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sunsetchicane · 8 months ago

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cowboy like me [LN4]

lando x fem!reader

word count: 8.2k

summary: The one where you work on a ranch and it’s everything you know. There’s nothing that can come between you and your love for your home. Not even a handsome stranger who seems to pull the best out of you.

warnings: slight angst, some fluff, horses!, brief sexual innuendo, a singular swear word, and one [sad] kiss.

author’s note: hey! hi! hello! this is my first fic on here (omgggg 🤭) so please, please, please let me know your thoughts/comments/questions! might write a second part to this…thoughts??[xoxo elle]

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Buxton Ranch has been in the Buxton family before Montana even became an official Union state in 1889. Land wasn’t simply a commodity or property back then; it was life or death. William T. Buxton and his wife, Mary Anne, put their boots down on this land along with their four children and they’ve never left. They fought their way over the mountains, survived the unbearable, and have reaped the benefits of their resilience for over a century and a half.

Willamina T. Buxton I, my boss, is the great-something granddaughter of William T. Buxton I. Her father, William T. Buxton VII handed over the ranch to her on her 30th birthday a few years back. The controversy caused ripples through the entire community because even though Willamina is Mr. Buxton’s first born, the ranch has always been handed down to the eldest son. Willa is the first woman to ever have ownership of the ranch.

My family hasn’t been in Montana nearly as long as the Buxtons. My mom and I moved out here in the spring the year I was born. My father skipped out before my mom could even hold herself upright in her hospital bed after laboring with me. She tells me that we came here to Montana for a fresh start, and what better place to go than where the sky is bigger and the air is pure. The mountains became our safe haven, our buffer from the rest of the world and, more importantly, our history. It’s easy to forget up here, to allow your mind to rest. I’ve never been at a loss for why the Buxtons came and never left. Sometimes, in the dark of my room, I pretend that I really am a Buxton, that I truly belong.

However, when the sun breaks across the mountain peaks and the world comes alive once again, I’m forced to realize that I don’t belong to the Buxton dynasty. I simply work for them.

My alarm blares to my right, causing me to shoot upright. With fumbling fingers, I seek for the power button of my alarm clock. When I finally find it and shut off the hellish noise, I fling my legs over the side of my bed. With the heels of my hands, I rub the sleep from my eyes. The world around me is painted in a deep blue, still fast asleep and undisturbed by my alarm. I envy it as I rise from my bed and get ready for the day.

Silently, I pull on my bootcut Wranglers and a light green long sleeved button down. My belt and beat up old boots complete the ensemble for the moment being. My next stop is the bathroom where I brush my teeth and comb my hair. Tying my hair off into a low braid so it’ll sit right under my hat takes only a couple minutes. I’ve been wearing my hair the same way to work every day for the past seven years.

Once I’m done in the bathroom, I make my way to the kitchen where a pot of coffee is automatically brewing on schedule. I toss a few eggs into a pan as well as two pieces of bread into the toaster. The breakfast of champions and me every single day. After crushing a cup of coffee and my plain breakfast, it’s time to head out. Instead of living on-site with the rest of the ranch hands, I still live with my mom. I’ve been wanting to move out to the ranch for over a year now since I finished college, but the possibility of breaking my mom’s heart stops me from even mentioning it to her.

Glancing at the clock, I know I have plenty of time to spare, but I start to pack up and head out the door anyway. I enjoy being early to the ranch. It’s peaceful and serene before it wakes and rises. Grabbing my work jacket because the winter’s just turning over to spring, my chaps, and my lunch sack, I head out the door. My mom and I share an old, sunburnt orange Chevy truck that just barely runs. I toss my things into the bed of the pickup before sliding into the worn out driver’s seat. As I slide the key into the ignition, I send up a quick prayer that she turns over. When I press the key forward, the engine roars to life. Prayers have been answered this morning and I hope it’s a good omen for the rest of the day.

The drive to Buxton Ranch is short and sweet, all dirt roads and drifting grassy fields. The radio sounds quietly and the engine hums loudly, but everything else is completely still. A distant light orange is just starting to brush the very edges of the horizon in the east. Nature is starting to reach out and stretch its sleepy limbs.

As I pull up to the place where I always park near a stretch of fence, I see a figure dressed in shadows leaning over the wood a few yards away. Once I’ve tossed the pickup into park and yanked out the keys, I jump down from my seat so I can walk over to her. She’s always out here before everyone. Sometimes I see her, most times I don’t. When I do, it feels like fate, like there’s something about today that’s meant to happen this way. Or maybe it’s just Willamina Buxton.

“Good morning, y/n,” she rasps without glancing over at me. Crossing my arms, I lean over the log fence and take in the view. I don’t think there’s a better view in all of Montana than that from Buxton Ranch.

“Good morning, Willa,” I answer quietly. Her brother, Wyatt, was my best friend growing up. She’s only 12 years older than the two of us, but somehow she seems infinitely older and wiser. She’s been a role model for me. We grew closer after Wyatt left for college a few years back. Of course he came back in the summers to visit, but he never stayed long. He wasn’t born for this life. Instead of horses, he dealt with horse power. He always wanted to become an engineer for Formula One. When the opportunity came to go overseas to study in England and intern at McLaren, he hadn’t even thought twice. One day he was here, and the next he was gone.

I struggled with feeling abandoned for a while, but I came to terms with it quickly. I realized that dreams were meant to be chased and he was incredibly fortunate to get this opportunity. I was also chasing my dream, I just had to go down the street instead of across an ocean. We keep in touch, calling frequently and texting nearly every day, but it’s not the same. I miss him.

“Heard from Wyatt recently?” Willa says quietly then takes a sip from her mug of iron black coffee.

“Not in a couple of days. Seems busy,” I mumble. Wyatt’s leaving is a bit of a sore spot for Willa. She wanted him to stay on the ranch and in the family business. Her asking about him is a bit of an anomaly.

She hums, then pauses, then sighs. “Lots to do today. We better get going.”

And just like that the work day starts.

I tend to the horses right away, leading them out into the corral so I can wash out their stalls from over the weekend. I give each of them fresh hay and fill up large troughs of water for the more temperamental ones. Then I lead them one at a time back into their stalls and give them a thorough once over to check how they’re doing.

The last one I have to put away is the youngest of the group. He came to us only last year, unbroke and wild as the river. He’s a black Morgan stallion, sleek and athletic. He’s larger than your typical Morgan, with rippling muscle, and a proud face. He’s beautiful. We call him Jupe.

“Jupe,” I coo kindly to the untamed stallion. “Come on, Jupe.”

He casts a look over his back at me telling me everything I need to know. Sighing, I toss myself over the fence and into the corral. With my palms raised up and in front of me, I show him the leather lead in my hand as I walk over to him slowly.

“Come on, Jupe, we gotta go back inside. I cleaned up real nice for you, boy. Fresh hay, new water, you’re living the five star life, buddy,” I say while creeping up on him. He doesn’t move, but simply tracks my movements with his black eyes. Nerves claw at my stomach as I approach him. Reaching out slowly, I praise him and repeat his name over and over. Finally, I slide the clip of the lead around a loop in his bridle. But there’s no relief yet. I still have to get him into the stables without incident.

“Good boy, Jupe,” I say, reaching out gently to stroke his nose. He pushes at my hand playfully. A surge of pride washes over me. Maybe the two of us are finally making progress. Jupe lets me lead him out of the corral and back to his stall with ease. Today really is my day.

“Thank you,” I whisper to the stallion as I slide the lock shut on his door. Jupe’s head hangs over the short door, his head coming down to level with mine. Patting him gently, I pull a couple sugar cubes from my pack. I hold them up to him on my flat palm and he slurps them up gratefully. A smile that I can do nothing to stop breaks across my face. I’m gonna saddle him up one day. And maybe that day is sooner than I’d anticipated.

“Only you would give that stubborn Morgan a treat,” I hear a familiar voice say. I whip around in disbelief as the tone and inflexion registers in my mind.

“Then again, maybe the two of you have bonded over your mutual stubbornness.” Wyatt hardly gets the words out before I’m taking his arm in mine and wrapping him up in a hug with the other. We laugh as we sway side to side. My hat careens to the side of my head as I hug him and I know I must be getting him all sweaty and dirty, but I can’t find it in myself to care about vanity at the moment. Wyatt’s back.

“Surprise!” He says when I finally let go of him. He’s wearing a bright smile as I pull back. Wyatt reaches up and straightens out my hat for me.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were coming!” I say while smacking the back of my hand against his shoulder. “I would’ve gotten off work and…”

“No, you wouldn’t have,” he laughs as I slide past him to finish up sweeping this side of the stables.

“You’re right,” I laugh along with him while I sweep. He knows that I love my job too much to step away from it. I hate missing a day and he knows that.

Wyatt takes a seat on a stack of unused hay bales that I’ll have to load back up. He chats with me about school and England and McLaren. I don’t know much about Formula One, just what I picked up on from Wyatt constantly chatting my ear off about it. Most of the stuff that Wyatt has told me, however, goes way over my head. What I do know is that this boy is an engineering genius and McLaren is lucky to have him now as a full-time employee. They offered him a job straight out of university. He’ll be living full time in the UK. My stomach twists at the thought.

“So, what do you have going on for the rest of the day?” Wyatt asks after I’ve finished sweeping. I place my hands on top of the broom and lean my chin over my fingers.

“Riley and I were going to take down that rickety south fence and…” I start to say while mentally checking my to-do list.

“Sandy’s helping Riley with that,” Wyatt says matter-of-factly. I cast him a questioning look to which he simply blinks at.

“Alright. Then I have to go to the cattle and check on all of the pregnant…”

“Louise has that covered,” Wyatt informs me while picking at his nails. What is he getting at?

“Why…well, then I have to…” I begin, trying to move away from things that he could possibly know of.

“Go riding with me and my friends!” Wyatt exclaims while hopping off the hay bales and clapping his hands together. “Wonderful idea.”

My jaw drops. There’s no way that he’s trying to make me skip the rest of the day to go riding. Not after we just had a conversation over the fact that I would never do that. That I could never do that. I have an obligation to be here, to get things done.

“Wy, you know I’d love to, but I’ve got work to do,” I say firmly while walking over to hang up my broom. Jupe huffs and brays at Wyatt as he walks briskly over to me.

“No you don’t. I made sure of it,” Wyatt says while grabbing my hands so I have no choice but to stand in front of him. “Willa’s told me to inform you that if you’re found working this afternoon, there’ll be severe consequences.”

At that, I know I have to oblige with Wyatt’s request. If Willa gave the all clear, there’s no reason for me to try and argue. One thing about the Buxtons is they’re nearly as strong-willed as the horses they hold. Not to mention it would be incredibly rude of me to not accept Willa’s generosity. This doesn’t stop me from letting Wyatt know exactly how I feel about him pulling me away from my work. I do so in colorful language the entire walk over to the house.

“You don’t even want to go riding with me, you just want me to be your guide,” I feign an accusation as we approach a small crowd of people on the large front deck of the Buxtons glorious ranch home. I see a few ranch hands and two other men that I don’t know, who must be Wyatt’s friends.

“You are the best guide out here.” His backhanded compliment earns him an eye roll. As we approach the house, he tells me to wait for a second while he calls over his friends. Their heads turn quickly to the two of us when Wyatt calls to them. They say hasty goodbyes to the staff they were chatting with before walking over to Wyatt and I. One is tall and pale, with pale eyes, and pale hair. His cheeks are flushed a slight pink from the chill that still hangs in the spring air. He looks lively and excited, his eyes bouncing around from one thing to another at lightning speed.

The other man is shorter with cropped, dark, curly hair. His hazel eyes are sharp and brilliant against his tanned skin. As he draws nearer, I can tell that he’s very physically fit. He’s wearing a tight long sleeve shirt that hugs his arms, brand new boot cut jeans, and a shiny pair of boots that have obviously never been worn. His eyes, unlike his friend, don’t wander while he walks over to us; they stay trained on me. A small smile falls across his pretty pink lips as he finds me watching him swagger his way over. He’s attractive.

“Never seen a British boy in cowboy boots before,” I say when they stop in front of us, glancing down at the brunette's footwear. When my eyes flick up to his, he still hasn’t stopped looking at me. Clearing my throat, I extend a hand to the blonde.

“Hi, y/n,” I introduce myself while shaking his hand.

“Mitchel,” he says, his accent is sharp and acutely German, which takes me by surprise. I nod, casting him a warm smile. I watch as Mitchel’s eyes flick to Wyatt over my shoulder. Following suit, I catch Wy smiling like a fool and a slight blush that I don’t think has anything to do with the weather coating his cheeks. When he sees me looking at him, he quickly crosses his arms and looks away. My smile widens. Mitchel drops my hand and then stuffs his back into his pockets.

“Y/n,” I say to Wyatt’s other friend who has a bit of a staring problem. He takes my hand in his slowly.

“Lando Norris,” He says crisply, his accent confirming my previous assessment. “Nice to finally meet you, y/n.”

