath I took around him feels like rarest air.” You try so hard not to cry in front of your little brother right now but the tears keep pouring. “I’m not even sure if he wants to be in this relationship. It broke my heart when he said he didn't want to get married or start a family because it would be a 'distraction'”

Lando hugs you and more tears start pouring out. “It’s okay Y/N. You don’t always have to be strong for me.”

“I know, but you guys were very close and I don’t want to ruin your friendship with him.” You explain the reason why you didn’t tell him for so long.

“Whether we’re friends or not, he shouldn’t make you feel like that. It isn’t right to be scared in a relationship.” You hug him tighter as the tears keep pouring down.

“I know, but I love him.”

2022

You swore that you loved me but where were the clues? I died on the altar waiting for the proof You sacrificed us to the gods of your bluest days

After months of you living in London with Lando, Carlos was desperate to have you back. During the 2022 season, you decided to go back with Carlos only if Carlos marries you. Carlos agreed and you both started planning the wedding.

You two decided to plan the wedding in Spain at the end of July during the mandatory summer break. The wedding was going to be beautiful. All of your family, friends, and colleagues would be invited to the big wedding. Sadly, you wouldn't be getting married.

As you're walking down the aisle with your father, you look ahead and see that Carlos wasn't standing at the alter. "Where is Carlos?" Your father asks Carlos Sr. and Reyes, Carlos' parents.

You look at Lando, who was Carlos' best man. "Lando please be honest with me. Where is Carlos?"

"He needed to talk to his cousin, just pre wedding jitters I think." He smiles at you trying to make you feel okay but deep down you knew.

"Carlos is not coming back." Caco, Carlos' cousin comes up to you and the family.

"¿Qué quieres decir con que no volverá? what do you mean he's not coming back" Carlos Senior asks his nephew.

"I tried to keep him here but he wanted to leave." Caco looks at you with sad eyes. "Carlos told me to give you this." It was a note that Carlos hand wrote for you.

To Y/N,

I'm sorry for leaving you on the altar waiting for me. I couldn't get married and get distracted from the dreams I truly wanted. I wish I could do this in a better way and not put you through so much pain. So long Y/N, we had a good run. I know I'm not the one for you hermosa beautiful.

Love, Carlos

You breakdown once you finish reading his note. He 'loved' you but where was the clues? He left you on the altar waiting for the proof. He sacrificed your relationship and the dreams you wanted to achieve together so that he could be World Champion.

2023

And I'm just getting color back into my face I'm just mad as hell cause I loved this place

It took you awhile to start coming back to the races again. Every time you would think about going to a race to support your brother, all you could think about is Carlos. You loved the races but it made you mad as hell cause you loved Carlos.

Lando invited you to the Las Vegas Grand Prix to celebrate his birthday and to watch him race. At Lando's birthday party, you met his new teammate Oscar Piastri. "Oscar this is my sister, Y/N." Lando introduces Oscar to you before he leaves to dj again.

"Hello Y/N, it's a pleasure to meet you. I've heard great things about you from Lando." He smiles at you.

"Oh really? What did he say?" Now you were intrigued about what Lando says about you behind your back.

"For one, he didn't tell me that you were so beautiful." You blush at Oscar's compliment. "But he does tell me how much he misses you being around the paddock. He says you're like the 'warm sun' whenever you're around."

"I know I've been absent in paddock due to what happened last year." You take a sip of alcohol after bringing up your failed wedding. "But I'm back where I've always belonged. McLaren was and will always be family." You say as you smile at Lando and Zack being dj together.

"Well I'm glad you're back and I can't wait to get to know you better." Oscar gets two shots from the bartender and gives you one. He smiles at you and says, "Cheers to new beginnings."

"Yeah. Cheers to new beginnings."

#carlos sainz x reader #lando norris x reader #oscar piastri x reader #f1 #f1 x reader #taylor swift #the tortured poets department #carlos sainz #lando norris #oscar piastri #ferrari #mclaren

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rie-092 · 9 days ago

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congrats on 2k!!! may i request song 21 with yeodan from inso law?

ENTRY'S EVENT OO4 : CAN'T FEEL MY FACE

[ yandere! ban yeodan ]

note : the event ヾ⁠(⁠*⁠’⁠Ｏ⁠’⁠*⁠)⁠/

you and yeodan are two sides of a same coin.

sure, you two shares the same habits and characteristics. but you are a delinquent while yeodan is the top student.

but honestly? this doesn't bother him at all.

he doesn't know the reason behind it. but, the first time he saw you, he was mesmerized.

he doesn't know why his friends and the people around him asked him if he hit his head when he accidentally called you ‘beautiful’ when you passed by.

as a yandere, yeodan was chill.

he likes watching you from afar. he likes to see you free and running around the school.

you rarely attend the class, but it was fine. since yeodan always give you a notebook that contains the lessons and put it on your locker. he also make sure that it will be easy to understand.

but when you saw that unfamiliar notebook in your locker, you were worried <3

i mean, you never gave anyone a spare key on your locker. but little did you know, the top student of your school was really good in lock picking.

when he sees you in the class with that notebook? damn, the usual stoic face of yeodan will disappear because he will be smiling all day (which is unusual but the girls likes it so much)

the first time you and yeodan interacted face to face was when he got assigned as your partner in a certain project.

