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tinyshyteacup · 2 months ago

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Taglist: @jozzieblood @buckysteveloki-me @dragonoftheshadows @plaidconvers @kateawolf13 @keira-kaz2y5 @frog-fans-unite @doilooklikeagiveafrack @verynormalsstuff @nynxtea @iminyourceiling @seventeen-x @mgchaser @y0urgirl @lovely-seb @laughterafter @mysuperlaserpissnumber1fan @irasciblemogwai @svtbpbts @vivalas-vega @chonkybonky @bmyva1entine @6urmom @gullableh @homiesexual-or-homosexual @aoi-targaryen @bitter-semi-sweet @soflegacy @kath-666 @hiireadstuff @highhopes1008 @sineminuse @hxsxxk-180294 @hawkinsavclub1983 @buckingforbuckybarnes @fandomsearcherforcuntymen @huang-the-geek @joewhs @witchywannabe3263 @iyskgd @ironenemycollective @bumblebeebutter @sizzlingstarlightsky @buckybarnesslutshop @starstruck-cowgirl @angelicdarkn3ss @confused-simp-jpg @hufflepuffsforjoy @nicolebarnes @avatarobsessedgirly @escapismurmom @paige0103 @dollface-xoxo @read-just-cant-stop @sycamoregirl444 @raikan624 @iwritememesnotprophecies @imissbenswolo-blog @Icolumbia1988

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Tw: cussing, nudity (not described) tension.

Part 13

Words of Command - Part 14

The lounge at Stark Tower feels too big for just the few of you.

Floor-to-ceiling windows throw pale morning light across the sleek furniture. The scent of strong coffee lingers, blending with the faint metallic tang that always seems to cling to the air here—an invisible reminder of Stark tech woven into the very walls.

You sit on the corner of the couch, tucked in, wearing a soft oversized sweater and Pajamas pants that scuff the floor. Your hair’s still a little messy from sleep, your knees drawn up slightly.

Bucky stands not far from you, stiff and alert, arms folded, his metal fingers twitching occasionally with restless energy.

Tony saunters into the room with Bruce trailing behind him, both holding cups of coffee. Tony’s wearing a worn Black Sabbath T-shirt and smirking like he’s been awake for hours purely to cause problems.

Bruce’s approach is softer.

Careful.

Measured.

Tony’s voice slices through the heavy air.

“Well, Thumbelina and her very large attack dog are awake, so—good morning, kiddos.” He lifts his mug. “Hope you’re feeling refreshed and full of questions you’re too shy to ask, because we’re doing this anyway.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose "Doing what excatly, Mr. Stark?" You say already bracing.

Bruce steps in gently. “We’ve… called in some help. Just in case. If either of you want it.” He gestures vaguely toward the elevator. “From S.H.I.E.L.D. — their best psych and neuro specialists.”

Tony cuts back in before you can speak again.

“And before you start hyperventilating, no, nobody’s here to shove him into a straight-jacket or wire him up like a Christmas tree.”

He slurps his coffee obnoxiously.

“They’re on call. Meaning if you, you adorable trauma magnet feel like, they’ll be around. No pressure. Just better to have options, you know?”

You bite your lip, glancing automatically at Bucky.

He’s still a wall behind you. Eyes cold, scanning the room, his jaw locked tight. His flesh hand balls into a tight fist against his thigh. He doesn’t say anything, but he steps half a pace closer to you, silent, protective.

The elevator pings softly.

Two agents step out onto the lounge floor.

Agent McKenzie is tall, fit, her hair pulled into a tight bun. She has the careful neutrality of someone who has seen too much and knows better than to say anything about it.

Beside her, Agent Collins stands awkwardly, shifting his weight like he wants to disappear into the floor.

And rightly so.

You shrink slightly into the couch instinctively.

Bucky notices—of course he notices—and shifts his stance again, moving so he’s more between you and them.

You barely catch the quick whir of his metal fingers flexing.

McKenzie speaks first, voice calm and clipped.

“Miss. Sergeant Barnes.” She nods respectfully to both of you. “We’re here only if you request assistance. You are under no obligation.”

Collins steps forward and his voice is low, earnest.

“I—I want to apologize.”

His hands wring in front of him. “My behavior last night was completely inappropriate. I don't drink and I’m so sorry if I made you uncomfortable. That wasn’t professional, and it won’t happen again. I swear.”

You glance at him, feeling the awkward sincerity roll off him in waves.

Bucky's eyes narrow into dangerous slits "You like fingers?"

Agent Collins, blinks and goes roughly three shades paler "Pardon ?"

Bucky's body shifts again angled, protective, muscle coiled tight. "Touch her again, you won't have any left"

His flesh hand twitches, half a second from reaching for a weapon he doesn’t have.

You feel the chill of it rolling off him—that lethal stillness before violence.

You touch Bucky’s arm lightly, your hand barely covering part of his forearm.

“Soldat,” you murmur, soft but sure.

Instantly, he responds—relaxing slightly, if only for you. His head dips minutely in acknowledgment, dark hair falling across his forehead.

“Doll,” he says quietly back, as if checking you're truly okay.

He doesn’t look at anyone else. Not McKenzie, not Collins.

Just you.

Only you.

McKenzie senses the tension and wisely steps back, subtly steering a frightened looking Collins with a hand on his arm.

“We’ll be in the east conference room if needed. Just call.”

You nod, whispering a polite "thank you," still perched delicately on the edge of the couch.

The elevator pings again as they leave, the sound somehow louder in the quiet they leave behind.

Tony claps his hands once, breaking the heavy moment.

“Well, that could have gone worse! Nobody died, nobody bled. I’m counting it as a win.”

Bruce just sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

You padded barefoot down the wide hallway of Stark Tower’s residential wing, the polished floors cold against your toes.

It was quieter here—thicker somehow. The hum of JARVIS's systems was a faint, living pulse through the walls.

You found Tony exactly where you knew he’d be In his private living room, sprawled over the couch like a king without a kingdom, a half-drained glass of something expensive on the table, and the faint glow of half a dozen holographic screens circling him.

He glanced up as you approached, arching one eyebrow over the top of his glasses.

“Well if it isn’t the Handler of the Year," Tony drawled lazily, lifting his glass in a mocking salute.

Then, softer, "To what do I owe the pleasure Thumbelina."

You folded onto the armchair opposite him, tucking your knees up against your chest.

Your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve.

You bit your lip. Hard.

"I don't want to pressure him," you blurted, voice barely above a whisper. "I mean... he’s trusting me. He’s scared, even if he doesn’t realize it yet. I can’t just... shove him into therapy or surgeries like he’s broken."

Tony set down his glass with a soft clink, swinging his legs off the couch so he could lean forward, elbows on his knees.