His name catches in my mind, as if I’ve heard it before but I can’t place it. Wyatt must have mentioned him at some point, but for the life of me I can’t remember what about. A moment passes and our hands stay held together in the space between us as I try to place him. My eyes scan over his face and catalog his freckles and scars and the way his eyes sparkle when he smiles. When it dawns on me that I’m now the one with a staring problem, I swiftly pull my hand from his. Briefly, his jaw clenches.

“Finally, huh?” I take his previous statement and run with it. Turning my back to Lando, I glance over at Wyatt. “Just what have you been saying about me?”

“All good things, all good things,” Wy assures me while coming up to clasp me on the shoulder. He leans into me with a big smile that makes my stomach churn at the thought of what he’s actually told his friends. What does Lando think of me? Why does it matter what Lando thinks of me?

“Well,” I say quickly, trying to shake the thought of Lando from my head. “I suppose we should get going if we want to be back by sundown.”

The three boys nod their heads in agreement. The four of us walk over to the stables. Wyatt and Mitchel walk slowly behind me as they chit chat and laugh. Casting a glance over my shoulder at them, I watch as their shoulders bump together and their fingers brush intentionally. I bite my lip to keep myself from smiling. Wyatt’s alway had a hard time with romance and partnership just because of where we grew up and the hate he received for simply being himself. Seeing him this way, happy and smitten, makes me feel proud. It affirms that his leaving was necessary in so many ways.

“How long have you been working here?” Lando’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. My attention slides over to him. He’s come up to my left, his hands folded behind his back. His eyes are wide and curious as he looks at me. I can’t help but feel like I’m being analyzed.

“Seven years. But I’ve been on the ranch all my life. I took riding lessons from Willa and then became fast friends with Wyatt,” I tell him while pulling my eyes from his. Returning his gaze seems difficult, so I keep my eyes trained on the stable. He hums in acknowledgement of my response. I can feel his eyes on me still.

“Do you work at McLaren with Wyatt?” I ask my new acquaintance. He chuckles to himself a little, his pretty eyes squinting from his large smile.

“Yeah, you could say that,” he says, making me feel like I’m missing something. I scoff at his vague response, but don’t press the issue. If he wanted to explain himself, he would. His aura is interesting. He seems so sure of himself, completely at ease with who he is. It’s captivating.

We make it to the entrance of the stable and I instruct Lando and Mitchel to take a seat while Wyatt and I saddle up the horses. It takes us a while to get everyone ready for the trail ride, but with every passing minute, the more excited I get. Wyatt and I used to go out on the trails all the time. During the summer as teenagers, we would stuff our packs full of camping supplies and go for days at a time. Those memories are my most cherished possessions, things that I will never forget. Now whenever I take others up there, I feel as though I’m bearing a part of my soul to them.

Once we’re done getting everything ready, Wyatt leads his and Mitchel’s horses, Rudy and Molly, outside with Mitchel in tow. This leaves me alone with Lando. My stomach twists nervously when I feel his presence looming to my right.

“Ever ridden before?” I ask while petting Luna, a beautiful sorrel tovero paint. She’s older, but strong and steady, a good horse for a beginner.

“Yeah, loads,” Lando says while joining me in stroking Luna. I cast him a critical glance. If he sees it, he ignores me. Rolling my eyes, I really can’t tell if he’s being serious or not. It’s important to know what you’re doing while working with large animals. I make the mental note to keep him in my line of sight at all times while riding.

“Oh, good. Then you’ll be good to lead Ms. Luna out? She’s yours for the day,” I tell him while handing over the reins. I watch his adam's apple bob and his eyebrows lift slightly before nodding and accepting the reins from my hand. When his fingers brush over mine, goosebumps run across my arm. Quickly, I pull my hand away and turn towards Beau, my stallion for today. Fiddling aimlessly with his bridle, I wait until the steps of Luna and Lando have disappeared before releasing a breath. Leaning my forehead against Beau’s neck, I sigh at my stupid behavior. Am I really so touch starved that I get goosebumps at my finger brushing against his? That’s sad.

I take Beau’s reins in my hand and start leading him out to the waiting pack of boys. Just as I’m about to exit the stables, I look over at Jupe. He’s looking at me like he knows exactly what’s going on in my mind.

“Don’t give me attitude,” I tell him.

He just blinks at me.

Beau and I join everyone. Wyatt’s running Mitchel through the basics while Lando watches on. He’s pretending to not be listening by petting Luna and quietly talking to her, but I still catch the way he glances over when Wy demonstrates something. I walk around and do a quick double check on everyone’s gear before returning to Beau’s side. With the ease of muscle memory that I don’t think I’ll ever lose, I toss myself up and onto the saddle. Wyatt assists Mitchel into his saddle before climbing into his own. Lando glances over at me before sliding his foot into the stirrup and attempting to pull himself up. He looks out of his depth and slightly awkward as he hauls himself onto the saddle seat. Biting back a laugh, I click my tongue and squeeze my legs a little to get Beau to move for me. The two of us saunter up next to Lando. His easy continence is long gone, replaced by nerves and uncertainty. His hands shake as he grabs onto the reins incorrectly.

“Here, like this,” I correct while reaching out to his hands. My fingers pry his anxious fists open and fix where he’s holding the leather cord. I’m surprised to find calluses littering his palms, a mirror of my own. I maneuver his palm to rest in the right way so he doesn’t agitate Luna. I can feel Lando watching me as I touch and hold his hands. I’ve done this a hundred times when teaching lessons, but this is the first time that I feel an uncomfortable blush creeping onto my cheeks. Lando’s presence has me off axis, spinning out of my routine. I’ve known him for maybe an hour and he’s already getting under my skin.

“Just trust Luna, she knows the way,” I say quietly as I pull away from him. He bites at his lip but nods along with my words. Smiling as warmly as I can, I leave his side to ride up to Wyatt. However, I can’t help but glance back over my shoulder at him. He’s not looking at me, thankfully. Instead, his eyes are trained on his hands as he flexes them on the reins the way I showed him. His focus is endearing, almost cute.

But when his eyes rise to find mine, I snap my head forward in hopes that he didn’t catch me staring at him. The last thing I need is to develop some sort of childish crush on a stranger that I’ll never see again after a few days. I just have to keep my head down and my thoughts off of him.

“Time’s wasting!” Wyatt calls to me, letting me know that everyone is ready to go. Nodding, I take the lead while Wyatt falls to the back. We keep Mitchel and Lando between us so they don’t get caught straying off the path.

Going out for a ride is one of my favorite things. I love going into the mountains, walking along the thin paths, and enjoying the earth. As we go, I hear Mitchel and Wyatt quietly chatting at the back of the pack. However, once we get to the treeline, their voices fall away from my earshot. My senses are overcome by our surroundings. The budding trees are gorgeous as they filter the sunlight into sultry beams that fall onto the new grass along the sides of the gravel path.

“Beautiful,” I hear Lando speak for the first time since we left. I’ve been distracted thankfully, leaving me free from his effect on me. Now, though, I find myself turning to the side to look at him as he comes up next to me. I’m surprised to find him staring at me instead of the lively forest that hems us in. A thought that he might be making a comment about me instead of the scenery flashes through my mind. Quickly, I shove the absurd thought away and chalk it up to wishful thinking.

“It is,” I agree, giving him a small smile. He chuckles a little before turning to look around him. Suddenly, I’m acutely aware of him. Somehow he adds to the already perfect scene around me. His hair is being ruffled by the slight, cool breeze, which also lends his skin a gorgeous pink flush. Bright hazel eyes track the swishing branches and fluttering wildlife. His muscles are on display as he engages them to ride Luna. He looks less stiff than he did earlier, as if he’s finding himself at ease here. The idea makes me giddy. I find myself agreeing with Lando’s previous assessment. Beautiful.

“See something you like, cowgirl?” Lando laughs when he catches me staring at him yet again. My eyes go wide and my mouth parts as I scramble for a proper response, a defense, anything. There’s just something about him that makes it nearly impossible to look away. I think I’d like to be able to see him a lot more.

“Cowgirl?” Is all I can come up with. It’s not an inaccurate title, but the way he said it made it sound different. It was tacked onto his question almost like an endearment, or a tease. I laugh a little at his choice of words and the way it sounds in his accent.

“I see a lot of things I like, cowboy. You’ll have to be more specific,” I challenge. This successfully pulls a proper laugh from him. It’s the type of laugh that sends birds flying frantically from their perches and the creatures hidden in the grass scurrying away. It’s impossible to not laugh along with him. My heart flutters and I have to hold on tighter to my reins so I don’t fall off the saddle.

“I may be a lot of things, but I am no cowboy,” he corrects. I nod while continuing to laugh.

“I could have told you that,” I confirm while adjusting my hat.

“Oh really?” Lando says, urging me to explain myself. He tilts his head to the side while his mouth pulls into a closed lipped smile.

“If the brand new jeans and boots didn’t give you away, then you’re riding definitely does. You ride stiff as a board,” I inform him while glancing down at his boots and jeans. His denim clad thighs are tight around Luna’s middle, tense muscles visible through the fabric.

“Alright, teach me then,” he says, his free hand coming to rest on his hip. “Cowgirl.”

I roll my eyes at his words once again, but am resolved to help him nonetheless. There’s nothing like going out and being able to ride properly. I want to ask him why he lied to me about his experience with riding, but I don’t want to bruise his ego any further. Trying something new is challenging enough, and if he’s willing to learn, then I don’t want to jeopardize that.

“Keep sitting up straight, but relax your body. Your hips should shift back and forth in the seat a little. Don’t fight what feels natural. Just watch me,” I tell him. His eyes slide slowly from my face down to my hips. I watch as his eyes track my hips back and forth just slightly with Beau’s steps. Lando’s breathing goes uneven and his bottom lip disappears between his teeth. He’s staring at me like there’s nothing else he’d ever want to look at. It makes my heart race and nerves flutter in my stomach. I hadn’t really thought about the more sensual implications of having him watch my hips, but it seems rather obvious now. However, I don’t really mind the way he’s looking at me, or the way his focus is completely attuned to me. Selfishly, I really wish he wouldn’t look at anything else ever again. But that can’t happen.

“Eyes up, cowboy,” I tell him after a few more seconds of letting him watch. “Go ahead.”

Clearing his throat, he shifts a little in the saddle before settling in to do what I asked. I don’t miss the way he avoids looking me in the eye, as if he’s embarrassed. Have I flustered him? The thought makes me just a tiny bit proud. He doesn’t seem like the type to be flustered easily. He sits up straight and attempts to relax his body. His lower half starts to shift the right way, looking more natural and less jerky than before. Indulging myself, I watch for a few more seconds. I bite the inside of my cheek as he rocks back and forth in the saddle. My mind goes wandering to places that I shouldn’t be thinking about with a man I’ve only known for a day. Less than a day. And yet, I can’t stop myself.

“Maybe we’ll make a real cowboy out of you yet, Lando Norris,” I tell him after I’ve noticed improvements. His focus fractures and he looks over to me.

“I think I’d like that,” He shoots back, a sly smile accompanying his words. The look twists my stomach into nervous knots. There’s something about him, something intangible, that draws you in. Maybe it’s charm or charisma, or maybe it’s just the way he was made. Whatever the circumstances or reasons are, it’s not fair. I feel as though I have hardly a fighting chance to ward off any sort of desire that’s bubbling to the surface. I want to keep getting to know him; I want to teach him anything he asks; I want to never let go of the way he makes me feel.

The walk back to the ranch grounds is much faster than I would have liked. Lando chats with me the entire way back about this and that. He’s smart and funny and my chances of not having a crush on him grow slimmer with every passing minute I spend with him. When we get back to the stables, I find myself taking much longer than I normally would to put everything away. Mitchel and Wyatt decided that a fire would be the best way to end the night, so they ran out to get it started while Lando and I finished up with the horses. He tried his best to help, but kept getting distracted by visiting all of the stalls.

“Who’s this?” Lando says as I finish putting away the last saddle. I say a quick goodbye to Beau before heading down to the last stall near the open barn doors. Lando is standing in front of Jupe’s stall, his arms crossed over his chest. I stop next to him, leaving an appropriate amount of space between us, even though I want to come up right next to him and press my shoulder to his.

“This is Jupe. He’s our newest. Bit ornery, but a good boy,” I say while reaching my hand out to pat Jupe’s head. He brays at my touch, but doesn’t pull away. I give him a quick kiss on the nose and coddle him a little. Positive reinforcement does wonders.

“My turn,” Lando says from behind me. Astounded, I turn my face toward him. He’s insinuating that he wants me to kiss him. My brain short circuits at the thought. He’s just standing there with his arms still crossed over his chest and a stupid smile playing across his handsome face. I scoff at his joke, trying not to let on how much it affected me.

“Careful what you wish for, you might end up with a stall of your own,” I jab back. However, keeping him here doesn’t seem like the worst idea in the world.