yeodan was happy (even though his face remained the same) and you were confused.

why? because you felt everyone's eyes on you when you and yeodan interacted about the project.

you even started to pity yeodan when you got countless letters saying that you should stay away from their angel, prince, king, etc. wow, what a chaotic life yeodan has.

little did you know, yeodan who usually looks inside your locker (to get rid of the things that might ‘harm’ you) just let you see those letters. he wants you to pity him, after all.

yeodan will always ask you to go with him on the coffeeshop near the school after class so that the two of you can talk about the ‘project’ even though he already finished it a day after the teacher gave it.

don't blame him, he just wants to spend time with you.

expect that once the two of you become close, yeodan will become reallyyyyy clingy.

he will start dragging you to class so he can spend more time with you.

this guy is surprisingly shameless since he didn't hide the fact that there are times that he took countless pictures of you.

and what happened to those pictures? he will put it on his ( name ) collection. along with the pens and other gifts that he got from you.

he is surprisingly good at manipulating people. this guy managed to isolate you from the boys in your class by simply telling them how much you hate boys. and you usually beat up the boys who talk to you. of course, everyone immediately believed him since he was ban yeodan, the top student of their school— so why would they doubt him anyway?

and yeodan knew that this wasn't good at all.

using his influence at school to isolate you, invading your privacy, clinging to you, being obssessed with you.

he knew that he was slowly destroying himself.

but you see, yeodan doesn't care at all. because if he will be able to win your affection by destroying himself, so be it.

so be ready, because he won't stop until you were his. and it was unfair how he was already yours (but of course, you are not aware of that) when he first saw you.

and yeodan is not a fan of unrequited love at all.

￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣

“ i know that she'll be the death of me, yeoryeong. but i'm already in the point of no return.”

#manhwa x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere manhwa x reader #yandere manhwa #yandere x y/n #tw.yandere #tw. obsession #tw. invasion of privacy #ban yeodan #hope you like it #happy 2k!#(ﾟ⁠οﾟ⁠人⁠)⁠)

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sunboki · 1 month ago

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⎯ COUNTDOWN TO LOVE. a Christopher Bahng fiction

🎁 : Christopher Bahng x fem. reader

TROPE. countdown to christmas, best friends to lovers! au, pining, non-idol! au, comfort, worry of unrequited feelings, slight angst, fluff, cuteness overload

WORD COUNT. 6.5k ☆ 34 minute read

WARNINGS. swearing(??), mentions of a dick(?), insecurity, usage of terms of endearment, mentions of inferiority, mention of vomit, reader is said to wear makeup on an occasion

AUG'S NOTES. this was a very soft and sweet opposition to Christmas Blues last year which, notably, was remarkably “blue” in nature. in the midst of writing i found myself worried this new approach to lighter, best-friend-to-lovers feelings would be too plain—but i had to remind myself this isn’t enemies to lovers, nor is it nearly as angsty as Christmas Blues!! though i hope their feelings can be both established and understood well, so thank you for sticking with me this far :) i hope this fuzzy piece keeps your heart warm during this cold winter<3

PLAYLIST.

SYNOPSIS. It had always been natural between you and Chris. Knowing someone for almost ten years comes with that. And yet, when he confesses that he doesn’t want to keep up this cycle but pursue you one winter, you’re hesitant in thinking it will work out. Then again, you’ve never been one to deny him.

or alternatively :

Five days till Christmas, five dates to see if you feel the same.

December 20th.

“Move your arm.”

Sunday morning sunlight streams through barely cracked blinds, making your brows crinkle at the onslaught of brightness in distaste. That, along with occupying a mattress with none other than Chris Bahng.

A weekly occurrence at this rate, if not daily. And no, whatever earlier assumption about you two sharing a bed is wrong.

Totally.

Oh, he’s also pitiful to boot, evident with the loud whine heard in response as he rolls over—messy curls unruly upon just awakening.

And.. somehow beautiful, with those big brown eyes and lips the color of burnt russet parting with a highly exaggerated yawn.

But pitiful most of all.

“‘S warm—“ Chris groans out, inch-worming his way to wrap big arms around your form, beckoning you snuggled against his back with a content sigh.

“Too warm,” You scowl, squirming about in his grasp, disagreeable sorts of sounds leaving tight lips. Chris simply giggles.

“Say,” He begins, weighing his chin upon your shoulder, fingertips slipping beneath your shirt to feel your skin, tracing the lines of your abdomen, rising to rest on your belly.

A surprising lover of skin-to-skin, he is.

“What if we became something more?”

When you know someone long enough, an established sense of normalcy alternative to everybody else appears, whether that’s the plentiful times you’d heard Chris squeal like a girl after walking in on him in his boxers, or the not-so pretty nights out where he’d hold back your hair while you threw up in the bathroom a bar whose name you can’t recall.

But then again, it’s always been just that.

Nothing more, nothing less. He didn’t demand anything from you, didn't judge you. Listening with an attentive ear those days you would cry on the phone, and bring you a donut before morning classes after passing an exam.

The small things.

So it makes you wonder when you started seeing him differently. And if he felt that same way too.