“First of all, Dollface,"—he said Bucky's nickname for you with a half-smile, like a shield to hide the real weight behind his words—"we're all broken. Some of us just wear cooler sunglasses while dealing with it.”

You gave a small, helpless laugh, the sound wet with unshed tears.

Tony’s face softened further.

"You’re not wrong, Sunshine," he said seriously. "You’re doing good. Better than most would, honestly."

He dragged one hand through his hair, messing it further. “You’re giving him something no lab coat, no tech, no team of fancy doctors could ever replicate, choice."

You swallowed, nodding.

"I just..." you hesitated, glancing toward the hall where your suite—and Bucky—waited. "The intracranial device Bruce built... it’s working. It’s really working. His vitals are more stable after sessions. It’s like it’s dampening the trauma spikes before they get too high. But I know—if we push too hard—"

You trailed off, twisting your hands together.

Tony leaned back, exhaling through his nose.

"The neural device is a masterpiece," he said, not bragging for once. "Banner did good. You two together? Even better. Science project aside, it’s stabilizing him, but it’s not fixing the wiring. That’s...long-haul territory."

He rapped his knuckles lightly on the table for emphasis.

"Bottom line it could help. A lot. Regain memories. Rebuild pathways. Maybe even speed up how fast he gets back to, y'know, human programming instead of KGB Murderbot 2.0. But..." Tony pointed at you sharply.

"It doesn't replace the human element, your doing your best, but these guys ... there the Pros. And besides the choice is his. Or yours until he’s clear-headed enough to know what he wants."

You looked down at your hands, overwhelmed by the weight of it.

Tony’s voice dropped a little, more gentle than you’d ever heard it.

"You’re doing right by him, Sunshine," he said, teasing but earnest. "You’re giving him a life he wouldn’t have dared hope for. You keep doing that. One tiny step at a time. And just consider the back-up, as excatly what it is ... an option."

You blinked fast against the burning in your eyes.

Tony noticed, of course, because he cared more then he let on, he always had.

With a gruff clearing of his throat, he stood up, smoothing down his rumpled shirt like nothing emotional had happened at all.

"If you need me," he said over his shoulder as he walked off toward the elevators, "I'll be upstairs... pretending not to care but totally ready to knock some sense into Robocop if needed."

You smiled into your sleeve once he was gone.

That evening you padded from your bedroom into the lounge of your suite, cotton pajamas soft and cosy on your body.

Bucky sat rigidly on the wide leather couch, elbows braced on his knees, staring blankly at the floor.

You stopped in the doorway, heart twisting.

Even from here, you could see the tremor in his shoulders, the way his flesh hand clenched and unclenched uselessly in his lap.

The metal one stayed utterly still, gleaming dully under the recessed ceiling lights.

He didn't react when you entered.

But when you spoke—soft, cautious—his head snapped toward you like a trained dog hearing its master’s voice.

“Soldat...you doing ok ?"

His pale blue eyes locked onto yours instantly.

Recognition.

Relief.

Something like apology.

“Doll,” he rasped, voice hoarse, frayed at the edges.

He seemed... smaller, somehow.

Like the room was crushing him.

You crossed the space carefully, crouching low so you were eye-level with him.

"Talk to me?" you murmured, tilting your head.

He gave the barest nod, metal fingers twitching again.

His breathing was too shallow.

Too fast.

"They look wrong," Bucky said quietly, voice low and stilted. "The men. The agents. Same as...before."

He didn’t need to say it.

HYDRA.

You swallowed, nodding.

"Okay," you said softly, reaching out—but stopping short, letting him choose. "Let me help?"

Bucky hesitated.

Just for a heartbeat.

Then his flesh hand lifted in a stiff, almost mechanical movement, palm open, waiting.

You placed your hand against his, feeling the way his fingers closed almost desperately around yours.

You led him gently toward the bathroom.

Stark Tower suites didn’t do small bathtubs this was a sunken pool, deep enough to drown in.

Dim, warm lights cast a golden glow over the room.

The faucet filled the space with the soft rush of water, steam beginning to curl into the air, carrying the faint scent of the lavender bubble bath you added for his modesty.

Bucky hovered at the threshold like he wasn’t sure he deserved to step inside.

You turned back, beckoning him.

"Come on, Soldat," you said softly, using the name he remembered. "It might help you relax ?."

A muscle ticked in his jaw, but he obeyed instantly.

Silent.

Trusting.

You found the compact mirror—the one you always have on hand—and placed it carefully on a little stand beside the tub.

Angled perfectly so Bucky could watch you without needing to turn.

Control.

Making sure he knows your giving it not taking it.

“See?” you said gently, tapping the mirror. “You can see me the whole time.”

Bucky nodded once, stiffly, shedding his henley without a word.

Your breath caught.

It was the first time you'd seen the scarring up close— angry welts around where flesh met metal, like the arm had been jammed into him, an afterthought of cruelty rather than a miracle of engineering.

Although there couldn't be a miracle if there wasn't consent.

You knelt beside the bath as he slid into the water, the liquid rippling up around his scarred, battered frame.

He stayed still, breathing deeply, as if forcing his body to loosen muscle by muscle.

Carefully, you dipped a cup into the water and poured it gently over his hair.

You moved slow, delicate, like you might spook him.

“Doll," he murmured, voice so low you barely caught it.

Affection bleeding into the single word.

You smiled at the mirror, knowing he was watching your every move.

The bathroom was warm now, heavy with the sweet, herbal scent of lavender.

The mirror beside the tub glinted softly in the low light, casting a muted reflection of the two of you him in the bath, sitting upright but loose for once, you kneeling beside him, sleeves rolled up, fingers delicate and sure.

Bucky watched you through the mirror like he might forget you were real if he blinked.

You dipped the little cup into the water again, scooping it up carefully, and then—slow, steady—you poured it over his hair.

The water streamed down in thin, shining ribbons over his temples.

He didn't flinch.

Just sat there, jaw tense but not pulling away.

You set the cup aside, reaching for the bottle of shampoo you'd tucked nearby.

"Soldat..." you murmured as you lathered the shampoo between your hands, soft and soothing, "You can tell me if it’s too much. Anytime. Okay?"

A long pause.

Then a nod.

You massaged the shampoo gently into his scalp, fingertips gliding over his wet hair, careful not to tug or scrape.

The lather built slowly, pale bubbles sliding down the back of his neck and shoulders.

Bucky closed his eyes.

"Feels nice," he rasped, voice almost too low to hear.

You smiled a little to yourself, unseen.

Gentle, small strokes.

No sudden movements.

Giving him every second to object.

"You have good hair," you said, tone light, teasing.

His mouth twitched.

Not a smile exactly.

More like... confusion.

He cracked an eye open, looking at you through the mirror.

"No one's ever said that," he muttered after a beat.

"Well, they should have," you said simply, working the soap through the longer strands at the base of his skull.