“Being praised, kissed, and ridden by you? Sounds like these guys are living the dream,” Lando says. My jaw hangs loose as his words hit me like a freight train. Shock courses through me, leaving me beyond speechless. Is he being serious? Who says things like that? I blink at him, unsure of how to continue. I can’t lie and say that the images that popped into my head when he spoke were entirely unpleasant. If he’s being serious, there’s a lot to consider here. I could deny my feelings and spare myself the heartache. Or the alternative, which is letting my emotions get the better of me. This would mean that in a few days after spending time together, I would have to deal with heartbreak and come to terms with the fact that I’ll maybe never see him again. Or maybe I could, if there’s something really here. Maybe I have to give into hope for once. There’s never really been anyone who I’ve put ahead of my goals or dreams. I’ve never been tempted to stray from my path by anyone. Sure, I’ve gone out with guys, had a boyfriend for a while. But if something didn’t line up, I made cuts so my life would fit together how I needed it to. Suddenly now, as I stand here in this stable with a man I met only hours ago, I’m finding myself bending my rules for the first time. I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared in my whole life.

“Alright, cowboy,” I say while taking a tentative step toward him, I’m ready to play this little game of his. His hands have fallen to his side, so I gently slide my fingers into his. Shining eyes lock onto mine. His tan skin is set aglow by the dying sunrise, highlighting the ridges and curves of his face. I want to memorize every freckle, every line, every corner of him. I’m lost in the way his hand feels around mine and in the way he’s looking at me, and I don’t ever want to find my way out. One of his fingers comes to the front of my hat and pushes the brim up. He draws closer now, his face mere inches from mine. His jaw flexes and his large neck muscles twitch with tension as he dips his head down just enough for his lips to hover over mine.

“We have a fire to get to,” I finish my earlier thought in a whisper. With hooded eyes, I look into his wide ones. Smiling smally, I step away from him. Adjusting my hat back to its original place, I begin walking out the door. Lando is hauled after me with my hand still grasped in his. Giddiness takes me over as I walk hand in hand with him towards the fire pit near the house. My small smile breaks into a much larger one as I pick up my pace, breaking into a jog. Lando’s hand clasps around mine tighter as he adjusts to the new pace. A laugh bubbles from my chest as I bring my free hand to hold onto my hat as I run harder. A sense of carefreeness has corrupted my usual serious disposition. Rarely do I feel as free as I do now. Lando’s lightness has infected me, and I can’t help but fall in love with how it’s buoyed my spirits. It feels like the first hit of a drug; it’s the type of high I’ll be chasing for the rest of my life.

As we approach the house, I can hear Wyatt’s laugh ring out from around the corner to the back. Just as we’re about to turn that last corner, Lando’s arms reach around my waist, stopping me from moving another inch. His chest hits my back with no small amount of force, tossing my hat from my head. I’m bent over in his arms as both of our laughs pull the last threads of air from our tired lungs. He hauls us both upright and my head falls back against his shoulder. I suck in a deep breath of the cool, dusk air. It cools me from the inside out. A feeling stirs deep in my stomach as I stare up into the sky while basking in the feeling of Lando’s arms wrapped around me.

Belonging.

It’s something I’ve been chasing my whole life; a sense of knowing where I belong and who I am. And now I feel as though I’ve finally found it: a home; a place to belong; a knowledge of exactly who I am.

Once we’ve regulated our breathing, I break out of his arms. Leaving them isn’t what I want, and as I pull away, I immediately feel much colder. However, we have to accompany Wyatt and Mitchel before they grow suspicious. Carefully, I pick up my hat, but don’t place it back on my head.

“Are you coming?” I ask quickly, tossing a glance to Lando over my shoulder. He shakes his head with a smile, but follows me around the corner without a word. Wyatt’s eyes find us over the roaring fire he’s built. Mitchel is seated right next to him on a log, a thick blanket spread over their laps. Between the warmth of the fire, the blanket, and the present company, I know that the nighttime chill won’t be able to touch me. As I approach Wyatt, he reaches to the side to pick up another blanket with a couple beers and s’mores supplies stacked on top. I accept it with a quick thank you before plopping down on the log next to them. Lando saunters after me, slowly taking a seat to my right.

“Hold this?” I ask while placing the blanket onto his lap. Gently, I set my hat down behind me, then reach over my shoulder to grab the end of my braid. I pull the elastic from the end and go about undoing the braid.

“So, Lando, how was the ride for you?” Wy asks as he brings his beer to his lips. My eyes are on the fire as he speaks, my mind slipping out of focus for a brief moment while I concentrate on my hair. But I’m aware of the fact that Lando doesn’t answer. When I turn to look at him, I find his eyes already on me, following my fingers as they finish pulling out my braid. I run my fingers through my roots to shake out the nasty hat hair that I undoubtedly have.

“Lando?” Wyatt laughs.

“What?” Lando says as he snaps out of his dazed state. His eyes go wide as they shift over to Wyatt who’s chuckling to himself. A goofy smile breaks across Lando’s face as Wyatt restates his question.

“I think I might have to switch professions,” Lando says, his eyes flicking down to me. The fire is lighting his skin with a warm glow. The flames flash lazily in his glossy eyes.

“I think it would be best for you to stick with McLaren,” I joke while cracking both of our cold beers. With a small smile, I hand over one of the bottles to a slightly offended Lando. Laughing to myself, I nudge his shoulder and click the neck of my beer to his. The liquid is cold and fresh against my lips, sending the perfect chill cascading down into my neck and chest.

“Yeah, mate, I think it’s best if you stay in the cockpit rather than the saddle,” Mitchel adds. “Play to your strengths and all that.”

The cockpit? As in the cockpit of a Formula One car? The realization hits me with all the grace of a drunk elephant. Lando Norris; I recognized his name earlier because Wyatt works as an engineer for a driver named Lando Norris. A Formula One driver named Lando Norris. With wide eyes, I stare forward into the fire. Every possibility that I’ve just dreamt up has suddenly become nothing but a fantasy. My body tenses as it physically revolts against my idiocy and naivety. Reality settles into my bones and I have to chide myself for being so stupid to ignore it for as long as I have. Not only did I ignore it, but I created a work of fiction where maybe we could end up together.

“Shit,” I hear Lando breathe next to me. His face is one I don’t recognize, one of seriousness. For the few hours that I’ve known him, which feel more like years, I haven’t seen him lose that little spark that makes him so him. Now it’s nowhere to be seen. He didn’t want me to know that he was a professional driver, one of the most elite in the whole world. It stings because I don’t understand exactly what his intentions were and it allowed me the space to concoct some seriously messed up notions. There’s no way that anything could happen between us now. It’s hard enough to maintain a friendship of years over an ocean with an engineer; imagine trying to hold together a relationship with a driver across continents and seas that constantly change. However, I can’t justify being angry with him. It is his life to be in the public eye constantly. If he came out here to not be recognized for a while and to be treated like just a normal guy, then who am I to deny him that. I just wish he would have given me the opportunity to do that with knowing who he really is. Now I’m stuck with feelings that I know won’t go away in a hurry and thorough embarrassment.

The rest of the night passes monotonously. Wyatt and Mitchel are wrapped up into their own little world, so they hardly notice the ever eroding gap that suddenly formed between Lando and I. We chat a little, but it’s not the same anymore. Roasting marshmallows has suddenly become my new favorite thing because it gives me an excuse to not look at him. I know that if I do, I’ll start to adore his curly hair and the scar over the bridge of his nose and the way that he looks right into your soul with his pretty eyes. I know that if I dare to look at him, I’ll start to believe in fiction once again. That’s not something I can allow; I won’t be the person who falls in love with the idea of something they can never have.

I won’t be the person that falls for someone they can never have.

Wyatt and Mitchel bid us goodnight before walking hand in hand into the house. Envy flares in my chest, jealousy turning my heart an ugly shade of green. The crackling of the dying fire and the rustling of wind through the grass and trees are the only things that greet my ears. Usually, I would be incredibly fond of this quietness. But now, it simply feels like a life sentence of silence. And once again, as the world turns to night, I feel the loneliness creep in at the edges. The night chill has crept into my fingers and toes, slowly creeping inward.

“I’m sorry,” Lando’s voice is gravelly from lack of use. “I should have…”

“You should have,” I agree. My voice isn’t harsh or condescending, it’s soft, softer than I’ve ever heard it. “I understand, though. I just wish I had known before…”

My voice trails off and gets blown away with the smoke that floats lazily into the atmosphere. Clouds have collected across the sky, cutting the stars from our view. With a melancholy heart, I can’t help but admit how fitting that is. I suppose we really weren’t written in the stars. We are the opposite of destined.

Lando’s hand wraps around my cold fingers, but instead of warming me, it burns. The kiss he leaves on my knuckles feels as though my hand was dipped into the embers of a fire. Blinking back the prick in my eyes from impending tears, I watch his face fall into a frown. I hate the way his eyebrows are creased in the middle and the concern that’s painfully evident in his stubborn eyes. It’s not the look I wanted from him tonight. It’s not the face that’s become my brand new favorite. It’s not Lando.

“How long are you staying for?” I find myself asking. I have to know how long I’ll have to endure his presence. But what’s worse: having him here and knowing I can’t have him, or watching him leave and knowing that I’ll never have him?

“We leave on Monday,” he says. Just for the weekend then. I’ll only have to see him on Monday and then I’ll be free of him. I know he’ll torment me in my sleep, when I see someone walking down the street who looks a little like him, when I look at Luna. I’ll never truly escape him.

“Alright,” I mumble. A beat passes without any more conversation. Then Lando’s hand is slipping under my hair and around the side of my neck. My head turns toward him, his touch unprompted and sending a wave of goosebumps across my skin.

“I’m sorry, but I have to know. Just once and then we can put it away forever. Alright?” He’s closing that gap between us, both physically and emotionally. His face slows as it hovers in front of mine. My breathing has ceased and fear has seized my heart. Is this the right thing to do? Or will it make it worse?

“Alright,” I find myself agreeing without thinking. Maybe I have to know, too, if this is everything I think it is; if this really is everything that I’m losing.

His kiss is light at first, lips just barely brushing mine. It’s soft and gentle as he uses his hand to bring my face closer to his. When his lips are fully on mine, my mind bursts into stars and streams of color. He kisses me with quiet passion, slow and strong. That belonging that I felt when he had his arms around me flares back to life in my chest. His fingers flex under my jaw, holding onto me tighter like he’s scared I’ll slip out of his grip. Which I am. When we break away from our first and last kiss, I feel as we filter through each other’s fingertips. We’re lost now, never to be found.

A crack in my chest sends me to my feet. Tears suddenly blur my vision.

“Goodbye, Lando,” I find myself saying, my words taking every bit of strength I have left. As I turn away from him for the last time, I find myself wishing I'd have said no to his kiss. As I walk away from him for the last time, I know now that I’m losing the one real thing I’ve ever known.

The truth is he isn’t a cowboy like me.

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yourlittlebunnyy · 6 months ago

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a court of shadows and darkness

masterlist - prologue - next chapter

chapter one

summary: Selaene, Rhysand's sister, Azriel's mate runs away after the High Lord of Spring tries to kill her.

warnings: - (ltm if you find any)

enjoy!!

The young Fae hesitates after hearing such words. Had someone else been stuck like her? As she pulls the dagger away from her neck and makes sure she has a good grip on it-despite her lack of skill in using it.

"Is anyone there?" her voice is not as steady as she wanted it to be.

Footsteps echo in the void, and she cannot make out which way they are coming from. "Who are you?" she asks again and no one answers, and yet a sense of calm makes her let go slightly of her grip on the dagger. What would be the point? This is probably her fate: death. The High Lord has attempted it, and she will probably now be killed by whatever hides in the dark. It is written in her history, she finds herself pondering. A bitter laugh shakes her shoulders; she was a fool to think of bypassing the Mother's will.

"What are you laughing at, little girl?"

"Are you here to kill me?"

"No." A simple, dry, almost bored answer. The footsteps restart and this time, although she does not understand the direction, they are getting closer. But her scent does not change or fade with the smell of fear; no, she remains lying on her back, arms along her sides and eyes closed, one hand barely holding her mate's dagger.

Perhaps, a small thought makes its way into her, into her heart, whoever this creature is, she was sent by the Mother just to keep her from dying.

Perhaps death is not his fate, at least not now.

What for, though? To enjoy watching her rot in the most obscure place of all, in the UnderWorld?

She can feel the creature come even closer, and she notices that it is not someone with human features, probably some strange Lesser Fae who took a chance and ended up here. The figure comes so close to her that she can feel its warm breath at her side, and then with a thud, it lies down next to her. She hears its deep breaths, probably trying to smell and identify her, given the lack of light. Something brushes against her arm, some coat of fur. Could it be an Higher Fae capable of shape-shifting?

"What are you?"

"I am a Higher Fae, but I have been stuck in my animal form."

A moment of silence creeps between the two Fae, as if it were a calculating pause between two warriors studying each other from opposite sides of the battle.