A slow progression of love, like a river in its path of eroding canyons over thousands of years. Familiar, comforting. Done without a second thought like muscle memory. His fingers curling against yours in busied atmospheres, the look you both give each other when a certain song comes on.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?”

With your face peering over his monitor, wide eyes he adores peek at him from an upside down angle.

Cute, he thinks, tapping your nose with a chilled index.

Chris always keeps it cold in his apartment, partially because he remembers you’d told him you sleep better that way, partially because he loves to hear you complain about it in the morning.

As for the big question popped earlier today, he chooses to wait patiently per your request (after staring at him like he’d grown an extra pair of eyes then proceeding to smack his arm before realizing he was serious).

So, yes, you’re thinking.

And it scares Chris more than he’d like to admit.

He knows the risks, the “let’s try this” somehow turning into an ugly breakup and never speaking again.

And he can’t afford that when it comes to you, because you’ve become the most important person in his life without even noticing it.

Even if his love is one sided. Unrequited.

He’d be okay as long as he has you.

Just the thought makes him anxious, makes the clicking of his mouse arranging the tempo to become erratic in pace, head-dizzying.

“Chris?”

Until your voice finds him, and the torrential waves of his ocean go back to their slow lapsing. Calming the waters as always, trademark to you.

“New track,” He offers, eyes flickering up to you with a meek smile emphasizing the charming dimples there.

Majoring in music comes with both perks and downfalls: hours spent studying and cramming terms down his throat whilst managing personal projects, and, of course, the fleeting satisfaction after passing an exam by a stroke of luck.

But he loves every moment of it, especially having you listen to some of his favorite productions. Some he’ll strum on a guitar amidst his arranged apartment shared with Changbin and Han—roommates you’d grown quite acquainted with—in the late evening, his heart likely beating out of his chest watching your sweet face nod along.

At the moment it’s him here alone, Han having already relocated back home for the holidays, Changbin at his part time job, working lighting and electrical work at a live-house.

“Can I listen?”

Slow to nod, he beckons you closer with a wave of his hand, carefully placing headphones overtop your ears.

And yet, as your head bobs and face wrinkles up just like he does when hearing something catchy, he can’t help the grin on his face watching you.

You’re beautiful, and he’s too fond it might just be unhealthy.

It’s too easy to fall in love with you.

He has a feeling he’ll be thinking that a lot.

December 21st.

Enough.

If there was an early New Year’s resolution, gaining a lack of hesitation would have to be on the top of the list.

Of course, that would ensue plenty of compromising situations if you did things impulsively considering the amount of times you’d wanted to kiss him, but, for the most part, it would work in a sensible manner.

“Five dates.”

Last night you slept over (similar to most nights), clad in one of Chris’s old t-shirts and a pair of suspiciously clean basketball shorts for the gym-addicted man in question, Changbin, to offer you.

By the stove, Chris occupies himself with cooking eggs, lips puffed in a way downright dangerous to your “no hesitation” resolution and lack of t-shirt displaying a broad, muscled back adding to the list.

Your tongue pokes against your cheek, arms crossed over your chest.

”Five dates.. mhm.. gotcha…” Each nod from the man assures you that, no, he doesn’t “gotcha”; his attention long since drawn to what lies in a sizzling pan and the low hum of “I’m Yours” by Jason Mraz rumbling from the small radio on the corner of the kitchen island.

“Chris,” You grunt, brows lifting, resisting the urge to laugh when he glances over his shoulder with that sheepish expression, all-telling.

Or maybe that comes with the years. Unspoken gestures understood without fail.

”Sorry ‘bout that,” He murmurs, and you curse every aspect of your vision being a spectator to his trapezius rippling while dishing down two mugs from the cabinet. One that you bought him, the other purchased by Han.

The latter patterned with.. odd shaped bananas he’s sworn are not the shape of a dick.

But that’s a story for another time.

Although, that’s the least of the oddities. Between the Danny Devito cheeto ornament(how they got their hands on it you couldn’t guess) added to their tiny Christmas tree and the rug in the bathroom with old stains no one talks about, you’ve decided to turn a blind eye for the sake of learning things you don’t want to remember.

“What do you think if.. y’know, before we try something new,”

You pause, scorning the sly smile on his face when turning to face you, long fingers quelling the stove’s flame momentarily.

He thinks you’re the most darling thing he’s laid eyes on, and you think he’s going to laugh at you.

”We go on five dates. And after those five dates, I’ll make up my mind.”

”Is this a part of your “thinking”?”

Jerk. He’s lucky he’s handsome.

Gnawing at your bottom lip, your face pinches.

“Yes.” The words are quiet, too hushed for your liking.

Chris doesn’t make you quiet, he doesn’t make you shy. Yet, these days you find yourself falling back into a cycle of nervous, foreign feelings when speaking. As if he’s picking you apart piece for piece.

As if he hasn’t already read every page of the book named you over and over again.

But now the pages rewrite themselves, too many filled with the word “love” and “affection” and “more than friends” and—

“Can I kiss you after those dates?”

Jerk. For the second time.

”And if I say no?”

He lights a fire under your feet. Maybe it’s the heat causing blood to rush to your ears.

Chris lifts his mug. ”Indirect?”

You scoff, he giggles, squeaky in pitch just as it’s always been. Your cheeks warm.