Your fingers brushed scars at his neck and you felt the whole, solid bulk of him stiffen—

but then he took a slow breath and forced himself to relax again.

Because it was you.

Because you weren't going to hurt him.

You shifted closer without thinking, pressing your knees into the soft rug beside the tub, leaning over him protectively.

It made your frame look even smaller against his broad shoulders, his imposing body—and yet, somehow, it was him who seemed fragile here.

"Hey" you murmured with a smile when his eyes met yours.

"Hey Doll" his lips twitched as he said it, his flesh hand reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ear for you.

When you tipped his head back slightly to rinse, he obeyed closing his eyes again.

Water cascaded through his hair again, washing the suds away.

"You’re really good at this," he said hoarsely after a long silence.

You blinked, cheeks warming.

"It's not hard," you said shyly. "You just...you just be ... gentle, and don't pour water straight into people's eyes."

Bucky's reflection caught yours in the mirror.

A crease appeared between his brows—

a soft, bewildered frown.

"Nobody...was ever gentle before," he said, voice a rough scrape of sound.

Your heart cracked right down the center.

You squeezed out the water from his hair carefully, combing it back from his forehead with your fingertips.

"Well they were wrong," you said, fiercely tender.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Just stared.

Like he was trying to memorize you.

Like if he looked hard enough, he might understand what was happening to him—

why he didn't want to leave your side, why he felt something aching inside his ribs when you smiled.

You picked up the brush next.

The bristles slid through his damp hair in slow, steady strokes, each pass smoothing it down.

You worked methodically, murmuring nonsense under your breath

"Almost done... You're doing good, Soldat..."

He tilted his head slightly at that—

not much, just a bare lean of trust toward you.

In the mirror, he watched your hand moving through his hair.

Watched your careful touch.

Watched the way you looked at him, not with fear, not with pity, but with care.

Something in him shuddered—

a ripple under the surface.

He didn’t understand it.

Didn’t understand why your voice steadied the thudding pulse in his ears.

Why your hands didn’t make him flinch.

Didn’t understand why, when you said, "There we go," setting the brush aside and smoothing your palms over his hair like you were grounding him to the earth,

he wanted to turn around,

wanted to pull you close and press his forehead to your belly,

wanted to stay like that forever.

Instead, he said the only thing he could manage:

"Thank you, Doll."

Rough.

Sincere.

Like a prayer.

You cupped his cheek briefly in your hand, thumb brushing his stubbled jaw, your touch feather-light.

"Anytime, Soldat," you whispered back.

He leaned—just slightly��into your palm before catching himself, like it startled him to want the contact.

But you didn't pull away.

You just smiled that soft, achingly sweet smile of yours.

And Bucky—

whatever was left of him—

felt something unfamiliar blooming slowly, painfully in his chest.

Hope.

You begin to stand, ready to grab a towel for him.

"I'll let you finish up while I—"

You don't get to complete your sentence. In one fluid motion, his arms—one warm flesh, one cool metal—reach out and wrap around your waist.

Before you can process what's happening, he's pulling you backward into the tub with him.

Splash

Warm water envelops you as you tumble in. Your surprised squeal echoes around the bathroom as water sloshes over the sides, pooling on the floor.

Your pajamas cling to you instantly, completely soaked.

"Soldat!" you gasp, half-laughing as you find yourself awkwardly positioned in the tub, your back against his chest, his legs on either side of yours.

His arms adjust around you, secure but gentle.

"Don't go yet, Doll."

You can't help it—a bubble of laughter escapes your lips. "What the hell?"

A half-smile forms on his face, a playful glint in his blue eyes that you've only recently begun to see.

The absurdity of the situation—you fully clothed in his bath, both of you soaking wet—only makes you laugh harder.

The remaining tension in his shoulders melts away, and his smile widens slightly—still hesitant, as if he's relearning the expression, but genuine.

"Didn't want you to leave yet," he explains, his voice softer than usual. "Feels... right. Having you close."

"I was just going to get you a towel," you say exasperated, but making no move to get up.

He nods, satisfaction evident in the way his arms settle more comfortably around you. The warm water envelops you both, your pajamas floating slightly around you.

You find yourself relaxing against him, feeling his heartbeat—steady and strong—against your back.

"You okay?" you ask, looking up at him.

Bucky's expression turns thoughtful, brow furrowing slightly as he searches for the right words. "Things are getting clearer," he finally says. "More pieces fitting together. Still gaps, but..."

"Progress?" you finish for him with an encouraging smile.

You sit together in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the occasional drip from the faucet and your synchronized breathing. The warm water creates a cocoon of intimacy around you both.

Your fingers drift to his chest where his dog tags rest against his bare skin.

They catch the light as they rise and fall with his breathing. You hadn't noticed him putting them on.

"Why did you put these on?" you ask softly, lifting the tags slightly so they catch the light. "Last time..."

You don't finish the sentence. You both remember—the tags triggering a violent episode, Bucky's metal arm reducing Tony’s coffee table to splinters.

Bucky's flesh hand comes up to cover yours where you hold the tags.

His touch is more confident than the hesitant way he used to reach for you, as if he's growing more comfortable with contact.

"Wanted to remember," he says, his voice low and close to your ear. "Finding more pieces. Not everything. But more than before."

His metal arm remains secure around your waist, the plates shifting slightly as he adjusts his position, water sloshing around you both.

"Wanna tell me what you remembered ?," you encourage, turning your head slightly to see his face.

Bucky's eyes focus somewhere distant, looking beyond the bathroom walls. "Steve," he says, more certainty in his voice than before. "Smaller then. Before the serum. Gave me something before I shipped out."

You nod encouragingly. "What did he give you?"

Bucky's brow furrows in concentration, but the frustration that usually accompanies these memories is muted. "Picture. Him and me. Said to keep it with the tags."

His breathing remains steady, a sign of progress. "Lost the picture during... after the fall. Steve ... he had the tags."

You watch the play of emotions across his face—recognition now outweighing confusion, determination replacing frustration. The pieces are coming together more smoothly than before.

"Steve ..." you say gently. " ...he just wants to help."

Bucky nods slowly. "I know. He's..." His voice is still small. "My friend."

"Yea, your friend," you confirm with a smile. "Like I'm your friend."

Bucky's eyes meet yours, suddenly intense and focused. "No," he says with unexpected certainty. "Different. Steve is... friend. Brother, maybe." He pauses, struggling to articulate the distinction. "You're... something else."

Your heart beats a little faster at the intensity in his gaze. You continue playing with the dog tags, the chain sliding between your fingers. "What am I then?"

His flesh hand comes up to brush a strand of wet hair from your face, the gesture achingly tender. "Doll," he says, the Brooklyn accent strong in that single word, his voice deeper than usual.