It is only then that the young Fae shudders, her body having now officially exhausted all adrenaline reserves, causing her to remain sore and cold. She moves almost imperceptibly closer to the creature, which emanates a comforting warmth. And as she feels every part of her body slowly relax, her eyelids close and a feeling of comforting heat envelops her mind, a deeper, steadier breath accompanying the gentle transition between wakefulness and sleep.

It may have been only hours, or entire days, when Fae wakes up to find the creature still at her side.

"'Welcome back.'"

She discovers with pleasure that a small scar now remains in her side, and that her body has stopped aching as if she had been carrying a rock on her back all her life.

"Are there other people here?" The other Fae does not answer, but she can feel her body move in a nod of denial.

"I was only able to find you because of the smell of your blood and the heightened senses of my form."

"What are you?"

"A white tiger."

"And what is that?"

"You've never seen a white tiger?" her voice sounds surprised.

"No."

"When we find the light and you see me, you will see your first white tiger."

The young girl doesn't answer for a while, "Is there any light here?"

"Maybe." Another pause, this time longer, "I have been here for a while..."

"Really?" a movement makes her realize the tiger is nodding, "How did you manage to survive without water, or food?"

"I realized just a little while ago that ... time does not flow here as it does in the world above us. Here it is as if we are on pause. I look the same as when I arrived, although it's been ... years."

"Years?"

"I'm not sure." This time it was the young woman's turn to nod.

"And in all these years you haven't found light? Or an exit?"

"No, but I think there is a way."

A glimmer of hope clutched her chest just enough to hurt, "tell me how."

"Maybe it's easier to show you."

Beside her she feels the tiger's body move and stand up, and she finds herself following her through the void, orienting herself only by the sound of her footsteps echoing in space.

"I don't think it's a good idea to move away from where I came from."

The tiger lets out a snort that is more animalistic than human. The young woman finds it best to keep her mouth shut.

After walking for what seemed like hours, the other Fae stops and lies down on the floor made of darkness.

"Are we there yet?"

"No. According to my reckoning, we are now at the border of the Day Court."

"And where- where do we need to get to?"

"To Under the Mountain Realm."

A full day's flight, almost a week's walk. That means they walked almost two days, without ever stopping, without uttering a word, or without drinking even a drop of water. Two whole days.

"But why am I not thirsty, or sleepy?"

"I've already told you, time here ... It's as if our bodies freeze. Now sleep."

"You never told me your name."

"Vanessa, what about you?"

"Selaene."

Selaene wakes up feeling something soft and warm brush against her cheek, interrupting her sleep. When she slowly opens her eyes she can almost catch a glimpse of the tiger's moon-colored fur.

"Let us continue." The young Fae does not respond, but gets up silently and follows the tiger. They walk on for what seems like a day, the only audible noise the sound of their footsteps.

"Do you think there are other people like us here?"

"I'm sure there are."

"Thank you for...for stopping me earlier."

Vanessa doesn't answer her, but a puff of air echoes through the air as if to say no big deal. Neither of them speaks yet, instead the tiger stops and invites the young woman to rest.

The next day, or at least what the Fae thinks it is, they find themselves walking again. Selaene does not want to be intrusive, but she has so many doubts to clear up with Vanessa, who seems to have an answer to every question she has. Who knows how long she has been here, she finds herself thinking, to know all this.

As the days of walking pass, Selaene realizes that neither of them feels like having a conversation, despite the many questions she would like to ask the tiger. The darkness and the pattering of the shifter's paws have slowly turned into an instrument of torture, and the young Fae can only wonder if getting to wherever she is being led would make any difference.

Last night, as she heard the steady breathing of the sleeping animal beside her, she tried to contact her mate through the bond, only to find ... nothing.

She spent the night trying to muffle the sobs as she felt the only part that would be able to keep her rational ... disappear. Because Azriel, her mate, was gone. The bond was dead.

And the worst thing was not that Selaene wanted to feel his support and love through it, the one that was her only light in this darkness, but the fact that the ShadowSinger is probably feeling the same things. And if she feels the bond dying - no, if she simply doesn't feel the bond, then neither does he. And that means he thinks she's dead. And he -- oh gods.

By now this path, she thinks as she follows Vanessa into the unknown, is useless. It makes no difference to her, because her last hope is gone.

The tiger does not speak to her until the last stop, and Selaene, on her part, does not even try to open her mouth.

She does not allow herself to cry yet, but she knows deep down that Vanessa has realized that something is wrong. Perhaps, she even dares to think that that night she actually heard everything and a kind of silent understanding, a silent respect, was sparked between the two.

"Maybe we should rest," the first to break the silence is the white-coated Fae. After that, the emptiness drops between them again, and Selaene realizes that this silence is louder than anything else, because it allows her to focus only on her thoughts.

"You know," the other female begins, "I-I've been through what you're going through, too." She waits a while, as if to see if Selaene would respond, and when she does not, she goes on.

"I know this emptiness ... it's scary. But ... now we are no longer alone. You have me. And I have you, Selaene." The young woman wanted to tell her that she didn't care about her, or whatever place they're looking for, because the moment the bond was gone, she realized she had other problems than clinging to that tiny glimmer of hope. Because there is none, and in her there never will be.

"Selaene. Listen to me. I too -- I too have left someone dear to me up there. But if you don't try, if you don't hope, you're going to go crazy. You'll end up using that dagger like you did when you got here."

"My mate thinks I'm dead, and I'm stuck in the UnderWorld. What do you expect me to do?" as she breaks the silence for the first time in days, her voice more broken than she thought.

"Selaene..."

"No. I don't... I don't care, Vanessa."

"It doesn't matter. When you see -- when you see them, it will light up some hope in you, too." And with that, the absence of noise settled over them again like a phantom blanket.

The next day they walked half as far as they had walked before. Everything around her was such a bright black, she wondered if she would ever see the colors again before she died, assuming she would die in this place where you don't age.

"We have arrived.", Selaene looks around and sees... nothing.

"Is this a joke?"

"No, we will stay here as long as it takes."

previous chapter - next chapter

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fall0utmind · 3 months ago

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Rosquez medical leak au ch8

Hi guys, long time no post (it has taken too long)

Chapter 8: Fall out

ao3 here, check the medical leak au tag (below) for the other parts

We are officially past the worst of the angst - hope you enjoy this, it's a bit of a filler but it is going to get better. Thanks for all the love.

Silence falls for a brief second after Valentino has left. Marc is standing alone in the middle of the room, staring at where he had been. He feels the shattered pieces of his heart in his chest, and he begins to cry. Once he starts, he can’t stop, wretched sobs pulled out of him as he gasps for breath. Underneath the misery and despair, the deep roots of his anger pull at him. Enraged that Valentino still treats him like a stray dog that he can continue to kick down, knowing that he will return with his tail wagging at the first hint of affection. He’s furious that Vale can pretend that he didn’t know. How can he stand in Marc’s home and plead when he has ruined everything? It leaves a sour taste in Marc’s mouth, yet his treacherous heart flutters with hope that maybe Valentino didn’t know. Maybe there is a chance.

He can barely see Alex's panicked face through his swimming vision as he frantically tries to inhale, his breath catching in his chest.

He feels the room bearing down on him, the walls contracting, pushing him from all sides. His heart races as black spots appear in his sight like stars in the night sky. His chest aches and his lungs burn, it is as if someone has sucked the oxygen out of the room. He is shaking; someone has tipped his life upside down and he no longer knows which way is up. He cannot help but feel like something bad will happen, an impending sense of doom clawing from his chest. The irony isn’t lost on him.

Alex is clutching at him now, shouting at the others in the room, who break out of their ghost-like trance and spring into action. Dovi slots himself behind Marc, strong arms wrapping around him, supporting his weight as his knees buckle. He gently manoeuvres them towards the sofa, both collapsing onto it. There is a gentle rumbling from behind him – the Italian whispering softly in Marc’s ear, and although he can’t hear anything but a static buzz, the gentleness lulls him slightly. He squeezes his eyes shut, more tears leaking down his face. When he opens his eyes, Alex is kneeling in front of him, Marc’s hands clasped in his own. He watches Alex’s lips move with no sound. He still can’t catch his breath. Violent sobs and gasps fill the air; it takes him a second to realise the broken noises are coming from him, filtering through the static.

This is what Valentino Rossi does to him. He takes Marc’s heart in his hands, brutally ripped out from his chest, and he smashes it like glass. He turns his back and leaves Marc with no blood, no oxygen, and no way to keep on living. And yet Marc still loves him. The name Marc Marquez is rarely spoken without a mention of Valentino Rossi. They are intrinsically linked, their names smeared together in an artistic rendition of pain and betrayal. Marc does not believe there will ever be a day he can live without it. They are destined to destroy each other until the end of time. Nothing will be left of his fragile heart by the time Valentino is done with it.

He thinks back to 2015. He thinks he is falling apart, shattering into a million tiny shards. The world stops spinning as he stares into the void and realises this is his fate. The man he loves willingly betrays him again and again, but despite it all, Marc cannot help but need him. A visceral, all-consuming need to consume each other until only one survives. Every time he thinks he has moved on Valentino sinks his claws back in, tearing another part of Marc apart. The backslide is always the worst part; having climbed the whole way up only to slip back down again. Pain becomes welcome in the never-ending sea of numbness. He is frantically swimming up to a surface which will never come. Choking, suffocating, sinking deeper into the murky depths. He is lost in the endless darkness, trying to find his way to a home that doesn’t exist. He feels so alone. He has shut every door trying to block it out and has numbed himself into apathy. Now the world has turned its back on him.

Alex shakes him. Hard. Unwilling to let the darkness take hold once more. Marc pulls towards the surface, pushing his head above the waves and gasping for air. He inhales. Alex’s words filter into his awareness.

“Marc, breathe with me. You’re ok, it’s okay”

Marc tries desperately to match the breathing demonstrated to him, focusing on the steady rise and fall of Dovi’s chest behind him as he gasps around his tears. He clutches onto the feeling like a lifeline, breathing in time with him. He is distantly aware of Alex talking soothingly, his hands still grasping Marc’s. Marc feels guilt wash over him; he has always tried hard to prevent his brother from seeing these panic attacks. He has tried to be strong, reluctant to let Alex feel more responsibility for Marc’s wellbeing. He failed. Another round of tears builds, leaving him sobbing wretchedly once more. The Dovi continues to whisper comforting praise, his low register rumbling against where they are flush together.

“That’s it, you’re doing so well, keep breathing for me, baby”

The pet name sinks into his chest and settles like a blanket of warmth; he feels his cheeks flush slightly. Dovi chuckles lightly, noting Marc’s reaction before he goes back to coaching the younger to breathe deeply. The world slowly filters back in, like the tide has pulled back, retreating to sea. Dovi is wrapped around him, grounding him in reality. Alex’s face is still in front of him; his eyes soft as he comes back into focus. Marc blinks slowly, squeezing his brother’s hand, and Alex exhales.

“Jöder, Marc. You scared the life out of me. God…”, Alex frets.

Water is pressed into his hands by a concerned-looking Dani. Marc tries to muster a reassuring smile, he’s not sure if he succeeds. A bone-deep exhaustion washes over him, and he sinks back into Dovi, eyes shutting against his will. Jorge and Dani watch on, concern evident from their identical worried frowns.

“Are you okay, Mijo?”, asks Dani.

Marc hums non-committedly, he wants to tell them everything is fine, but that’s a lie, and he doesn’t think he could talk right now if he tried. He could sleep for a year. It’s getting late; the sun had long since set and really it is about time that they all headed to bed. Dani and Jorge share a look, communicating without words, and announce that they will head back to their hotels to let Marc rest. He considers this for a second, and upon second thought, it might be hotel singular given how domesticated the pair are. He must ask about that, maybe tomorrow. They confer quietly with Alex before they leave, gently touching Marc and reassuring him that they will return tomorrow. Affection rises within him at his friend's kindness. Despite this, he is somewhat glad they are leaving, exhaustion weighing down on him. He feels washed out, managing a small wave as his eyes begin to droop again. Dovi shuffles out from underneath Marc, standing up and stretch leisurely.

“Let’s get you to sleep, Cariño”

He shoots a questioning look towards Alex, who shrugs a little before pointing towards the bedrooms. It makes Dovi roll his eyes in exasperation. He’s not an idiot, he knows what the others are doing - giving him and Marc space. He knows he has a soft spot for the Spaniard that you can see from space, but he also knows about Marc’s unwavering affection for Valentino. Dovi is perfectly content to be his friend without a need to act on his attraction, and if Marc ever decides otherwise then that’s something they can explore another day. Certainly not now.

He scoops Marc up off the sofa, gesturing at Alex to lead the way and following him with Marc tucked securely in his arms. Once they reach the bedroom, Dovi gently deposits him on the bed. Between Alex and himself, they manage to wrangle him out of most of his clothes and get him under the covers. He’s still sniffling weakly when he turns towards them.

“Why does he hate me? I don't understand”

Dovi's heart shatters a little at that, sadly looking back at the Spaniard tucked into bed like a child.