Because in the midst of a once-normalcy, you can feel a storm brewing. It’s unclear if it’ll be a hurricane or a refreshing rain shower, and perhaps the unpredictably is supposed to be thrilling.

Or maybe it’s doomed, and the debris left after that hurricane will lay untouched, uncared for.

So it’s the feeling of his arms wrapping around you beckoning those thoughts out of reach, holding the doubt just high enough you don’t have to see.

Hear, listen, overthink. For now, all there is to fret about is Chris, and the warmth of his hug, pulling you infinitely close against heated skin.

Then does it register to you he’s always read your pages the same, and he would for as long as you’ll give him time to reread. If they change, they change together.

How foolish you forgot such a thing. As if he wasn’t your best friend first.

“Yes, you can.”

When those five dates are over, kiss me.

His nose buried into your shoulder, he murmurs a quiet “thank you”, a satisfied hum resounding from his chest, eyes crinkling up in the corners with a smile.

“Is that my shampoo?”

If anything, you feel as if you’ve been having dates over the years you’ve known Chris as he lists out ideas from a website on his phone. Except, yours weren’t touchy feel-y and certainly not regarded as “dates”, but simple things.

Dinners, falling asleep on his shoulder (something he remembers very well), baking together.

It’s a cold day, and after his hug that squeezed every fiber of sanity from your being, you now resorted to trying to figure out what that first date should consist of.

The first of the five, pending.

“Ah,” Lips parting to exhale, you peer from the nearest window, watching hot breath fog up the glass whilst gazing out at vastly falling slow blanketing the ground a winter wonderland. A white abyss from your viewpoint.

“It’s snowing.”

A chaste pause ensues.

“Might as well go out ‘n enjoy it, hm?” His voice, paired with a grin saturated in too much mischief for your liking resounds from over your shoulder.

Unable to react fast enough, Chris, sneaking up behind you without your knowledge, hoists you over his shoulder in seconds time—now (unfortunately) adorning a hoodie over his once bare torso.

Your shocked shriek rings about the apartment in reply.

“Out of the way! We’re goin’ outside!” Chris giggles victoriously, shouting to no one in particular as your fists beat at his back upon making for the door.

The faintest gust of frigid wind has goosebumps slithering up your skin—granting the man a cacophony of “No! Let me down!”’s he seems to soak up like praise.

Well, before relenting.

Because then again, who was he to deny you? To some degree it felt like every bone in his bone dragged him close to you, trailing after your footsteps like a lost puppy.

“One of these days,” Sighing heavily like that of an old man, a firm hand pats your thigh before you’re reluctantly flopped onto the couch, glaring up at him in a manner he deems too pretty to keep from smiling at.

That same hand comes to hold your face, smushing up your cheeks and, in turn, earning plentiful laughter you simply huff towards.

“Don’t pout—“ He whines, your heart rate spiking when another hand comes down towards your hair.

If there was any restraint of yours left, it would be relinquished instantly if he so much as touched your hair—

He flicks your forehead. And proceeds to slump down beside you.

“Oh you prick-“

His hand reaches to gently cover your mouth, bringing an index to rest on plush lips of his own.

“No pouting, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

Oh he’s going to get it.

Playing you like a fiddle.

And damn does he do it well.

Head tipping, your eyes flicker over his features—silently admiring such a side profile. With the perfect curve of his lips and hook of his nose, he could rival sculptures found in museums.

This was after trying to tackle him (to no avail, sadly) and curse his very existence (another fail).

Then, the mediator came by in the form of a movie night and the small sheet of chocolate chip cookies warming in the oven, scent steaming the air with a mouthwatering aroma.

Your first of five, initiated.

“Mm.. Don’t we have movie nights normally though?” The remark offered quietly, you shift closer to his body, pressing your right side to his, knees tucked beneath a blanket he’d arranged across either of your laps.

Love Actually plays on the screen ahead, but your focus couldn’t be deviating more.

Ever the attentive soul, Chris is equal in the shared admiration, honeyed irises fixed upon you in his peripheral prior to a careful finger lifting, looping a strand of hair behind your ear.

In turn, his gentle palm cups your jaw to tilt your head, sweeping an additionally stubborn hair from the other side of your face as well.

Your heart feels moments from bursting, and he looks at you as if you’re his whole world.

You are, but that was a matter unnoticed on your end.

It’s a quiet debate. Dangerous and fickle. Move too quickly and something might go wrong, hesitate and an opportunity may vanish to never be seen again. Do you kiss him? Is that how it works? Or is this a matter of “kissing on the first date��, treated like a taboo?

More so, what happens next? After the kiss?

His eyes flicker upward to yours, lacking that boy-ish, charming smile he usually dons. Instead, he’s serious, calm. Then to your lips, like the melody of a slow song, flickering with the dips and pitches of the rhythm.

Leaning in, you can’t help but comply, and every thought within your mind numbs into nothingness—

Beeep!

A sharp, acrid stench makes your nose burn, face transforming into both realization and panic upon witnessing the tendrils of smoke curling from the oven.

“Shit!”

And after frantically racing to salvage what little remained of the cookies while Chris furiously fanned the smoke detector, your “date night” turned into a shared glance, laughter, and the both of you trudging to his bed for the night, leaving the remaining bit of Love Actually for another day.