The nickname sends a shiver through you that has nothing to do with the water temperature. It's more than just a word—it's a glimpse of the man he was and is becoming again—charming, protective, affectionate in his own way.

Water has begun to slosh over the sides of the tub from your unexpected entry. The bathroom floor is getting soaked, but Bucky seems more relaxed than you've seen him before, almost content despite the situation.

"We should probably get out before we flood the suite," you suggest with a gentle laugh.

His arms tighten briefly around your waist. "Whatever you say, Doll." The words hold a hint of teasing now, the rigid protocol of the Soldier giving way to something warmer, more human.

"I'm not giving orders," you remind him softly.

"I know," he replies, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "Just like having directions sometimes. Old habits."

As you grab towels from the rack, Bucky runs a hand through his wet hair, pushing it back from his face.

"Why do you call me Soldat?" he asks suddenly, the question catching you off guard.

"You asked me too."

Bucky nods slowly, understanding. "But now? You know my name."

"I do," you acknowledge softly.

His expression softens. "Yeah, been thinking about names lately. Who I was. Who I am now."

"And who are you?" you ask gently, stepping closer.

His blue eyes meet yours, clearer and more present than you've ever seen them. "Still figuring that out. But..." he hesitates, searching for words, " don't want to be what they made me."

"No, You're so much more than that."

Bucky's gaze drifts to the dog tags still hanging around his neck. "These say James."

"That's your name. James Buchanan Barnes."

His eyes find yours again. "What do you want to call me?"

The question hangs between you, weighted with meaning beyond just a name. You step closer, gently taking the dog tags in your hand again.

"It's not about me, what feels right to you?" you ask, looking up at him, acutely aware of how small you feel standing before his towering frame.

His flesh hand closes over yours where you hold the tags, warm and steady. "Bucky," he says after a moment. "... it feels like ... it could be me."

You smile up at him. "Bucky it is, then."

"Can I keep calling you Doll ?" he asks hesitantly like hes a man starved and your going to take his steak.

"Yea, of course you can Sol— Bucky" you say with a warm genuine smile.

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possesseddesiress · 3 months ago

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Switch Up: First Level

CONTENT WARNING: This story includes themes of transformation and body control with a suggestive approach. If this type of narrative is not to your liking or you do not meet the recommended age, we suggest you do not continue. All images used (if any) belong to their respective owners. I claim no authorship over them and they are only used for illustrative purposes.

If you decide to go ahead, welcome to Possessed Desires, where mind and body are never completely under your control.

Switch Up: First Level (English Version)

My name is Ethan, I'm going to finish high school in a few months and I feel like I didn't live that experience like I was supposed to. I always hung out with my two usual friends, didn't go to parties, didn't even have my first kiss, I hung out in the shadows, like a ghost.

With nothing in particular to be remembered, a zero to the left.

Very different from other guys at my school: popular, muscular, handsome, a hit at parties. I envied them.

I wanted to be one of them with all my might.

To go beyond being a shadow that blended in with the wall in the hallways, to be like one of those big jocks, popular guys, even those “badass” looking guys who seemed to be all the rage because of that.

— This sucks - I muttered in the library, accompanied by my friends: Logan and Miles.

Logan was a chubby guy, with a few pimples on his face and a comic geek, just at that moment he seemed engrossed in everything as he had his head hidden inside a new hero tome.

— Being in the library? - Miles asked. Thin, pale and with thick glasses that made his eyes look like binoculars, he was a genius, although he had a strange hissing sound every time he spoke.

— Yeah, what about the parties? It's high school, we should be doing other things than being confined to a library like rats.

— We're not popular for that sort of thing - Logan mused, barely peeking his head out of his reading.

— Plus no one notices us - Miles complemented, making what appeared to be doodles in his notebook.

— And doesn't that frustrate you? Don't you wish that we could have more? To have more experiences, more fun, guys at our feet.

Something I forgot to mention, all three of us are gay.

— And does it help to imagine that?… You're not going to change anything by yearning for more - Logan whispered in a pessimistic tone.

I sighed, I knew he was right. I just kept quiet, with a silence between the three of us until Miles stood up suddenly, a smile on his lips.

— Eureka! - he shouted with the notebook in hand, a loud ‘Shhh’ was heard from the librarian, to which he sat back down, but without erasing that smile.

— Do you feel good? - I asked. To which he interrupted me, speaking quickly because of his excitement.

— Better than ever, I've been feeling what you describe for three years now, it's been trial after trial, failed experiments trying to find a way to get it, but I finally got it.

— What the hell are you talking about?

— This! - he held out his notebook, showing me the contents on it. What I saw as scribbles before, now made sense: they were blueprints. There was a detailed outline of some kind of rectangular box, with formulas, calculations and other symbols that I couldn't quite understand.

— A… box?

— It is a remote control. Or so it seems - he detailed, pointing to the schematic - it is a bioelectric control, it is designed to launch a double signal that exchanges neural pulses between two individuals and-

— In English, Miles.

— It is a control that would allow consciousness to be switched between two bodies.

I thought about what he was saying. But it was impossible, wasn't it? What he was describing sounded perfectly like something from science fiction movies.

— But you'd still have to assemble it, design the parts, the wiring…

— No - he said, rummaging in his backpack to pull out a small remote control, it looked like something from a garage. With two buttons: one green and one yellow - I just had to complete some calculations.

On one side, it seemed to have a knob, around it were different numbers. Miles lifted the lid to move a couple of wires or join them together, then closed it and moved the knob, looking for a frequency, I guess.

— Still, I don't think it's something possible, I mean…. I believe in you, dude, no doubt you are a genius but I think this kind of thing is beyond….

— Your mental capabilities, Miles - and out of nowhere, the speaker seemed to be Logan. With the only detail, that it wasn't really Logan, it was me.

I found myself looking at cartoons, heroes saving the world and things my friend was reading earlier. I felt heavier, but there was something weird about it all too… I felt a different weight in my pants.

I spread my legs a little, feeling something thick fall against the chair - damn, Logan sure had something hidden between his chubby legs!

I looked up warily, finding my reflection checking my pecs. He looked at them curiously, running his hands over the flat surface as he smiled.

— Were you saying something, Ethan? - Miles said with a smirk on his lips. I looked at my new hands, completely surprised by the experience. They were very different from mine, a little more pigment on them, bigger and bulkier, with small, stubby fingers. It certainly wasn't the best body but there was something about me that sent a load of blood down there. And yes, “it” was big.

— Did you just use us as guinea pigs? - My old voice rang out, it was strange to “see” me there, clearly it was me, my same face, clothes, complexion, absolutely it was all me. But the stance, the body language, the way he spoke… it was definitely Logan.

— It was a risk he was willing to take for us, besides. I had already calculated the dangers, nothing would have happened.

— And why didn't you try it on yourself?