“I don’t know Corazón,but hopefully today’s given him a much-needed kick up the backside”

He gives Marc a weak smile, despaired that he can’t do more, and steps back to let Alex wrap him in a hug. Alex murmurs something in Catalan which prompts Marc to shove his face into his brother’s shirt. Marc’s eyes are unfocused and drooping by the time they leave, his soft goodnight echoing down the hallway as they shut the door behind them. Alex lets out a deep sigh, thanking Dovi and giving him a light hug before he shows him out. They all need their sleep tonight, with tomorrow promising to be a hectic day. Alex will stay close to his brother, unable to shake the lingering concern, but Dovi heads back to his hotel room, in dire need of some rest and time to think. He just hopes tomorrow will bring more positivity.

Marc wakes up with the sun, feeling well rested despite the events of the day before. He is determined to put yesterday behind him, reminding himself that he can always fight, even if the world is against him.

Marc pulls himself out of bed, putting on his comfiest outfit before he heads onto the track, hoping to get an early morning walk in to clear his head before the rest of the paddock arrives. The morning light is beautiful, and the air is warm but not uncomfortable. It reminds him why he loves racing – walking the track. He can almost imagine the smell of burnt rubber and the purr of an engine below him. He can feel the breeze on his face and imagines the feeling as he takes a corner. Marc allows himself a moment to stand and take it in, the sun warming his face and making him golden in the early morning sunshine. He has overcome a lot to be here, he might as well appreciate that. He stays out for another half an hour, leisurely walking the track and appreciating the quiet, before he heads back to the motorhome.

Someone is lingering outside the door- a figure clad in red. At first, he thinks it’s Pecco, but as he draws closer, he realises that his hair is too long. Fear momentarily grips him as he considers who might be loitering outside his motorhome, and why. But before the panic can fully set in, the figure turns, and Marc is face to face with Enea. He’s surprised the younger Italian has sought him out. He’s been avoiding most of the grid for the whole weekend, unwilling to confront their pitying faces.

Enea greets him with a fond ciao and a warm hug as Marc invites him inside. There’s a worried frown that creases his eyebrows, it’s terribly cute. His eyes are scanning Marc as if checking to see if he’s okay.

“You areokay?”, he asks.

Marc smiles gently, the warmth from earlier returning. It makes him surprisingly honest.

“I’ve been worse. Rough night. It’ll get better”, Marc replies.

He knocks their shoulders together, enjoying the way it makes Enea flush slightly and smile in a quiet, pleased sort of way. Enea has always been one of the few Italians on the grid that Marc gets on with. Probably because he has never been associated with Vale’s posse of students. Enea is funny and kind, as well as a talented rider. It endears Marc to him.

Enea stays for coffee. The soothing sounds of quiet Italian fill the motorhome as they talk about the weekend and their plans after the race. Alex wanders into the room not long after, eyebrows raising at the sight of the two of them. Enea takes Alex arriving as his cue, standing up to leave. As Marc walks him out, the Italian tugs him into a tight hug, head buried into Marc’s shoulder.

“You scared me. At the press conference. And then yesterday. I’m glad you are okay.”, he mumbles, rawness bleeding into his voice. Marc simply pulls Enea in tighter, pressing his face against the other man’s hair, before he lets him go. He grins at the younger man, ruffling his hair good-naturedly.

“I will see you later, good luck today!”, Marc calls out as Enea leaves

“You too, Marc. Be safe”, Enea answers.

Marc grins a little manically,

“Always.”

The rest of the morning passes in a blur. The others are meeting them in the garage today, leaving the brothers to get ready together before heading out into the pit lane.

It is getting busier now; the paddock swells with media, team personnel, and fans. Marc and Alex try their best to swerve around the masses, taking alternative routes where possible. Usually, Marc adores meeting fans; he loves seeing their enthusiasm and passion for his sport. But the idea sets him on edge after this weekend. He has been avoiding social media, terrified by the juxtaposing reaction of the fans. He knows there is no shortage of hatred online. He found out the hard way that it translates into real life too.

Eventually, their luck runs out. Marc darts a terrified look at Alex as a group of fans spot them and begin to approach. Some of them are wearing his merch, some not. Anxiety is clawing at him, but he steals himself with a deep breath. He can’t escape without looking like an asshole and that’s the last thing he needs this weekend. A young woman approaches first, perhaps in her later teenage years; she looks about as nervous as Marc feels. All he can imagine is the man who shouted abuse at his most vulnerable moment, it scares him more than he wants to admit. He pastes a fake smile onto his face whilst mentally bracing himself for the worst.

It never comes.

The girl is sweet, asking for a photo and an autograph. It’s a relatively normal fan interaction until she pulls away from the selfie and looks directly into Marc’s eyes. He’s slightly shaken by the fierce honesty he sees there.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry about all the crap from this weekend.”, she starts, compassion and outrage evident in her voice.

“It sucks that you didn’t get to say it on your own terms. You will inspire many people with your success. Thank you for staying alive so that we can see you continue to thrive in the face of adversity. You’re very brave.”

She smiles at him after, before turning on her heel and walking away with a slight skip in her step. It leaves Marc gasping for air; his face is slack from shock. The fans continue to be quietly supportive and praise Marc’s strength. Quite a few of them are bad-mouthing the press. It makes him reconsider everything. It makes him feel brave rather than weak. It makes him consider all the people who have suffered through similar, just like Pecco had said last night. He smiles for real this time, his eyes slightly damp.

The final fan loitering is an older man wearing a faded 46 shirt. Marc gulps, fighting the recurring panic. Each step feels like a blow as the man approaches. He stops in front of Marc, who is suspended in time, tensing in anticipation.

The man speaks quickly, his voice low but sincere.

“You are a good man.”, he announces. That alone shocks Marc.

He continues, “People can see that, no matter who we support. Despite everything you have kept going, you should be proud of that.”

Marc feels hope and warmth welling up within him. It feels good, knowing that even Valentino’s fans could be kind. He wants to cry, but in a good way for once. He watches the man as he walks away, rooted to the spot, leaving Alex to drag Marc the last few hundred meters towards the garage.

He enters the garage feeling lighter than he has all weekend, a sunny smile on his face. The team reflect his positivity almost immediately; he loves them more than life. Dovi is already waiting for Marc and Alex, his eyebrows raised at their entrance.

“What’s got you smiling like that?”, he questions.

Marc grins cheekily as he replies, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He winks at Dovi and laughs at the dirty smirk he receives in response, followed by Alex’s weary groan. Dani and Jorge join them, prompting Marc to launch into a retelling of the fan interactions. He beams the whole way through.

By the time he heads out for practice, he feels on top of the world. It’s reflected in his riding, and he puts in lap after lap at a blazing pace. By the time he pulls back into the pits, there is a wicked smile on his face.

Fuck the world, he thinks. He has proved to himself capable of handling anything. He has overcome what should have been a career-ending injury. He will get through this too; he has already done the hardest bit. Bring it on.

#motogp #marc marquez #rosquez #motogp rpf #my fics #medical leak au #valentino rossi #20 years later #shes posted

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rothjuje · 11 months ago

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Help me make a decision. Our girls (4 and 7) share a room. Currently 7 year old is in a twin and 4 year old is in a transitioned crib. We desperately need to get Gen a new bed. But this our dilemma: Alyssa wants a full bed. The room is quite large (identical to our living room actually, it’s directly above and the same dimensions). But a full bed and a twin bed is kind of bulky/won’t look even and they will lose a lot of floor space. Justin is in camp each girl gets a twin bed, end of story. And yes, growing up we all had twin beds. But nowadays a lot of kids have full beds, even from the start, especially up here. All my friends’ kids are in full sized beds. Anyway Alyssa’s reasoning is that she can’t sleep well because she’s afraid of falling off her mattress, which is a completely valid fear because she tosses and turns a lot and she is very tall for her age.

We’ve looked at bunk beds, Justin thinks the weight will be too much on the upstairs floor (our floors don’t seem super stable). A trundle bed is also an option, but Justin and multiple friends feel like it’s not fair that Gen technically wouldn’t have her own bed. But the plan isn’t to stick Gen’s bed underneath everyday, they play a lot on their beds and I think it would give them a lot usable space. Both bunk beds and trundles have full/twin options.

I overthink everything and can never make decisions. I guess we could put full sized bed in the corner and twin against the long wall and maybe I need to just move on, that there isn’t a perfect solution.

Anyway. When they excavated for the retaining wall two things happened.. our side and back lawn were annihilated but we also gained a large bonus space in the back. We are desperately prepping the side and back lawn to lay sod and to pour concrete in the bonus area. And I say we, but so far it’s been me digging up rocks for 3 hours a day. Which I kind of enjoy and it’s the best workout ever, I think I’m just so glad not to be trapped inside the house anymore.

The bonus area will be a circular firepit area. I was thinking stone or pea gravel, but Justin is set on the concrete. It won’t be the prettiest but I like that the kids will have somewhere flat to ride bikes/scooters. When does one even lay sod in MA? I know fall is the more popular option but I can’t survive spring and summer with a mud pit again.

Cookie season is officially over for our troop. It’s our first year/first cookie season. We thought we would make about $400. We made about 4k after the cookie debits. That is insane. But we do have 30 scouts so I guess it’s not super shocking. We actually don’t even know what we’re supposed to do with the money. We make the parents pay dues to cover project supplies, per Girl Scout rules (there are a lot of rules). And I know we are supposed to donate the donations (but that’s only $150). I know I did field trips in scouts, I’m assuming cookie money covered those. We are all just so surprised. I know we can save it but seems sad not to use yearly because then the girls who leave the troop/help earned it won’t benefit from it. I’m sure we will use some and save some, but we definitely have enough to plan a really fun adventure with our scouts!

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ambiguous-sanskars · 2 years ago

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Hey y'all I'm super late to the party but I finally watched RRR and needed to write something~ This is a little canon-divergent post-whipping scene where Ram decides to visit Bheem in his jail cell and tell him everything. First shot at writing anything for this fandom, hope y'all like it!

Read on AO3

“Bheema.”

Bheem jerked awake at that voice - and then immediately regretted it. With consciousness returned the searing pain coursing through every fiber of his body. His bloodstained dhoti clung to his legs, and for some reason that made it hard to breathe. His chafed wrists had begun to heal, and the clotting blood had glued them to the ropes that bound him. He tried tentatively to move an arm and cried out in pain.

“Shh. Your left shoulder is dislocated. Don’t move, I’ll help you.”

Ram stepped out of the shadows. Bheem struggled against his chains, trying to move away.

“No, don’t-” Ram’s voice cracked. “Bheema, please.”

Bheem froze. “What do you want?”

“I’m trying to help you.”

“Why?”

“They’ll kill you.”

“You- what about Malli? Why didn’t you-”

“I’ll tell you everything. Just let me untie you for a minute. It will help with the pain.”

Bheem stayed still as Ram knelt at his feet, unlocking the cuffs around his ankles. Then Ram stood and pulled out a pocket knife, using it to slowly peel the ropes away from Bheem’s wrists. Bheem choked back a whimper.

“I know, I know it hurts. I’ll be gentle. Lean on me, Bheema. Take deep breaths. You can do it.”

Bheem pressed his forehead into Ram’s shoulder, breathing through clenched teeth.

Ram decided to distract him by telling him the truth. By the time the second rope had come off, he’d told Bheem everything - his training, his parents’ deaths, his mission, the atrocities he’d committed in the name of liberation. He explained, shamefaced, how he’d used Bheem as a pawn to get this position. He fought down a wave of nausea as he tried to justify not helping Malli sooner.

And then, when he had cut off the last bit of rope and officially run out of reasons to avoid Bheem’s gaze, he looked up.

Bheem was staring at him in horror. Ram didn’t know what else he’d expected.

“So anyway,” Ram continued. “I’m getting you and Malli out of here. I’ll have to kill the governor to do it. He doesn’t suspect me. If it stays that way, I’ll survive and return for the weapons. If he puts two and two together…” Ram let out a shaky sigh. “God, Bheema, please say something. Anything.”

To Ram’s astonishment, Bheem got to his knees. With his uninjured hand, he clasped Ram’s feet.

“Annayya,” Bheem choked out. “I tried to kill you. Forgive me.”

“Bheema!”

“I did not understand your great purpose. I did not know what you had gone through to get here. At every step I made things harder for you, and you still came back for me. You are so merciful, Annayya, so good-”

“Enough,” Ram managed, fresh tears springing into his eyes. He took Bheem by the shoulders and lifted him to his feet, watching him wince at the injuries Ram had inflicted on him not even a full day earlier. “How can you say such things? And after what I did yesterday?” Ram tenderly brushed a hand over the lash marks on Bheem’s side, causing him to shudder. “If anyone should beg for forgiveness, it is me.”

Bheem shook his head, leaning weakly into Ram’s arms. “Annayya, I should have understood you, like I always have. I should have trusted you. Forgive me.”

Ram brought a hand up to cradle Bheem’s head, trying to steady his own breathing as Bheem sobbed quietly into his shoulder. He would get them out of this alive, Ram vowed. And when he did, he would apologize to Bheem properly. He would make sure that as long as he lived, Bheem never knew pain again.