So no, rest assured you didn’t kiss him on the first date.

Maybe tomorrow.

December 22nd.

Y’know how Chris mentioned going out into the snow “one of these days?”.

That day was today, apparently.

“You don’t get it I’ll slip-“

“But you can hold onto me, yeah?” He laughs, squeaky still. Gloved hands find purchase on your hips, gently easing you forward where your back rests to his chest. His right hand shifts upward to rest against your spine, a feeling you have to swallow down wallowing in your stomach.

“Slow steps, I won’t let go.”

Don’t ever, you wish to say. Don’t ever let me go.

And not to keep me from slipping.

Maybe if you were ice skating or slow dancing this would be romantic, but the ugly, waddling manner you make down ice-coated stairs kills off any hope for swooning.

That is, until you do slip, and the man is a fraction too slow until you’re flat on your bum outside his apartment complex, heated from both annoyance and the knowledge far too many embarrassing pictures have been added to his camera roll just now.

In which.. a wonky, slightly-melting snowman comes to be not long afterward, neither of you willing to admit your creation is not “creative”, but horridly unsightly.

“I love it!”

Of course he does. Random pipes substituting as two arms and a carrot nose while Han’s fedora from 2016 awkwardly sits atop a head disproportionate from its body.

Your second date ideas offered a galaxy of possibilities, but after awakening late and coffee’s failure to open your eyes further than half-lidded, you figured today would mimic yesterday as a day spent at home.

He’d get some assignments done in the evening, and you’d probably turn on another Christmas movie while waiting to finish Love Actually in his company later on.

“We should come up with a name,” Nodding proudly at the aforementioned abomination, you cross your arms across your chest, your partner in crime brainstorming in a seriousness practically comical to the situation at hand.

“Hm.. something happy! I mean, look at his face, it’s happy, isn’t it?”

Mind you, cold, visibly dead extra coat-buttons are what stares back at you as its “eyes”, and you easily nod in feigned agreement as he takes ceaseless pictures of the thing with obvious delight, likely to send to friends and family alike.

The bottom snowball is melting, and a pipe has already fallen off what was supposed to be its arm, but Chris is beaming, and you'd rather slice off your own tongue than keep him from enjoying this moment.

Happy.

You feel as if you’d do anything in the world to see him smile.

“Eh? Who’s that?”

5pm, and you’ll probably have to pummel the door open in the morning thanks to the blizzard-like conditions outside.

Among plenty of assignments he told himself he’d fret over in the evening, an unfinished paper sits in front of Chris while his thumbs twiddle along the keyboard of his phone, your chin hooked to his shoulder to glance down at the device—a habit of yours he finds himself unreasonably fond of.

Changbin came home early from the live-house, with most events cancelled from the cold and too little work to be done, there was no need to keep workers around. Dinner beckoned conversation and knowing glances from the roommate whenever you and Chris spoke, earning a scolding scowl while he simply grinned innocently in reply.

It seemed your love was obvious to everyone but you two. How tragic.

Though, amidst photos of both your earlier wipeout (a matter you don’t mention) and snapshots of the snowman he’s currently trying to send while seated at his desk, a certain name within the text catches your attention:

Mister Sunshine.

Chris chuckles sheepishly, your brows lifting in silent inquisition.

“It’s.. the snowman’s name. I named him.” He murmurs, the back of his neck doused pink. A facet of his embarrassment.

He named the snowman Mister Sunshine.

That smile of his making an additional appearance lies responsible for an internal scream to ring throughout your body, deafening your brain despite an external silence.

And in that moment, your feelings become harder to ignore than ever.

December 23rd.

“You should get all pretty today.”

Your attention, once drawn to the different kinds of cookie-cutter molds, flickers up to him when he speaks.

As it always does, hanging onto his every word as if fearful there’d be a day you couldn’t.

Quizzically does your head tip in confusion, spurring the heat blooming by the back of his neck all the way up to flushed ears.

He waves quick hands, having been eyeing through the assortment of donuts Changbin brought home last night after his “buy one get one free sale” turned into buying a dozen at the shop by the live-house.

“I mean, ‘s not like you aren’t pretty every day, but- y’know- like—“

It feels cruel letting him futilely try explaining, but gosh is he too cute.

And hearing him call you pretty feels too good to end abruptly.

It also makes you wonder what happened to the smug-grin-wearing, playful person he could become at times. The one so confident and sure, now rosy.

An alter-ego sounded too far-fetched most days, but as for today… fairly accurate.

“What I meant is,” Turning, Chris extends the mug of coffee your way, heated glass warming your palms as you take it.

A part to your shared daily occurrences, routine.

“I want to take you out tonight. We can go window shopping, see decorations, yeah?”

Perhaps the steam of your cup is what warms your cheeks, and very quickly do you come to recall you’re the one making him wait.

He was willing to go all in from the start. And then you feel even crueler.

“Okay, tell me when to start getting ready.”

But you nod and pretend, because maybe you’re good at staving down things you know will come up anyway.

He’d always chided your procrastination.

Too long have you spent burning holes in your mirror with each scrutinizing glare, and the longer you stare, the worse what’s reflected becomes.