— And what my conscience would have ended up in the air who knows where? No thanks.

I felt a little annoyance towards Miles. But all that was… spectacular. If it had worked on us, then anything could. I could been any athlete! A class rep, one of those artsy kids or the welcoming committee, a teacher, some sexy parent. Whoever!

— And now?…

— First let me try something - Miles pointed at each of us again, first at Logan, pressing the yellow button, and finally at me, pressing the green button.

I didn't feel anything. It was just from one moment to the next watching me and the other, watching Logan. I touched my body again, feeling a little more relief at finding my correct measurements. There was one detail though, my manhood was undoubtedly stiff, almost rock hard.

I looked at Logan in confusion, to which he just shrugged his shoulders.

— It was exciting to lose almost all my weight in less than a second, sorry.

There was silence between us again. Not because of discomfort, but because of all that this implied.

— And now?

— Now you choose what to do, of course - Miles settled back in his seat, almost looking like some kind of CEO proposing a new business strategy - To continue in our bodies and the miserable life we lead, or find some body we like.

There was a bit of silence. And the first to break it was Logan.

— Let's do it.

— Great, I'm glad you're both joining me in this - a smile loaded with confidence emerged from Miles - I think we have the plan, but now the million dollar question remains. Who?

There were at least three hundred of guys in the entire high school, all grades, all clubs. Tall, muscular, thin, stocky, exchange, local, wealthy, middle class. It was like walking into a buffet.

— Do you have someone in mind for you…?

— Oh, yeah, sure. Blake Jones.

— Fuck, are you kidding?! The major captain of the sports team? - Logan was unduly surprised.

Although I partly understood. Blake was good at almost every sport, he'd been the captain of at least 4 different disciplines, king of the prom, made almost every girl nervous, teachers and moms included. He was like a god walking on earth, his plan felt like taking the body of Hercules.

— Who else? - Miles raised his eyebrow, as if the question was silly - I want him, I want that greatness.

There was something in his gaze that chilled my skin, though I understood the sentiment... Miles had been in the shadows of many things just because of his looks and the way he spoke, it was clear he wanted the perfect “vehicle” to go with his brain.

— So… I want Caleb Hawks - Logan said.

Miles let out a laugh.

— Don't make it up, it's a joke, right? - But Logan was silent - The brainless guy in school with the worst smell of all, is it for real?

Miles was right, Caleb was known for his idiocy, his bad smell and for being relatively “unpleasant”. There was something about him that could be striking, he admitted, though he didn't quite know what that something was.

— Can it or can't it? - Logan said seriously.

— Yes, yes. It's your decision, chill, man - Miles said. To which it seemed to calm down Logan, so he went back to hiding behind his comic book - And you, Ethan, who will be your prize?

My mind was working like crazy, going through all the grades, all the sports and art clubs, student associations, exchange programs, teachers? It was an endless menu of options. But then I thought of him: Ruben Hernandez.

Part of the art committee, good actor, influencer and with attributes to die for, despite not being part of any sports team, he certainly had a perfect body.

— Ruben.

— The Latino?

— Will you also give me a but?

— Not at all, I'm just surprised at your choices, folks. I thought you would pick captains and jocks, but I respect your choices.

Logan looked up, finally closing the comic book.

— So when do we start?

— Easy. Everyone hunts for what they want.

Then Miles extended the control to us, waiting for whoever would take it first.

To be continued.

----

I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you liked it, don't forget to follow it and share it so more people can discover it.

I'm always open to suggestions and ideas, so if you have any fantasy or scenario in mind, let me know in the comments or in messages.

This is the first part of “Switch Up”, a new series for the blog, I hope you like it, I know this first episode was a little short, but the next ones will certainly be longer to follow the whole adventure of Ethan and his friends.

See you in the next story… Who knows what body you'll occupy this time?

----

#body swap #body switch #malebodyswap #bodyswapping #switchup

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rotapathetic · 4 months ago

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𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂 .ᐟ 𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐄 ┆ 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

❝ a person arousing pity, they make you feel sorry for them ❞

HE'S ⁝ undoubtedly a LONER. struggles to make friends. quiet. reads a lot. has many passions he doesn’t get to talk about. indoors over outdoors. speaks up for himself when he has to. does anything you tell him. knows commands. misses you constantly. worries he did something wrong most of the time. gamer geek. currently online. scuffed jeans. fidgeter. gets emotional if he feels like you’re leaving him. doesn’t like your friends because you spend time with them instead of him.

multiple insecurities. unashamed of how much he needs you. wired headphones. does what he has to, to know everything about you. some would call it stalking, he’d say ADORATION. calm hobbies. doubts himself. shy. whiner. uses symbols instead of emojis. turns to substance if it gets bad. no one believes him when he says he has a girlfriend. intense codependency. doesn’t know what to do with himself when not around you.

༻meeting reader༺ ༻learning more about you༺

༻getting caught༺ ༻when you wear revealing clothing༺

༻when you have a secret admirer༺

#▍❙ pathetic ✟͏ 🦷 rafe ㅤ⁝ㅤ is online ⌕ .. ༝#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron blurb

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juliettejwnewinesa · 19 days ago

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hiii i appreciate your writing so so so much and i’m sorry abt the hate your getting, genuinely that’s stupid with whatever is going on. but keep up the good work girllyyy!!!!

but was hoping if i could request one for a light nsfw Baku and Fem Reader (she fell first, he fell harder🫣🫣)

Where the reader is like a geek and is socially awkward but confidently (sorry if that sounds confusing, it’s like baku when he mispronounces words and is still confident 😭) but she was paired a project with baku so he meets her at house and she’s got that messy bun with glasses look and in her out of school clothes. and he’s mesmerized and as they’re talking throughout the project he sees a small tramp stamp as she’s bent down in front of him and he’s like blushing.

And so throughout the night he’s trying to keep his composure of asking her questions and she gets the hint and asks him if he’s alright and he just blurts out that question, she answers and asks if he’s wants to get a clear view as a joke and he says yes in a serious tone and it just somehow ends up with them making out(?) i’m sorry idk how i can end this but with them making out 😭🙏

Hi lovely!! Thank you so much for your nice words like seriously, that made my day 🥹💕 Don’t worry at all I got it 👌 chefs kiss idea

💻✨ “You Got Something On Your Back (…Me.)”

Pairing: Humin x Confident-but-Socially-Awkward Geeky Fem!Reader

Tone: Light NSFW, teasing, mutual crush energy, she fell first, he fell harder.

—————————————————————————-

Humin didn’t really care about school projects. He was the type to just do what needed to be done, slide by, and avoid too much interaction.

So when he got paired with you(the quiet girl in class who always raised her hand, mispronounced words with full confidence, and wore anime pins on her backpack)he expected it to be awkward.

It was, at first.

Until you opened the door to your apartment.