But for now…

“Bheema,” Ram began, hating what he was about to do. “We have to relocate your shoulder, okay? Will you let me do that?”

Bheem nodded, looking at Ram with implicit trust. It made Ram sick with regret.

“Okay, here, lie down. This is going to hurt, Bheema, but you cannot cry out. There are guards out there not twenty meters from us. If they find me here, neither of us will make it out alive, understand?”

“Annayya…” Bheem whimpered, finally letting fear into his eyes in front of Ram.

Hot tears streamed down Ram’s face, but he knew what he had to do. He climbed over Bheem’s supine body, using his knee to brace Bheem’s clavicle. He positioned his right hand over the dislocated shoulder, and pressed his left hand tightly over Bheem’s mouth. He counted to three and then pushed with all this strength.

Bheem’s body spasmed under his, but Bheem did not cry out. Ram quickly clambered off Bheem and crawled on his hands and knees to a corner of the cell, retching silently. He had committed innumerable acts of torture before, but nothing had ever gotten to him like this.

Suddenly, he felt a warm hand on his cheek.

“Annayya,” Bheem said softly, turning Ram’s face towards himself. He shook his head, wiping away Ram’s tears with a gentleness of which Ram felt wholly undeserving.

Ram got to his feet, taking Bheem’s hands and walking him back to the bloodied chains and ropes.

“Bheema, I need to tie you back up. Not properly, just enough to avoid suspicion. The ropes will be loose, and I won’t lock any of the cuffs. Tomorrow, when they come to get you, you will be able to break free easily, okay? Remember the plan. Wait until you are by the forest to escape.”

As Ram went about securing the chains, Bheem’s eyes filled with tears.

“Annayya,” he begged, unable to bury emotion with reasoning. “Annayya, don’t leave me here. Please don’t leave me.”

Ram made a wounded sound. His hands continued fastening the ropes.

“Annayya, I swear I will listen to everything you say. Have mercy, take me with you.”

“Quiet, Bheema.”

“Annayya, I’m sorry. Forgive my past transgressions. Don’t punish me by leaving me here alone. Annayya, please!”

Ram dropped the ropes in agony, gathering Bheem into his embrace. Bheem clung to Ram’s trembling frame, understanding how Malli must have felt when he left her behind. Understanding how utterly helpless Ram must be feeling now. He took a deep breath.

“Go,” Bheem whispered into Ram’s shoulder.

Ram pulled back, taking Bheem’s face in his hands. He pressed a long kiss to Bheem’s forehead. Then he stepped out of the cell and locked it.

Ram gripped the metal bars and caught Bheem’s teary gaze.

“Bheema, do you trust me?”

“Always, Annayya.”

“Then believe me when I say that this time tomorrow, you and Malli will be free.”

Ram turned to leave.

“Annayya, that is not enough.”

Ram froze.

“Promise me you will be with us.”

“Bheema-”

“Swear it. Swear it on my life.”

“Bheema!”

“Please, Annayya. I will never ask you for anything else. Just this. Just you.”

As long as he lived, Ram thought, he would never understand what he had done to deserve Bheem. He reached through the bars and placed his hand on Bheem's head.

“I swear I will be with you. All three of us will make it out of this alive. And then, Bheema, I will see to it that suffering never touches you again.”

With that, Ram turned and disappeared into the night.

______________

@fangirlshrewt97 your writing for this fandom inspired me to try so I figured you might be interested? Please lmk if you don't want to be tagged!

#rrr #rrr fanfiction #rambheem #rrr movie #angst #hurt/comfort #can be read as platonic or romantic #graphic partially medically accurate description of relocating a shoulder #also this is the first thing ive written in like...two years #I might be out of practice #any feedback welcome

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mrsreginagold · 3 months ago

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Fic: Darkness Stirs And Wakes Imagination

Fandom: Nikita

Pairing: Ari Tasarov x Nikita Mears (Nikari)

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: Canon-divergent AU that roughly takes place during the beginning of season three. Ari is a part of the team and he and Nikita have been romantically involved for over a year.

Summary: Nikita and Ari help each other survive a hectic October night, all while they’re harboring a secret from their friends.

Author's Note: It's officially my favorite holiday, so I wrote some Nikari in celebration. The title is a lyric from The Music of the Night, because I absolutely adore The Phantom of the Opera and it plays a significant part in this piece. This turned out super domestic, sweet and fluffy, and I had a blast composing it. Enjoy and Happy Halloween! 🎃

On AO3

Darkness Stirs And Wakes Imagination

“Hold still,” Nikita Mears admonished, trying to keep her hand steady as it hovered over Ari Tasarov’s handsome face, not wishing to accidentally poke her beloved in the eyes as she applied dark liner to enhance them.

“Difficult to do when the love of my life happens to be straddling me while barely dressed,” her companion joked. “Besides: it’s not going to be visible behind the mask.”

“It’s for me,” she confessed, a quiet laugh emerging as she shook her head and then leaned forward to carefully draw the pencil across one eyelid. “I know you’ll look gorgeous with just a touch of this. I’ll be subtle, I promise.”

He sighed, but remained as still as a statue so she could continue her work. “The things I put up with for you.”

“Hush,” she caressed at his cheek and then focused on filling in a corner before turning his face slightly to the side so she could touch up the other eye.

Once she was finished, she sat back to admire her handiwork. “Okay, you can open them now.”

He did so cautiously, not wanting to upset the effort she had just made, even inadvertently.

Nikita’s breath caught. Ari already happened to possess the most stunning blue gaze she had ever seen, but with the added effect of the liner to enhance the shade that she loved – he was devastatingly attractive.

“I take it by your silence that I meet your expectations?”

Her response was to lunge and steal a passionate enough kiss that it caused him to topple back onto the mattress.

Amused laughter emerged from her partner, but he returned the embrace with equal fervor, his hands moving up to tenderly cradle her face while they reclined together.

“Nik…love, we’re supposed to be putting our costumes on, not the opposite,” he reminded, though he didn’t exactly protest when she shoved the undershirt he wore up over his stomach in order to trace a languid pattern across his toned abdomen.

“We could always cancel,” she muttered, her lips drifting to coast along his jawline.

“As preferable as that would be…” he clasped her shoulders and gently pushed her back to reason with her. “We both know that Alexandra has been planning this for months. I would hate to disappoint our friend.”

“You mean the friend that we haven’t told the news of our engagement to? That friend?” Nikita quirked a brow and gestured at the simple gold chain where her sapphire and diamond engagement ring dangled.

“You were the one who wanted to keep it secret for a little longer,” he reminded before ducking a quick kiss to her forehead. “Besides, we’ve been quite busy.”

“It’s also probably not a great idea to spring it on her, especially since there’s been some tension with Sean lately,” the former assassin agreed. “If anything, planning this trip has given Alex the distraction she’s needed.”

Her fiancé smiled warmly and rubbed soothingly along her spine. “Come on, I’ll help you with the dress.”

She nodded and then let him lead her away from the comfort of their bed for the time being.

Nikita had to admire the clearly high-end production value put into the amusement park’s Halloween event. When Alex had suggested they take a weekend out-of-state to attend, she had initially balked at the idea, but between Birkoff’s enthusiasm in helping out with plans and Ari’s gentle coaxing (and a promise that they could take a normal vacation in the winter) she found herself warming to the concept more and more.

It also helped that she did not scare very easily, even when actors in well-crafted makeup and costumes jumped out and yelled at her.

What probably made it more enjoyable was striding, arm in arm, with the man she loved. Ari’s presence could calm her even in the most anxiety inducing situation. She was also well-aware that, in spite of his encouragement to join their younger companions in the festivities, it wasn’t what either one of them would call his preference.

Her fiancé was not the nervous sort, but he was also not terribly fond of haunts, like her. It all depended on the theming, and luckily there was nothing based on any of the horror films that had resulted in the pair cowering in each other’s arms while they watched in morbid fascination – but it didn’t change the fact that compared to their friends: they were less versed in how to handle the scares.

“You starting to regret this?” she had to shout to be heard over the booming music that was being filtered through the speakers as they followed Alex and Birkoff down the labyrinthian pathway.

“Only that these shoes aren’t conducive to running!” He gestured at the black leather riding boots that completed his Phantom of the Opera outfit.

The major caveat had been that everyone had to wear costumes since it was a special ticketed event that encouraged dressing up. For Birkoff, this was practically second nature, and he seemed the most at ease walking around disguised as Batman. Alex also seemed relatively calm dressed as Cinderella, though Nikita had to wonder who had suggested the idea to her.

Ari had chosen to go as the famous musical’s character in his Red Death outfit from the film version that had released a few years back. His lean frame was encased in layers of red silk and velvet that clung to his build perfectly, and the ensemble was topped off by a white, skeletal half-mask. Judging by how many heads happened to turn to look at him when he passed by it was clear that the effect was extremely appealing.

To match him, the second in command of Division had picked Christine’s pink masquerade ballgown, and while she wore more sensible flats underneath, there was still a fairly voluminous petticoat in addition to a corset for structure. Neither one of them would be making a quick getaway: but they would look amazing while attempting.

“Okay,” Alex finally came to a halt as she studied a map of the various house locations. “I think we’ll start with up here and then head down to the lower level. We have front of the line passes, so it’ll help get through all the houses faster.”

“That’s fine by me,” Nikita grasped Ari’s hand. “We’ll follow your lead.”

The grin that her protégé offered was mildly alarming, and it certainly didn’t help when Birkoff eagerly rubbed his hands together.

“I fear you might have unleashed a monster,” her love muttered, his fingers twining more tightly with her own.

“When we get back to our room, we’re taking a hot bath to unwind, deal?”

“Absolutely.”

What resulted was close to four hours of non-stop mayhem.

Nikita was able to convince Alex to allow Ari a break when it turned out that one of the haunts was based on a legend that plagued his childhood. Their short reprieve was spent trying some of the snacks that were offered in the theme park, but afterwards they had to cycle through the final houses before closing time.

By the time the couple made it back to their hotel: they were almost ready to collapse.

“Never again,” Ari groaned as he sat on the couch in the suite so he could remove his boots. “Though these ended up being more comfortable than I expected.”

Nikita sank down next to him and toed off her shoes, reclining into the plush pillows with an exhausted sound. “I’m going to need help with all this,” she gestured at her gown.

“Of course, just let me take a few minutes to breathe in air and not theatrical fog,” he took off the mask and placed it on the coffee table, and then put up his feet.

She did the same, managing to curl against his side in spite of the amount of fabric that made up her skirt.

They both exhaled in unison, basking in a quiet moment after an adventurous evening.

“Did you have fun?” Nikita eventually broke the silence and peered up at her future husband.

“Not sure if I would define it as such,” Ari remarked dryly, though he grazed his mouth against her temple affectionately. “You?”

“Some of the sets and make-up impressed me,” she shrugged, nonchalant. “But it’s not something I’d do again unless there was a really good reason.”

“To be fair, we went because we felt obligated,” his hand began to stroke gradually along her bare arm. “However, I think Halloween itself should be more subdued.”

“No costumes?” she stretched and kissed lazily along his jawline.

“Nothing as elaborate as this, although…” he curled his fingers beneath her chin to stop the movement, and then tipped her head back. “You make a beautiful Christine.”

“Flatterer,” she teased, though she eagerly returned the sweet embrace that he bestowed seconds later.

“How about we help each other out of these clothes and take that bath?” he suggested, nipping playfully at her mouth while he pulled away. “I think we’ve earned a respite.”

“Sounds perfect.” She smiled and kissed him again.

Ari first removed his jacket, waistcoat and cravat, and then hung up the three pieces in the wardrobe before instructing Nikita to turn around so he could undo the buttons to the back of her dress.

She stepped out of the garment shortly after, grateful that the petticoat had been sewn in so she wouldn’t have to deal with another piece.

Her lover placed the gown in a garment bag and sealed it up before putting it away, and then took her hand within his own, leading the way to the adjoining bathroom.

She watched fondly as he rolled up his sleeves and tested out the water temperature before letting it run.

He turned back to face her just as she was taking down the half-bun in her hair and shook the curled strands loose. She smiled invitingly before crossing into his space, reaching out to pop open the buttons to his shirt.

He busied himself with unlacing the front of her corset while she focused on her task, pausing only long enough for her to push the crisp fabric down his arms and to the floor before he finished with the final bits of ribbon.

Nikita wasted no time in lifting the remaining undershirt over Ari’s head, baring his perfectly toned torso to her gaze. Her eyes tracked over the sculpted planes of muscle she was very much familiar with, her nails skimming through the dark hair that dusted his chest before she touched her lips lightly to his clavicle as a signal to continue.

They finished undressing each other and then met in a loving kiss once it was skin to skin, their hands wandering avidly now that nothing was between them.

She adored how easily he could engulf her with his taller form, his solid, warm frame pressing close as the embrace deepened.

He scooped her up without preamble and carried her into the tub, shutting off the running water to ensure it wouldn’t overflow before they settled in.