Chris had sent a small text proposing a forty minute window before heading out, in which ensued your frantic scouring around your room for both an outfit and coordinating accessories.

Sure, you may have known the guy since your ugliest years, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t fun to spend some extra time on yourself, right?

Your third of five dates, and you should be bouncing up and down with cheerfulness, looking forward to “getting all pretty”, dolling up for an evening with your favorite person, your best friend. And, come recent days, your admitted love interest.

But you aren’t. You don’t feel cheerful, ecstatic.

And walking out to his awestruck form doesn’t feel revitalizing, and sure as hell far from a confidence boost.

“You look.. wow.” He gapes, drinking in every article of clothing, the way you’ve got the prettiest of ribbons in your hair a crimson red, your cute socks and warm sweater.

An angel, he wants to say. That, along with many things you’d slap him on the shoulder for speaking aloud.

Worst of all? He knows your tell-tale signs in and out.

“Hey.”

His face seems to melt. Like crying, and it makes you want to cry. The sad, tiny crease of his brows, the puff of his bottom lip.

Worried.

“But, I mean,” Your voice chokes up, and you hate every bit of it, the emotions compiling to the surface—ones impossible to stave down.

You don’t feel nice. Putting on an outfit you both liked and thought you looked good in, fixing up your makeup, the little accessories to compliment certain colors, elements.

Yet, your heart still sunk when looking in the mirror, and now, looking at Chris, it feels like all that confidence is beginning to melt—salt sprinkled on the snow of the driveway.

Greater than that, it frustrates you. It isn’t his fault he’s attractive; beautiful, even, but every second by his side feels akin to a blazing inferiority, causing the already-chilled, flushed fingertips of yours to burn, your ears to grow unusually warm.

Like a child.

How irritating.

“Hey,”

His voice, like honey and pastries and all the bestest, warmest things when in need of comfort.

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

The endearment isn’t teasing this time, not even in the slightest. It’s soft and delicate, an ornate vase constructed of glass, capable of breaking from a mere breath.

Standing outside his apartment, snow dappling the sky in endless flurries, it’s only you two in the world.

Your lip wobbles, but Chris always catches you before you fall.

“I’m the man honored to walk around with you tonight, hm?” He starts, thumbing away bubbling tears from your cheeks.

“You look too pretty for these tears, ‘don’t want to mess up your makeup now do we?” He cracks a feeble smile, smoothing down your brows and adjusting your scarf with utmost care from his mitten-clad fingers.

“Ah,” His face lights up with recognition. “You added the glittery eyeshadow.”

You can’t help but crack a laugh. Pitifully croaked, but there no less.

First day of high school and you’d shown up with a downright awful amount of glittery eyeshadow, looking similar to a human-disco ball with the sheer amount alone.

Chris, ever the kind soul knowing you since birth, gave you a two thumbs up, a tight smile, and a “looks great!” that’s lived as one of your best inside jokes even now.

Luckily, this time around the amount is agreeable, just above your lashes and shimmering avidly beneath falling snow.

“I did,” You whisper softly, gaze fluttering down to your shoes before flickering back up to him. “And um.. is it true? That..”

Oh this is embarrassing.

“I look okay?”

Perhaps if he says it, tonight you can believe it’s true.

This time he breaks your heart, with such a heart-wrenching smile on his face.

“You always look beautiful, ‘doesn’t matter how much you think you’re not, you’ll never be able to change my mind. Now let me take you out, yeah? ‘Can grab some hot chocolate,” He ushers, winding your arm to link with his as you make forward, his black trench coat swaying with the click of dress shoes, chilly nose finding sanctuary in a ruby-red scarf wrapped around his shoulders.

Beneath the streetlights and dark skies, Chris could be a prince if he so wished.

That’s another thing you can believe is true tonight.

Curious eyes of awaiting children and scolding mothers litter the streets, tiny fingers pointing to toys through the glass, busied chatter and shared affection blooming within a once blue atmosphere, now dappled in ribbons of color.

The transition from monochrome, like shutters of an old camera capturing technicolor for the first time.

Or maybe Chris was the one responsible for each flourish of color, painting your world the prettiest of hues.

“Do you remember it?”

His voice, honeyed, accompanied by a plume of air in requite of a warm exhale evokes a skip to your step, catching your footing on the stone sidewalk with an awkward clearing to your throat.

“The things you used to want for Christmas?” He continues, and you chose to ignore the knowing smile on his face, gaze shifting upward in hopes of recollection, to no avail.

“Hm.. Do you?” Quietly offered, a change in attention grants you momentary escape from the spotlight.

Well, before it truly does become momentary.

He never has been embarrassed easily, you’d like to add. A matter speaking for itself in the way he automatically clings to your side in response, swaying back and forth whilst singing along to Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas Is You” you didn’t realize was blaring through overhead speakers above passing until this moment.

Predictably, he earns the bemused grins of passerby and your face (as an individual who does in fact get embarrassed easily, to your own dismay) growing fifty shades of crimson.

“Yah! Quit!” Though your efforts are as futile as your voice and it’s involuntarily chortled-ness, you smack at his hand no less.

Of course, he persists.

Until the sharp turn to a small, annually appearing hot chocolate truck ceases your complaining and his singing in synonymous tandem.