Messy bun. Baggy hoodie sliding off one shoulder. Shorts he wasn’t sure were legal. Glasses slightly askew. And a soft, genuinely surprised smile like you didn’t expect someone like him to actually show up.

“Hey! You want water? Soda? Monster? I have like three types of caffeine.”

He blinked. “…Monster?”

“Cool, cool.” You walked away, muttering something about “fueling your chaos coding brain” and he just stood there for a second, completely still.

You were different. But in a weird way, that kinda made sense to him. You weren’t trying to be anyone but yourself. Even when you said things like:

“I accidentally broke the simulation. But like, intentionally. Accidentally on purpose. Y’know?”

No. He didn’t know. But he liked how you said it anyway.

The two of you got to work sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by notes, wires, and open laptops. You were in full geek mode, talking excitedly and leaning over to scribble on a notepad, totally unaware that your hoodie had ridden up a bit.

And that’s when he saw it.

A little black ink design,barely visibleat all,just above the waistband of your shorts. A small, delicate tramp stamp.

His brain froze.

He looked away. Looked back. Looked away again. Cursed internally.

You noticed. Of course you noticed.

“You okay, Humin?” you asked, half-laughing. “You’re redder than my error log.”

He coughed, pretending to flip a page in the notebook. “I, uh… You got a tattoo?”

You raised a brow, amused. “You mean the one on my back?”

He swallowed.

“I wasn’t tryna look, it just—”

You smirked. “Want a clearer view?”

He stiffened.

Then: “…Yeah.”

Your eyebrows jumped. You didn’t expect that. You stared at him.

“You’re serious?”

He nodded once, jaw tense.

You shifted slowly, turning your back to him and pulling your hoodie just high enough to show the full ink. “It’s a glitch symbol. From a game I mod. You like it?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, his hand grazed your waist like he wasn’t even thinking, just acting on impulse. Then he leaned in a little closer.

“I like… everything I’m seeing right now,” he muttered.

You twisted around, face-to-face now, and that heat building between you two boiled over. His breath caught when you licked your lips. Yours hitched when his eyes dropped there.

It happened fast your glasses almost fell off in the rush. He kissed you like he was holding back for days and suddenly had permission to lose control. It wasn’t rough, but it was intense, needy. Like he finally found the one thing that made him care about more than just getting by.

You smiled into the kiss, hands gripping his shirt.

“Guess you’re not so focused on the project anymore, huh?”

He smirked against your lips.

“I am. Just… working on a different kind of assignment now”

Author’s note: You didn’t say you wanted smut just nsfw if you wanted smut sorry u didn’t deliver 🥲

#park humin x reader #weak hero class 1 #weak hero class #smut #weak hero class two #weak hero fanfic #weak hero class one #weak hero #whc2 spoilers #humin ff #humin smut #park humin #humin x reader #whc baku #weak hero class baku #baku x reader #Baku smut #whc2 x reader #whc2

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marlenacantswim · 1 year ago

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tenth doctor the most relatable doctor because i too have a massive ego and ignore people who are attracted to me 💖

closeups (including text and image ID) under the cut, snip snip snip ✂️

[Image ID: a sketchpage-style series of eight digital drawings of the tenth doctor. they are all bust/torso up, and each is doing a different activity in slightly different canon outfits. the first depicts him in his glasses fiddling with wires. in the next he's wearing classic 3d specs, and appears shocked. in the next he is smiling with his face close to the viewer while donna stands annoyedly behind him. in the next he side-eyes the viewer with a neutral to serious expression. the next depicts his sad, wounded face from the aftermath of the conflict in End of Time Part Two; his suit jacket is slightly torn and his eyes are watery. the next has him examining a chip pierced at the end of a plastic fork he's holding. in the next he stares off to the side, slightly confused. in the last he's wielding the sonic screwdriver, pointing it upwards with a perplexed look on his face. there is penciled text scribbled around the drawings, reading "Ten!", "god complex", "GEEK CHIC", "adhd icon", "everyone want her sooo bad", "baby girl", "go whiteboy go!!!", "farsighted (for the DRAMA)", "stylish bedhead", "there's like, four of him", "SAD.", "WET.", "PATHETIC.", "will not STFU", "has canonically eaten human blood :)", "omfg?!", "needs therapy", "kinda toxic :/ (free my girl martha)", "if a drowned weasel was also the most beautiful girl you're ever seen", "misses his girlfriend :(", "PRETTYBOY", "asexual SLUT", "he's sorry. he's so, so sorry.", and "ALLONS-Y!". there is also sparse radial gallifreyan and crude sketches of the tardis and a chuck converse shoe. /.End ID]

my brain goes "ooooo you are gonna draw tenth doctor fifty bajillion time" and i go "thanks brain you are correct. we are in agreement."

#the tenth doctor and i also share a fondness for: having adhd; sitting in chairs wrong; being slightly farsighted;#wearing exclusively hightop chucks; and preferring our hair resemble some sort of evil birdsnest #i've started stimming with my hair because of this bitch. unbelivable.#also i know i'm not supposed to put image ids below readmores #i'm a wordy bitch :(#doctor who #nuwho #tenth doctor #10th doctor #david tennant #donna noble #catherine tate #running my mouth #made this with my hands #my artwork #doctor who fanart

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mysticpearl · 1 year ago

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LAZY MORNINGS - aventurine x reader

- your husband gets a call early in the morning, kicking a start to your day. but instead of him going into work, he stays in your arms.

- hellooo everyone! i'm back and i changed my theme up a little bit. thank you to all of the condolences i received, it made me smile and also made me happy :) but i feel ready enough to write once again, and i've been having aventurine brainrot...... hm... also my bad if this is really ooc i've read most of the penacony story and have payed extra to aventurines parts (i can also write ratio for all you ratio simps who want more food..) but my brain is wired weird so.... i fuck some things up anyways enjoy!!!!!!!!!

- no warnings, wc 528

You wake up, and immediately check the clock on the side of your nightstand. It reads 5:30 am.

You rub your eyes, scanning the room before your eyes land on your husband, Aventurine, who's got one hand in his hair and the other holding his phone up to his ear.

He was a beautiful sight; his eyes half open, hair messy, and pajamas in a bundle with one button keeping it on his torso. You lay a hand on the naked part of his chest, letting him know you were awake. He looks down at you, shooting you a soft smile before speaking into his phone.

“...Alright, I understand,” He said, his tone laced with irritation and sleepiness. “Lets schedule the interview for today.”

You sighed, replacing your hand with your head, trying to go back to sleep. You pull the silk sheets over your ear, everything below your eyes covered by the warm covers. Aventurine wraps an arm around your body, hanging up on the man who called to inform him of what you assumed was something important, and put his phone down next to him.