They assisted each other in washing. As enticing as amorous proclivities could be, Nikita had learned that simple intimacy between them was something she cherished far more. When there was spare time to relish such a thing, she never hesitated in basking in those moments.

With a content sound, she lounged in Ari’s embrace – her back against his chest – and murmured: “This is so much better than running around in a theme park.��

“No argument here,” His lips ghosted across her bare shoulder.

Instinct prompted her to tilt her head, granting him better access to the slender column of her neck, smiling when he scraped his teeth purposely along sensitive skin before darting firefly kisses up to the shell of her ear. “I was close to spilling the beans to Alex tonight, you know?”

“Really?” He thumbed across the underside of her breast beneath the water, his ministrations growing more sensual with each passing minute. “Are you changing your mind about keeping the engagement private?”

“Well…” she turned around in his arms, nudging his nose with her own and taking in the alluring sight of him with moisture gleaming on his pale skin, his damp hair falling rakishly over his forehead. “I’m starting to realize that I can have you all to myself for the rest of my life, so what harm is there in announcing our happiness to our closest friends? Maybe at Thanksgiving?

“I’ll support whatever decision you make,” he brought a hand up to caress along her cheek. “I love you so much, Nikita.”

“I love you too.” Her heart swelled with emotion, and she surged forward to claim his mouth with her own, their passion for one another erupting and leading to the inevitable.

As far as they were both concerned – it was a perfect end to the night.

The End

#nikari #mine #mrsreginagold #fanfiction #peter outerbridge #ari x nikita #otp: enemy mine #otp: this is the life we've chosen #ari tasarov #nikita mears #nikita 2010 #happy halloween!

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scribeofskyrim · 2 months ago

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Tirdas, 7th of Heartsfire, 4E 201

We’re back in the same room tonight, but it feels like it’s been a week.

Calcelmo was right. Stromm is dead. We found him in the other half of the living quarters, near – of all things – a tree!

We all took a moment to admire it. How it managed to survive down here for who knows how long is beyond me. I’m not the best at sensing magic, but I couldn’t see any obvious magic or enchantments at work on it. According to his journal, Stromm was just as puzzled as we are about the tree.

He mentioned trouble with the Falmer, too, and about two other mages that we hadn’t found at the time.

As we explored, we did find them. The first was a man named Erj in a place that was full of weapons and armor! I read his journal, and let’s just say he didn’t come here to study. His main interest was looting the place. (Can’t blame him, this is a gold mine!) We found his body slumped by a locked chest, at the foot of a gigantic figure that looked like a suit of Dwemer armor ready to spring to life!

At the time, it was just impressive and unsettling, but now… I’m sure it can move.

There were four small alcoves in that room, some with locked gates, and all of them were full of metal and other goodies. Valdimar was thrilled to get some Dwemer armor, and Lydia is very happy with her new Dwemer warhammer.

I saved the chest that Erj had tried (and failed) to open for last. It wasn’t too hard, and had some nice things in it, but as soon as I opened it two golden spheres came out of nowhere and unfolded (?) - best way to put it - into sword-armed machines and attacked us!

Those mechanical things are HORRIBLE! Divines save us, they’re immune to almost everything! Ice and frost can’t touch them, so of course the only magic staves we have are Ice Spike ones. I obviously can’t poison them, so most of my potions are useless, and Valdimar said that he’d once read they were partially resistant to all magic!

About the only thing that does anything to them, aside from hitting them as hard as you can, are Shock type spells.

I hate fighting them. Watching them from a distance is… Fascinating, I won’t lie, but I’d rather fight a horse-sized skeever with my hands tied.

We did eventually destroy them, and I was able to harvest some soul gems to recharge my weapons. Valdimar and Lydia both spent time to examine them while I did so. They confirmed that regular physical damage is the best way to hurt them.

If we’re doing more of this, I’ll need a better Shock spell.

We carried out what we could, and left most things in a chest so we can come back for them later.

The last area we explored was more full of moving parts and things of an obviously mechanical nature. It also had some nasty traps, including one with spikes that skewered a Falmer that was attacking us. There were even a few more mechanical beasties, including two that looked like spiders but jump at you like fleas!

We also found the body of the last researcher, Staubin. I took a moment to go over his journal, and he was convinced that if he could turn on the old defenses, then the Falmer would no longer be a threat. Unfortunately, he was killed before he could reach the control room.

We decided to talk things out. The Falmer, while numerous, weren’t that difficult to deal with. The machines, on the other hand, are much harder to take care of and some of them literally pop out of hatches in the walls to attack you.

But Valdimar and Lydia both noted that we need to make it safe for future expeditions.

The Falmer are unpredictable, but the machines can theoretically be controlled. If we can get them to take care of the Falmer, maybe Calcelmo or some other expert can come in here and make them listen.

We decided to press on, and find the control room.

It wasn’t too far from the body, but there were enemies everywhere and we’re officially out of healing potions. Lucky for me, there was a giant lever to pull, and after I did so I swear I heard the faint sounds of hissing steam and whirring gears get louder. The whole place seemed to come alive, but without moving an inch.

Oh, I almost forgot! I’m on ANOTHER sacred quest, apparently.

There was a chest there, and inside was some nice loot, including some gold and gems. There was also this weird stone sphere that wasn’t smooth, but covered in flat faces, like a huge, round crystal. I picked it up, and a voice echoed inside my head.

Valdimar and Lydia said that I froze in place, gripping the crystal with both hands, and that my eyes went cloudy. Apparently I was whispering what the voice was saying to me, and they said that the voice that came out wasn’t my own.

It was Meridia – Yes, THE Meridia - and the crystal currently weighing down my pack is her Beacon. She wants me to take it to her temple on Mount Kilkreath near Solitude and… Cleanse the place of darkness? I’m not sure, there’s probably some rival priests or something like that skulking around that she wants gone.

Why she can’t get her people to take care of it is beyond me, but temples usually equal loot, so I’m game. Valdimar and Lydia both shrugged. They have no particular love or hate for her, so that’s good.

Just… Not now. My dance card’s pretty full. She’ll have to wait.

We found some more stuff to sell, took what we could, and left the control room.

Back in the main chamber of Nchuand-Zel, we watched a battle unfold between a dozen Falmer and a handful of machines. There were mostly those sphere fighters, and as I watched them move around, I realized why there were mostly ramps in the ruin. They were able to roll easily up and down them.

Can they not handle stairs? Hm...

But the most terrifying thing was the giant, human-like machine, identical to the one in the armory, that destroyed a pair of Falmer like they were ants.

It was just down the ramp from us, and blasted a bunch of steam at us as it advanced. It felt like it was harder to kill than a dragon! Maybe that’s just because I don’t have many ways to damage it, but trying to not get steamed like Old Tarquin’s mudcrab special was also little distracting! We did wreck it eventually, though. There were some interesting parts inside of it, along with a nice soul gem that I can use later.

I need to remember to use Soul Trap so I can charge the empty ones I’ve been finding.

We were able to handle the distant spheres easily, though. They weren’t able to get to us from where they were, and they don’t seem to have any long-range attacks, so we were able to fill them with arrows at our leisure.

Once we’d taken care of them, we came back here to sleep. It’s late, and we’re exhausted. Tomorrow, we leave this place, sell what we’ve got, collect any rewards, resupply, and then come back for more loot!

#skyrim #writing #journal #rpg #fiction #the elder scrolls #tesblr #fanfic #bronwens journal #markarth #dwemer #tes #tes skyrim #skyrim fanfiction

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agirlandherquill · 11 months ago

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Sweet Pea and Lily for the flower ask game?

let me just consult my massive array of stationery for the perfect piece of paper to respond to this - paper check, quill check, pot of ink? somehow intact, some may say more intact than my sanity, but anywho without further ado, it's time to write this so-called letter to Tumblr!

so, I'm new to ask games, incredibly new, sort of like the first petals that form on daffodils at the start of spring - in fact I'm seeing some right now as I write this (and it's fitting with not only the flower ask game, but spring itself), and since it's the start of a new month, spring has officially sprung and it's the easter holidays, why not use this perfect time to respond to this question,

alrighty for the first question we have sweet pea - what colour are your oc's eyes?

now this is a welcome invitation for a little ramble about some of my characters, because I picked every detail of their appearance for a reason - after all, who doesn't love little details that are jam-packed full of meaning?

to reiterate the cliche everyone knows and probably loathes (I personally have a love-hate relationship with it, and most cliches in existence), the eyes are the windows to the soul, and I chose the eye-colours of my characters to sort of reflect that,

so for my two ongoing novels, Ruin's Reprisal and A Deal of Daggers, the eye-colours are just as important as any other detail,

In Ruin's Reprisal we have Edeva, the main female protagonist (in the first instance of the series, she's the only one, but not for very long in the following novels), her eyes are what I described as 'cornflower-blue', a shade I found to reflect the sky moments before the sun slips away beyond the horizon, and I feel like that link to sunsets reflects Edeva's character perfectly - she's hopeful even in the darkest of moments, deep within her is a darkness created by events outside of her control, and truth be told her eyes are a shade of my favourite colour.

Fenley is Edeva's protagonistic counterpart (the red squiggly line under that informs me it isn't a word but to my mind it should be, therefore for this letter, it is) and he's her counterpart in a few other ways too - while she is hopeful he lives and breathes chaos, he resides in the dark, which is why I opted to give him grey eyes because it's a mixture of his inner darkness and her light, she brings out the better parts of him, even though he tries so desperately to hide them.

Moving onto A Deal of Daggers, we have Isolde and Reid. This paragraph is much simpler than the others because I had a much clearer reason for their eye colours: Isolde has chocolate brown eyes, simply because out of all my characters, I see her as the greatest extension of myself. Reid has green eyes because I think of him as a survivor, much like a plant, he adapts to his surroundings and he survives, no matter the risk or the cost.

And now for the latter question, Lily - what is your oc's love language?

My response for this is what some may say to be tragically simple, for almost all of my characters aforementioned, they hardly know what love is, but that isn't to say they haven't got it in them to discover it, but for the sake of providing some sort of response to this question I will refer to Reid - perhaps the only character in either of the novels who has any idea what he's doing when it comes to love, even if that love is forbidden, unrequited and fought against - mostly by himself. Reid uses words and subtle gestures as his love-language, he prefers subtlety above all else, he finds it to be the most effective, I tend to think of his approaches to love as though he is painting, one stroke, a small, meaningful stroke can make a piece, and bit by bit the painting grows, it becomes better, more beautiful. Slow but steady, so to say. Or perhaps... Slow-burn? (one of my favourite literary tropes)

and now I reach the end of my letter, a point at which I ought to sign off but I'd first like to thank you for the opportunity to ramble about my characters, and to thank everyone who reads not only this letter but every snippet, every piece of my writing, it means more than you know,

so with that, I'll be signing this off,

until the next letter,

~ A Girl and Her Quill

(p.s, I hope it's abundantly clear I have not read this through, my mind went on a ramble and I wholeheartedly went with it :) )

#writeblr #writing #creative writing

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legolasbadass · 1 year ago

Text

Office Hours, Part 30

Summary: Lorelei Browning has just secured a job as an assistant professor at Exeter College in Oxford. Naturally, she is eager to prove herself and meet every challenge sent her way, but what she does not expect is the tall, handsome stranger who will quickly become much more than a colleague…

Relationship: Richard Armitage x OC (Professor AU)

Word Count: 3.2k

Rating: T

“I have some news,” I announce to Beatrice on the phone the next day as I stand in my living room, sorting through my books to try and get rid of a few. Richard and I agreed that we both needed to do so; otherwise, the house would turn into a maze of books. So far, however, I have only managed to part with three novels, despite the hundreds of tomes in my flat.

“You’re engaged!” Beatrice practically shouts.

“What? No!” I reply with an incredulous laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Why would that be ridiculous? You and Richard are perfect for each other.”

Despite the ridiculousness of her hypothesis, I smile, then say, “Richard and I are going to live together.”

Beatrice’s squeal is so loud I have to pull away from my phone. “Oh my God—really? This is so exciting! When did this happen?”

“He asked me last night,” I reply, still smiling.

“Just like that?”

“Well, no, not exactly…” My smile fades away, and I take a deep breath, trying to dislodge the knot in my chest. “It turns out what Richard was hiding from me is that he received an offer for a visiting research post … at Harvard.”

“What? So, wait—I’m confused—he’s moving to Boston?”

“In September. For around eight months.”

“Oh, Lor, I’m so sorry….”

I shrug, though my voice falters as I say, “It’s okay—I mean, I’m really going to miss him, but we’ll make it work.”

“If anyone can survive long distance it’s you two.” She pauses, then sighs in annoyance. “But damn, I can’t believe he didn’t tell you sooner!”

Despite my vexation, I hasten to defend him. “He only got the official offer yesterday, and he said he didn’t know how to tell me because he was afraid he would lose me.”

“That man is so precious,” Beatrice replies with a hint of longing, causing me to chuckle.