An array of memories come washing across you with each gust of winter wind, and you can practically hear the manner of squeakiness his voice used to be, the foam from whipped-cream topped cocoa sitting atop his top lip like a mustache. You’d always laugh at that.

When you burnt your tongue one year after the beverage was too hot and he remained resilient in his belief you could and would taste Christmas dinner.

You did not, but it was worth a try. Also worth seeing his big, hopeful eyes peek up at you excitedly.

Back then he was always shorter than you, until that fateful day in High school he arrived with a far taller stature than the pipsqueak you knew of most days.

A lot has changed since then. In more ways than one.

Seems his memory remains as sharp as ever, evident in the gentle squeeze he gives your hand—his you hadn’t even noticed was held in your own up till now.

“Get some, hm? My treat.” He quickly urges, watching you pad forward like a child to admire the menu in adoration, waving to the old woman you’d known since a child, always manning her tiny miracle of a truck.

He would keep the fact he’d looked up the hours the truck would be in town to himself. That, along with the tiny heart drawn on the side of the cardboard coffee sleeve you had yet to acknowledge, one he discovers is the old woman’s doing, her knowing smile matching his own when he looks up for silent clarification.

Encouragement.

Go for it.

He feels his palms grow clammy, internally thankful you weren’t holding hands at the moment(which was enough of a heart-attack inducing experience in itself).

The trace of lipgloss on the rim of your cup, the batting of those precious eyes.

Worst is, you don’t even know what you do. The little things compiling into something downright torturous.

And when you look up at him for that split second, his breath catches.

Ah.

He wants to kiss you.

From the scrunch of your nose when you begin to laugh to the snowflakes already dappling your lashes.

Because loving you is easy, and then it’s not. Over and over again. He’s afraid, but his mind is fuzzy and jumbled with feelings, and that small bit of melted marshmallow on your bottom lip he finds himself longing to taste. Lick up the sweetness and sink his teeth into the plush skin–

The tiniest drop of hot chocolate clings to your lips, and Chris wonders if you’d taste like it too.

December 24th.

“Hm?” His hum of confusion falls upon deaf ears, too preoccupied with a call from your mom to take note.

Something must’ve piqued his attention, though you’d have half the mind to guess what.

That is until hanging up, and curious brown eyes boring into your skull from afar transform into this itch you can’t ignore.

“Chris.”

Like an annoying older brother, he is sometimes.

Then there’s that sheepish sort of sound, the “i-got-caught” giggle testing your annoyed facade.

“Hey now,” He begins after a moment, pointing an incredulous finger your way like you’ve said something outrageous, looking like some perplexed old man whilst running a hand through his hair in an odd, cheap rendition of exasperation.

He looks more like he’s choking, but you give full points for effort.

“You haven’t put up your tree or anything? What are you, the grinch?”

Oh, so that’s what this is about.

For context, your conversation minutes prior with your mother consisted of the formalities: “How are you? Eating well? Sleeping well?” which turned into the personal portions: “Classes? Boyfriends?”

As for the last question, you’d keep her posted.

But what seemed to grab his attention most was the additional part where you not-so-discreetly told her you likely wouldn’t bother putting up decorations in your own place this year.

Granted, you spent most days at Chris’s anyway, Christmas as well. Why not skip the hassle to freeload?

Also, you weren’t aware this was chastising season, Mr. Bahng.

“You’re serious?”

Nope. All a joke, every bit.

“…I usually just stay here anyway..?”

Which was true! He knows this!

“Nuh-uh, ‘s gotta change. What if one year I go overseas to visit family and you’re here alone?”

Horribly fast, your stomach sinks, and you’re hasty to scorn the sensation.

This fear, innate and uncontrollable. That on a certain season, you won’t have that certain someone to spend it with.

I won’t, you want to say; treat the words like some totally unrealistic joke, treat his argument like a fable.

The clapping of his hands wards you from your incomprehensible nightmare.

“Alright! Let’s go! We’re decorating your place!”

This year at least, he’ll be by your side.

So you nod, as you do to most things concerning Christopher Bahng.

Love makes a person so.. strange, does it not?

Maybe that’s just you. Or him, or all of it. Who knows.

Crunching of white sheets beneath your feet keep your head from falling astray, as if dancing atop dove feathers amidst your trek to the car.

Too many thoughts, too many questions likely to be left unanswered.

The moon, in her full, glowing glory blinks down from above as a feeble solace.

Of the most beautiful of love stories. For when her lover, Sun, grows tired of arduous laboring in the day, she will arrive to establish her night so that Sun may rest for another day. A night of waiting for the one most beloved to her.

It reminds you quite a bit of yourself, oddly enough, as frosted fingertips shuffle beneath your legs to bask in the passenger seat’s seat heater as a source of warmth.

Each exhale fogs up the windows as the engine rumbles to life, and it’s a wonder you didn’t have to scrape off ice beforehand.

“Mm, in Australia it’d be so warm since ‘was summer, even on Christmas Eve. I remember one year ‘got the chance to get out there during the Holidays. Jisung sent me a text saying it was four degrees celsius in Korea and he was wearing three jackets. Meanwhile, I was outside in a tank top with Berry in twenty-seven.”

His eyes adorn the same sweet crinkle of happiness, ring-clad index tapping an inaudible beat where it rests on your knee, the other finding purchase on the steering wheel as you continue onward through late-December snowflakes.