“Sorry if I woke you, sweetheart,” He sighs, wrapping his other arm around your torso. You nuzzle into him, eyes closed. You mumble something incoherent, and he chuckles. “Someones tired this morning.”

You nod, and he kisses the top of your head. “Do you have to leave early this morning?”

“Nope, not today. They wanted me to, but I'll just say I didn’t feel well enough to get out of bed. I don’t miss work too often, so they won't bat too much of an eye, hopefully."

You giggle a bit, snuggling even deeper into his chest, his heartbeat audible. It comforted you, it always does, and you could’ve fallen asleep right away if it weren’t for his voice keeping you conscious.

“I wish I could bring you to work with me, but unfortunately I can’t. I have to work with Ratio again today,” he groans, putting a hand up to his forehead. “I’d rather spare you of the nuisance he is.”

You laugh once more. “I bet he’s not that bad. You just make him sound like a geek, that’s all.”

“He’s much more than that. Much more insufferable.”

“I doubt it.”

You both laugh before simply holding each other. It seemed like it was only the two of you on this planet; the sounds of birds chirping brought a harmonious feeling, and it was as if none of your worries were able to break through your bedroom door and haunt you.

You tried to stay awake with your husband, considering he was probably up for the day due to the ever so rude interruption at such an early time in the morning. He was used to waking at this time, so he would’ve likely been up soon anyway. You, on the other hand, usually wake up when he’s long gone for the day, so it’s just natural to want to sleep a little longer.

“Fall back asleep, babe,” he pressed a tiny peck to the top of your head, burying his nose in your soft locks. “I’ll be here when you wake back up.”

#honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #aventurine #kakavasha #aventurine x reader #hsr fluff #honkai star rail fluff #kakavasha x reader

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foreverromanticising · 2 months ago

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renegade | ln4

(7) sunsets and glasses of wine warp your memory of any reasons why you could've been annoyed at lando

lando norris x fem!reader | 2.6k words | a still perfect summer with lando norris

(please please please if you have anything to say then pls pop them in my ask box instead of comments as i can't respond :( but i soooo wanna chat and hear what everyone thinks)

masterlist<3

As the sun set into the horizon and your hand never left Lando’s for more than five minutes at a time, you couldn’t stop Alexandra’s words from rattling through your mind. You tried, of course, to focus on Lando’s touch as his hands skirted along your bare skin and teasingly tugged on the strings of your bikini, but it was no use. Perhaps it was your own doing, allowing yourself to create a perception of Lando in your mind and then getting upset when that didn’t follow through to be the truth.

You had imagined Lando with a small flat in London; a one bedroom, maybe a studio, just enough for what he needed. Though you knew he was a driver, maybe in his spare time he frequented the tube, opting for public transport rather than dealing with the abysmal London traffic. You could picture it clearly - Lando sitting across from you on the tube; his messy curls pulled under the hood of his jacket, drenched and pitiful looking from the unavoidable rain, and maybe a pair of wired headphones falling out of his pockets. You could see his life clear as day, laid out in front of you.

But that wasn’t true, that wasn’t the reality you were living in. Again, it was your own fault that you had believed otherwise. The Lando you had gotten to know over the trip spent money like he had it burning a hole in his pocket, he geeked out on flashy cars and luxury restaurants, he wore sunglasses that would cost you at least six months of straight working, and he tried to hide his anxieties like they were something to be ashamed of. So maybe, your vision had been clouded when you had tried filling in the blanks of what you hadn’t known about Lando.

“Hey, y’wanna get out of here?” Lando’s words drew you out of your own mind, his thumb beginning to rub along your skin as he continued to hold your hand, fingers intertwined. “Go a walk, get somethin’ to eat.”

He had been chatting to Carlos and Charles for a while now but he couldn’t help but notice how lost you were in your own mind; the slight pinch between your eyebrows and the way your bottom lip was tucked between your teeth. You looked like you wanted to be anywhere but that yacht, and Lando knew you were sticking it out with a fake smile for him so the least he could do was whisk you away.

“No, no, I’m fine, honestly,” You shook your head as Lando pulled your body closer to his. You had learned in your short time knowing him that when he started to grow tired, he would then start to become clingy, more touchy - needing the pressure of your touch and the feeling of your skin on his as soon as his eyes would start to droop. “We should stay, they’re your friends.”

You didn’t want to be the reason

“Yeah but,” He dragged out his words, scrunching his face in what you could only describe as close to disgust. “I see them all the time, these get boring after a while.”

“Yacht parties get boring?” You laughed at his absurdity, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “I’m sure they do.”

“Yeah, and I like, get totally sea sick too,” He started to drag you around the deck of the yacht, not even bothering a quick goodbye to his friends. “It’s so bad, I need to get home as soon as.”

“And this sea sickness,” Though you knew he was lying, you couldn’t help but play along to his charming antics. “It’s just randomly struck you down now?”

“Totally random, babe, there’s no way of knowing when it happens.” Lando shrugged his shoulders and let out a dramatic sigh, acting as though this sudden sea sickness was nothing but a burden to his life.

“Well, in that case…” You let your words drown themselves on as Lando kept his hand tight to yours, tugging you off of the boat.

“Pizza sounds good, yeah?” He had that mischievous smile on his lips that you found yourself to be so smitten with; when he looked at you with that smile - like he held all the answers to the world if you simply followed him to them - you knew you were long gone. You would follow him to the ends of the Earth and back if he so kindly asked.

With the low sun lighting your way, you followed Lando into a pizza shop not far from the yacht, a quick ten minute walk and you were sat down in some chairs that looked like they were older than you. You looked across the small table at him, your knees crashing together under the table for the lack of space, and the fluorescent lighting really allows you to take in the fresh sunburn that was taking over Lando’s face. You had reminded him consistently throughout the day to continue applying it but he claimed he didn’t need it, he tanned after all, but you could now see that he did in fact need it. But you weren’t one to ruin the moment by saying ‘I told you so,’.

The nightlife was only starting up, club reps beginning to make their way around the town, but Lando knew that both of you had had enough for the day - that a slice of pizza and an early night was more than what you wanted for the night. So when Lando’s name was shouted with the pizza sitting ready, you followed him.

You followed him the whole way home as he insisted he wouldn’t let go of your hand, he swore he could manage the balance of a pizza box and your touch. He seemed to like to make things difficult for himself, claiming a walk home along the beach was better than a walk along the designated, flat path. Not that he would admit it, though he was sure you could see, the tumultuous nature of the sand added on an extra level of difficulty.

It’s all worth it for Lando, the minor inconveniences he faces are nothing to him as he watches you kick off your shoes in order to feel the still warm sand below your feet. He tries desperately to keep your hand in his but you can tell his arm that still holds the pizza box is beginning to struggle, to grow tired, so you dropped his hand for a moment and allowed him to wordlessly swap your hand to the other side of his body.