“Of course, I would have liked for him to tell me sooner, but I can’t be mad at him,” I go on, absentmindedly running my fingers over the spines of the books before me. “Or should I be mad? I don’t know … I’ve been asking him for weeks if he was alright and for news about his work with Dr Griffin, and he would just shrug it off—or lie! But he didn’t want to keep it from me—he just didn’t want to hurt me. And how could I be mad at him for that?”

“Just because you’re not mad at him doesn’t mean that you’re okay with the fact he didn’t tell you.”

“Yeah … I just want to be as understanding as he was with me when we first started dating, you know?”

“And I think that’s so great of you! Really, I don’t think I would have handled that as well as you,” Beatrice says with a chuckle.

“Well, I did cry like a baby, too, so…”

“Oh, honey,” she coos. “I’m sure he understood.”

Recalling his soft kisses and tight hugs, I nod to myself. “Yeah. He’s really upset, too, and torn—he’s not sure what he wants to do. But I told him he has to take this opportunity, otherwise, he’ll regret it. And I reassured him that we would find a way to make it work and we’d savour every moment we have together until then. That’s when he asked me to move in.”

“So when are you moving in?” Beatrice asks excitedly, knowing just what to say to make me feel better.

“Probably right after the spring term. We only have three weeks until the term starts, which doesn’t give me enough time to sublet my flat, pack, and get settled there earlier.”

“You can count on my help on your moving day.”

“That’s sweet of you, but you really don’t have to! You’re moving yourself so you’ll already be super busy—”

“Nonsense, I’ll be there to help and there’s nothing you can say to change my mind,” she replies emphatically, causing me to smile.

“You really are the best, you know?” A sudden knock on the door surprises me. “Hold on—someone’s at the door.”

“We can talk later. I’ve actually got some chores to do and I should get up my butt before it becomes flatter than a pancake.”

I laugh, then say, “Alright, move that butt and we’ll talk later.”

My heart is considerably lighter as I hang up and make my way toward the door. After fiddling with the old lock for a moment, I open the door, only to find my parents waiting for me on the other side with wide smiles.

“Oh—hi!” I exclaim in surprise. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Do we need a formal invitation to visit our daughter now?” Mum asks with a chuckle as she shakes off the rain from her plaid coat. Dad merely continues to smile at me as he squeezes my arm.

“Of course not,” I reply, choosing to ignore the edge in her tone. “Come in! What brings you here?”

As I close the door behind them, Dad says, “We were visiting a friend of your mum’s not too far from here, and we thought we haven’t seen Lorelei in a while—so here we are!”

“And I’m glad you are!” I say with a smile, though I realize I have to tell them I will be moving in with Richard, and my stomach twists itself into knots in anticipation of their reactions. I thought I would have more time to prepare for this conversation. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

Dad opens his mouth to reply as he shakes off his coat, but then his eyes land on the open boxes in the living room. “What’s with the boxes?”

There goes my plan to soften him with a beer.

“Are you moving?” Mum immediately follows up.

“As a matter of fact, I am.” I take a deep breath and cross my arms over my chest as if to shield my heart from their judgment. “Richard asked me to move in with him. And I said yes.”

“Really?” Mum says as she watches me intently.

“Yes.” Neither of them speaks for a little while, so I add, “Is that a good ‘really’ or a bad ‘really’?”

“I’m just surprised! I mean … it’s fast, isn’t it?”

I gulp. “The thing is … Richard was offered a visiting researcher post at Harvard. He’ll be moving there in September for a little under a year.”

My parents exchange a confused look, then turn back to me. “So, he’s moving away … but you’re also moving in with him?”

“Yes. I mean, he’s not moving away forever. That’s temporary.”

“Still, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Dad asks.

I open my mouth to respond, but Mum interjects, “I think what your dad is trying to say is that … long-distance relationships can be difficult. I know you both love each other very much, but that might not be enough once he’s miles away on another continent. We wouldn’t want you to rush into this and end up heartbroken and homeless if it doesn’t work out.”

“Don’t worry—I know this is a big, and I know long-distance relationships aren’t easy. But Richard and I have discussed it and we really want this. It really makes it easier to accept he’ll be moving away when we’re taking this important step together. Besides, when you know something is right, what’s the point in taking things slow?” When neither of them objects, I say, “Dad, you told me once that it took you just a few months of knowing Mum to realize you wanted to marry her. I feel the same way about Richard.”

Dad looks at me for a few moments before taking a deep breath.“Richard is a good man,” he says, and those simple words warm my heart.

Mum softens, and she glances at Dad before replying, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I think it’s wonderful—but I’m your mum and I can’t help but fret.” For a moment, none of us speaks, but then Mum sighs, and a look passes over her face as if she is just now digesting the news. “You’re really okay with him moving to America?”

“It doesn’t matter whether or not I’m okay with it. It’s not my decision to make. I’m heartbroken but I really am happy for him—he deserves this opportunity!” Mum steps toward me and tentatively reaches out to squeeze my arm, but when a trembling sigh escapes me, she pulls me into her arms and squeezes me tight, comforting me in a way only a mother can. “I love Richard so much. It might not last—you’re right—but I owe it to him and to myself to believe that it will. At times, it scares me—I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love him. And I’ve never lived with a partner before—I have no idea what to expect! But Richard isn’t afraid. He’s in one hundred percent, and I have to meet him halfway. I want to meet him halfway, even if it means I’m not following my plan,” I say, my heart hammering uncontrollably in my chest.

I have never liked uncertainty. I have always liked to know where I am headed—to follow a well-laid path free of surprises—but now, my life is a web of unpredictability. Can Richard and I weather the distance and remain as close as we are now? Or will the novelty of this new chapter fade, leaving us with the bitter reality of separation? Part of me selfishly wishes Richard had never been in contact with Dr. Griffin and received this offer from Harvard so that everything would remain as it is. I wish he could stay here in Oxford with me. Everything would be simpler. But I know life does not work that way. Life is like a tangled ball of wool, ensnared in knots and loops, and sometimes, in order to untangle it, it has to become even messier first. I can only hope that the thread I am now following will lead me to the right place.

Worry still clouds Mum’s eyes, but eventually, she offers me a soft smile. “As long as you’re certain this is what you want and you’re happy, then I support your decision, darling.” Then she turns to Dad and says, “Can you believe this? Our little girl is moving in with her boyfriend.”

“I’m not a little girl—I’m turning 30 soon!”

“Don’t remind us!” Dad exclaims with a groan, causing me to laugh. “I think I’ll have that drink now.”

***

The house is quiet when I slip inside, a box full of books in my arms. The smell of garlic and tomatoes fills the air, awakening my already rumbling stomach, but the kitchen is dark and quiet. I frown. Richard always listens to music when he cooks.

“Hey—I’m back!” I exclaim as I kick off my loafers, then make my way further into the house.

To my surprise, I find Richard in the living room, stretched out on the sofa as he stares up at the ceiling. He seems lost in his thoughts, and the deep frown wrinkling his forehead tells me they are not pleasant thoughts. When he notices my presence, he offers me a soft smile, but it does not reach his eyes. “Hi, sweetheart.”

I frown and set the box on the coffee table. “Are you alright?”

He nods but avoids my gaze, and when I reach out to caress his arm, he says, “You really think I should accept the offer?”

Surprised by the vulnerability and uncertainty with which he speaks these words, it takes me a moment to answer. “Well, it’s not my decision to make, but … yes, I do think you should accept. I saw how excited you are about the project when we talked about it last night.” When he does not respond, I sit on the coffee table so as to face him. “Darling, talk to me.”

With a sigh, he slowly rises and looks deep into my eyes, his large hands coming to rest on my thighs. I suddenly realize just how tired and stressed he seems; the low light accentuates the dark circles under his eyes, and his tousled hair bears the evidence of his restless hands.

“I’m sorry for putting you through this…”

“Don’t be,” I hasten to say, swallowing heavily. “This is such an exciting opportunity.”

“I just … I’m worried you’ll resent me for it.”

“Why would I?” I respond with an incredulous chuckle, confused but also devastated by the fear that overshadows his usually bright eyes.

“Because … because I’d be choosing my career over you—”

“What? No—you’re not choosing your career over me,” I reassure him as I reach for one of his hands and intertwine our fingers. “This is just something you need to do.” When he does not respond, I squeeze his hand and ask, “Where is this coming from?”

It takes Richard a while to gather his thoughts, and when, at last, he opens up to me, his voice is laced with a level of insecurity I have never seen in him before. “Did I ever tell you about my ex—Rebecca?”

“I think you mentioned her once or twice,” I reply with a shrug, slightly confused.

“We’d been together for three years when I received an offer to come work here in Oxford.” He gulps heavily, and I caress his hand with my thumb, hoping the soothing gesture will offer him the reassurance he needs to go on. “I didn’t expect her to uproot her whole life for me, of course—and I didn’t ask her to, but … she told me I had to choose. She told me it wouldn’t work between us if I accepted the offer and moved to Oxford. But how was I supposed to reject an offer like that?

“I chose to come to Oxford because I knew it was the opportunity I had waited for my whole life, but then I spent years wondering if I had perhaps made the wrong decision. I thought I was going to marry her and—and have kids with her … but I ruined it all.”

I swallow back the ache in my heart and shake my head. “You didn’t ruin anything. Your career means a lot to you and if she couldn’t understand how important this opportunity was for you and didn’t even want to try and make it work, then it simply wasn’t meant to be. Sorry—I know that’s a shitty thing to say,” I add with a nervous chuckle. “What I mean is … the right person won’t make you choose between them and your career. Trust me—I was once afraid of dating a colleague I was crazy about because I worried I’d be jeopardizing my career, but he showed me that I didn’t have to choose between the two.”

Richard chuckles, his lips curling into a soft, irresistible smile before he pulls me onto his lap. Wrapping his arms around me, he holds me tight and rests his head on my chest, and as I caress his hair, I feel his heartbeat slow down to match mine.

“Look, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t sad,” I say in a quiet voice as my fears tighten their hold on my throat once more. “I wish you didn’t have to go. But I would hate myself if you rejected this offer because of me, and I think you would, too.”

“I could never hate you,” he replies, his voice even deeper than usual as he reaches out to tuck a stray hair behind my ear, his hand lingering on the curve of my jaw.

“Yes, you would! And you’d hate yourself, too, for messing up this opportunity. I know you want to work on this project—”

“I do.”

“Then go for it!” I say with a smile that I hope feels sincere despite the tears clouding my eyes. “It won’t be easy—I know that—but I meant everything I said last night. We can get through this. I promise I won’t run away this time.”

Unable to hold back my tears any longer, I bury my face in the crook of his neck, not wanting to make this any harder than it already is for him. His skin is warm against my cheek, and his familiar scent is as comforting as the large hand that now traces circles on my back as he presses a lingering kiss atop my head.

“Promise me you’ll come visit as often as you can?”

“Only if you promise to come back home as often as you can,” I reply into his neck.

With one hand on my chin, Richard gently coaxes me to look up at him, and my heart flutters like it did when we first began dating as the deep and unwavering love shining in his azure gaze caresses me.

“Yes—I promise I’ll come back to you as often as possible,” he replies, causing me to smile as he leans in to nuzzle my nose before capturing my lips in a slow, teasing kiss that fills my whole body with yearning. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pull him deeper into the kiss and press myself against him until no space remains between us. One kiss becomes two, then three, until we are forced to pull apart for air, our lips swollen and our breathing uneven. With gentle hands, Richard wipes away the tears staining my skin, then presses a series of soft kisses over my puffy cheeks, not stopping until I return his smile. It is even darker in the room now, but the softness in his gaze is clearer to me than ever before.

“What’s with the box?” he asks after a long moment of comfortable silence.

“Hm? Oh—just some books I’m not sure if I should keep or not. I thought I could use your expertise.”

“Well, a sensible person would tell you you don’t need twenty editions of The Lord of the Rings, but I would never tell you that,” he says with a grin. “Besides, I have as many Shakespeare editions, so I think we might be doomed.”

“Why do you have so many Shakespeare anthologies anyway? I mean, it’s the same plays in nearly all of them.”

“But the footnotes and editorial comments are different!” he exclaims.

“I don’t know if I should be concerned or if I love you even more for that,” I say playfully, my heart already considerably lighter than it was moments before.

Richard grins. “Oh, I think you know.” I am still giggling when he kisses me, his lips soft and wet as his beard scratches my cheeks in that irresistible way.

“As lovely as this is,” I begin as I slow the kiss down to a few soft pecks, “I am starving, and something smells divine.”

“I know how much you like mushrooms, so I made a mushroom rosé sauce. I just need to cook some pasta.”

“Have I mentioned how much I love you?” I say with a smile, kissing him again before dragging him into the kitchen, where we share countless more reassuring hugs and soft kisses as we eat.

Tag list: @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @i-did-not-mean-to @xxbyimm @middleearthpixie @enchantzz @myselfandfantasy @notlostgnome @laurfilijames @swoopswishsward @quiall321 @dianakc @sazzlep @albionscastle

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