He lights up your world without even trying. His smile, his excited talking. The way his words grow shorter and shorter the more excited he is to explain something.

Nerd.

You love every second of it.

“And what I said about Australia earlier.” Chris begins quietly, sparing you a glimpse. His palm squeezes your knee gently, and you want to shout, jump, do something to alleviate the scream wishing to claw from your throat in reply.

Since when have you become so susceptible, so easy?

Simple. Since you fell in love.

Or, more like when you realized you were in love.

This was nothing new, after all.

“You wouldn’t be alone here over the holidays. I’d take you with me.” His eyes squeeze shut momentarily in thought, tone this quieted whisper you have to crane to discern.

“Back in October, during my birthday. Do you know what my wish was?”

A wordless look of wonder urges him on, thumb smoothing along your skin in a tender rhythm, never to break.

“One of these days, I’ll take you to Australia with me. Home with me.”

“So my first love can meet my last love.”

The second portion is barely intelligible, as if it were a mere whisper in the night.

You wonder if it was a figment of your imagination.

Nevertheless, the less-than-inviting (compared to Chris’s), pale glow of your flat’s porch light eventually comes into view, and either of you clamber from car doors with evident struggle—abundant layers against the chill making for an awkward toddle to your snow-muddled doorstep.

Quick to retrieve the boxes from your attic, the both of you get to work. Chris frets over shoveling snow from your front porch, and you set to Christmas-ifying the interior.

It’s domestic, almost. His humming from the front door to songs playing on the speaker inside, the slow transition from your usual flat to a festive explosion.

Then, of course, the tree.

In which you awkwardly shift your weight from foot to foot while awaiting his assistance, only for you to make eye contact and want to shrivel into a ball and never come out.

Again, shy. It’s bizarre.

“Hm.. You wanna put up the star?”

After far too long trying to figure out the logistics, a makeshift (albeit lopsided) tree resides in your living space, a few ornaments here and there clothing the sad excuse for a normally grand view.

But it’s yours, together.

You think with that knowledge alone it could’ve been a single sprout and would have been your world all the same.

His traces, everywhere. Both of your hands clutching onto each one you can grasp.

However, spontaneity comes back to haunt you. This time in the form of his hands curling around your hips, giving you a chaste countdown before you’re lifted up to place the star on the very top.

Good luck not having a heart attack, huh.

Miraculously, you don’t. Neither do you combust or squeal or any of the wild thoughts racing through murky depths of your brain.

Instead, you’re placed on the ground once more, his index and thumb taking the side of your top to gently adjust back down where it had ridden up.

Like a gentleman.

Shoot.

He makes it hard, doesn’t he?

Leaning to prop his chin on your shoulder while you admire the twinkling lights, you’d like to believe it was a hallucination that he pressed the most imperceptible, tiniest peck to the clothed junction of your neck and shoulder before pulling away.

“C’mere,” His words fall a near murmur, having to lightly tug at your wrist to truly garner your undivided attention without blood rushing to your face.

As for him, he simply had to pull you from the tree for the sake of his own wellbeing, the sight of warm lights reflecting in eyes he’d easily get lost in making each swallow harder to manage.

That, and there was.. a surprise of a sort. The sweep of a hand on the way out from his apartment, the fretful (clumsy) fastening of this so-called surprise under the guise he was clearing your porch.

Which he was, respectfully.

Just with a little something extra involved.

Nonetheless, oblivious to his plan, you follow along, anticipating some sad copy of Mister Sunshine to be made from fallen pine needles and buttons.

So when he points upwards, nothing short of a roller coaster occurs in your chest.

A spider, a roach, something scary—

A mistletoe.

Right above your head.

He’s got this giddy, nervous grin wobbling on plush lips, eyes searching yours like some little boy seeking a reaction. And you feel like you’re staring at elementary schooler Chris all over again.

At his cheery face knowing he’d be getting ice cream on the way home, when you lied about being able to taste Christmas dinner with a burnt tongue.

A single lightbulb flickers orange, illuminating the mistletoe residing just beside.

Finally not-burnt cookies sit in their container back at his apartment, Love Actually long since completed. Your snowman, named Mister Sunshine, occupies the complex’s front walkway, and too many mugs of hot chocolate have been downed these past few days to count.

When your own place gets lonely, a tree you had put up together keeps you company, so that those nights alone this winter won’t be so cold.

“Can I..?”

Chilled temperatures nip at your nose, and you feel like crying listening to the softened manner he asks, the tentativeness in the way his hand reaches to cup your cheek.

The sound is more like a plea, and you’d be beyond embarrassed if it was anyone but Chris.

“Please.”

And beneath that mentioned mistletoe, Chris kisses you for the first time, and December 25th makes its slow approach above the horizon.

When becoming more grows scary, Chris holds your hand to remind you there’s nothing he won’t step into with you. No matter the doubt, the fear.

It seems this winter you won’t be lonely. Because you won’t be spending this Christmas alone, nor many to come.

He’ll make sure of that.

One day till Christmas, four dates till you told him you felt the same.

You never got to five anyway.

FIC TAGLIST. @allaboutsan, @velvetmoonlght, @minij-one

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