“You’re tired.” Lando mumbled into your hair as he pressed a kiss there, his arms encasing your body as you unlocked the front door of the villa whilst he kept the pizza box from digging into your arm. He had noticed how quiet you had been on your walk home, and comfortable silence wasn’t uncommon to Lando or you, but this had stretched for the better part of fifty minutes - which was entirely unheard of from you - he could only pin it on tiredness.

“Hm, not true.” You hummed into his touch as you pushed the door open, letting him skirt around you to finally put the pizza box down.

“Hm, very true,” He opened up the back patio door, nodding his head towards it so you would follow him, as he ran around quickly picking up blankets, the pizza, and a bottle of wine or two. “You’ve been quiet since the boat, ’s been a long day in the sun and getting to know new people - socialising can be draining.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” You sat down on one of the small couches around the campfire Lando was trying to desperately light, you stifled a giggle at his attempts and instead opt to wrap a blanket around you. “Your friends are funny, though, I see why you like them.”

“They’re great, aren’t they?” Lando slid beside you on the couch, tugging the blanket over his own legs too as the wind started to nip at his bare skin. “Carlos liked you, liked that red bikini- what’d I say, baby?” He winced dramatically when you elbowed him after his teasing words.

“Shut up,” You let Lando kiss you sweetly as an apology, a murmur against your lips was enough for you. “Alex was really sweet too, nice to escape being surrounded by boys for a while.”

“I hadn’t thought about that, actually - have you spoken to your friends, y’know, since all this?” It was almost as though a light had switched on in Lando’s mind once he was reminded of watching you and Alexandra - you had friends of your own, back home, that he hadn’t heard you mention once. “I don’t want them thinking I’ve, like, kidnapped you or anything.”

“I mean, I don’t really talk to them much when I’m home anyway so they won’t be expecting anything,” You shrugged your shoulders for you weren’t entirely too bothered about the fact you hadn’t really spoken to your friends, it didn’t matter to you all that much - though, you couldn’t deny the sting in your chest whenever you watched Lando surrounded by so many people who adored him, just another reminder of how different the worlds you came from were. “My mum knows where I am, though, I’m not gonna be daft about this.” Your words were true but you wanted Lando to know you weren’t biting - you wanted to remain safe even if the situation you were in with Lando was wildly irresponsible.

“Your friends wouldn’t want to know where you are?” Lando couldn’t hide the worry that bubbled up inside him, or rather the feeling of sadness, after hearing that your own friends wouldn’t be expecting to hear from you whilst you were literally travelling throughout Europe on your own. “They wouldn’t be worried if they hadn’t heard from you for a while?”

“Not really,” You hummed and debated spilling your guts to Lando but you didn’t think about it as much as you usually would’ve if you hadn’t already sank two glasses of wine. “I dunno, everyone kinda stopped speaking to me when they all went to uni and I didn’t. It’s difficult to keep up friendships when they’re all across the country and I’m still home, still working in retail,” You let a beat of silence pass as you took another sip of wine. “No one wants to be friend with the girl who didn’t go to uni, especially when I’m the only one who didn’t.”

“You just wanted other things, just because you don’t fit into the same box doesn’t mean they should just pretend you don’t exist anymore,” Lando found himself growing annoyed on your behalf - how could anyone simply throw you away just because your paths in life don’t match up? “Such bullshit, baby, you’re better off here without them.”

“I know, Lan, I’ve moved beyond on it,” You had made the executive decision long ago to not allow yourself to be bothered by it any longer. “I’ll just have to hope I don’t bump into them when I’m back in England,” You took a deep breath, pondering if you wanted to bring this up but you couldn’t help Alexandra’s words from swirling around your mind. “Speaking of, I’ve never asked whereabouts you stay in England, we could be minutes away from each other, for all you know.” You tried to play off your question as casually as you could, trying to portray some sort of faux nonchalance.

“Near Glasto, not far off it,” His eyes quickly flitted away from yous, opting to instead focus on the blue light radiating off the pool. “What about you? Where are you?” He threw your question back at you, hoping to keep the conversation off of him for a moment as he took a bite off of pizza instead.

“London, maybe just outside of it,” You didn’t want to push but you couldn’t help but feeling confused after Alexandra had mentioned Lando going home to Monaco whilst he told you he stayed near Glastonbury. “I wouldn’t go around saying London, though, I’m hardly near the city.”

“Hm, city girl wants to experience life outside the busy city?” Lando trailed his fingers up your bare arms as you still sat in your bikini top despite the fact the sun had long dipped below the sea, he watched as goosebumps rose up on your skin - whether that be from his touch or the chill in the air, he wasn’t bothered. “Want to see what life’s really about? Is that what this is all about?”

“I know you’re trying to make fun of me but yeah, you’re right,” You bathed under Lando’s touch, it did nothing to help the tiredness you were trying to fight off. “I want to see the world properly, I want to meet new people, and write all about it - even just for me - I want to have this all documented.”

“Well, you just let me know when you want all the pictures from my camera - they’re yours to have.” Lando let his mind wander to the photos of you that flooded his camera; photos of you clad in nothing but lace, or sat atop his kitchen counter with a bowl of strawberries, or even flush underneath his body with the white sheets crushed around you.

“Sounds good to me.” You nodded your head at his words though you weren’t particularly listening, instead you curled into the side of his body as you soaked up any heat that he was radiating.

“C’mon, let’s go to bed,” He wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you closer into him, watching as your eyes fought to stay open beside him. “You’ve had a big day, let’s just get to sleep.”

“But I like chatting, Lan.” You near enough whined when Lando pulled you up off of the couch and onto your feet, resisting the thought of going to bed as you had enjoyed sipping on wine beside Lando.

“Yeah, pillowtalk, baby.” He tutted as he pulled you along and into the bedroom, rolling his eyes at your dramatics but he couldn’t deny he was growing to love it.

And so you both fell into your domesticated routine for the night; you would take your makeup off in the bathroom mirror whilst Lando would stand beside you to brush his teeth. He loves to sneak a glance at you when he thinks you’re not looking, and you let him watch you. But you don’t shy away when you look at him in his halfway burnt state, admiring the freckles that plaster his face from the sun and how his curls have drooped so much in the day he has to push them out of his eyes.

Though, when both of your eyes meet, your heart speeds up just a few beats more and you fight a smile as you push a toothbrush into your mouth. Moments like these were your favourites with Lando - you didn’t care for the sports cars he drove you around in or how many times he insisted he would pay for your dinner, you craved the quiet moments. The quiet moments that made you feel like a schoolgirl with a crush once again.

“Let’s go, pretty.” Lando moves to wrap his arms around your waist, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder as he watched you through the mirror. The tiredness you had been resisting for so long had spread to him and he wanted nothing more than to have you in his arms beneath his white sheets, in more ways than one.

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