#i CAN FEEL THE INSPIRATION COURSING THROUGH MY VEINS | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

violentdelightsandviolentends · 5 months ago

Text

best seat in the house.

blame it on the moustache.

eddie diaz x female reader (nickname - blue)

warnings - smut. cursing. I think the word moustache is in this about 500 times.

word count - 3k

authors note - save a horse, ride a… firefighter. we all know I go feral for a pornstache, so it was only a matter of time before this happened.

masterlist. inbox.

You’re going insane.

You’ve been away for two months, on a placement course with the academy. As a trainee EMT, you’ve been lucky enough to earn your place in the 118, the one firehouse that every firefighter and paramedic in Los Angeles covets. With that comes training days and practical exams and occasionally, a two month placement that you’re scored and assessed on.

You passed with flying colours, of course - no one doubted you for a second. You’d expected to cruise back into your firehouse after some time away like you’d never left, everything exactly the same as it was.

Except, you’re going insane.

Eddie Diaz has a moustache.

A full on 80s inspired pornstar brush of a moustache.

It suits his face beautifully, accentuating his dark features and those big brown eyes. It’s made him ten times more attractive - which you didn’t think was even possible. You’ve had a harmless crush on him ever since your first day, and the moustache seems to have accelerated it tenfold.

“Are you okay?”

A heavy arm is slung around you, pulling you into the side of a solid body. You know who it is based on his cologne. You relax into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

He looks at you skeptically, eyebrows raised.

“Blue.”

“Buck.”

“You’ve been kinda spacey these last couple of days. What’s the deal?”

“There’s no deal. Just tired, I guess.”

“You’d tell me if something was wrong though, right?”

You look up at him, heart melting at the genuine concern in his eyes.

“Of course I would,” you reassure. “Love you.”

“Love you,” he mumbles into your hair, pressing a kiss onto your head. “Even if you are stubborn as hell.”

You chuckle, burrowing further into his side and getting comfortable on the couch. You both sit like that for a while, praying the alarms don’t sound so you can enjoy your peace a little while longer.

“Hey, Blue?”

The source of all of your stress comes striding up the stairs, all bright eyed and gorgeous.

“Eddie.”

He takes a seat on the other side of you, pressing his thigh into yours. You will yourself to take a deep breath and calm down, before he feels all of the tension in your body.

“Chris has been counting down the days until you came back. You wanna come over for dinner tonight? He’s missed you like crazy.”

“I’d love to,” you breathe, grinning at him like an idiot.

He grins right back, squeezing your thigh quickly. You determinedly ignore the way electricity zips through your veins at the action.

“Alright, I’m gonna workout for a while. Let’s hope we don’t get a call when I’m mid weight set,” he laughs, winking at you cheekily before heading down the stairs.

Heat blooms across your chest as you bite your lip, trying to stop yourself from beaming from ear to ear. As soon as he’s gone, Buck grabs both of your shoulders, shaking you like a maniac.

“Oh. My. God.”

“What? Buck, what? Jesus, what?”

You grip onto his wrists, willing him to still his movements.

“That’s what’s gotten into you! It’s Eddie!”

You choke on your words, struggling to get any out - so you punch his leg as hard as you can, giggling when he yelps. Buck swings his arm around your neck, catching you in a headlock and pulling you into his lap. All you can do is try to wriggle out, smacking any of his body parts you can reach. Eventually you separate when you both crash onto the floor, laughing and out of breath.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he pants, lying next to you on the ground.

“Tell you what, Evan?”

“That you’re in love with Eddie.”

Your eyes go wide as your jaw drops open, alarm bells going off in your mind.

“Woah- that’s, yeah, uh… no.”

“Okay, not love, then. But you’ve got the hots for him. Big time.”

You sigh in defeat, head dropping back onto the wooden floor.

“He’s a handsome man.”

“I know,” he agrees. “All of us would agree with you on that.”

You lie in silence for a moment, praying that no one comes up the stairs and finds you here. Buck intertwines his fingers with yours, squeezing reassuringly.

“It’s the moustache,” you whisper. “The goddamn moustache.”

“Oh, you like a man with some facial hair?” he smirks, propping himself up on his elbow.

You sit up, leaning back against the sofa and dusting yourself off.

“I do. I like you better when you have a little bit of stubble going on.”

“Noted,” he winks. “You should tell him.”

“Huh?”

“That you like the moustache. He’ll appreciate it.”

“Yeah. No. Not gonna happen.”

“You never know�� something good might come of it.”

“Evan. Are you hearing yourself?”

“Loud and clear, Bluey. Listen, you’re a beautiful girl. You tell Eddie you like his moustache… he tells you he likes your entire face… and boom. Fireworks.”

You throw your head back as you cackle, laughing with your full chest.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m just saying! You never know what might happen.”

“And I’m just saying… you’re ridiculous.”

You’re startled suddenly by the bells ringing and lights flashing, both of you jumping up and running down the stairs towards the truck.

“Saved by the bell,” Buck grins, winking at you.

Saved by the bell indeed.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

An evening with Chris is exactly what you need.

Only… that’s not what you get.

“He got invited to a birthday party at the movies last minute. I didn’t have the heart to tell him you were coming over. I should have called, Blue - I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you soothe, kicking off your shoes by the door like you’ve done so many times before. “I brought wine, anyway. Just in case.”

“You’re the best,” he chuckles, heading to the kitchen to get some glasses. “You and I can catch up tonight. I want to know all about your assessments.”

“It wasn’t that exciting, really. Lots of time in a classroom listening to some old dude talking.”

You get comfy on the couch, tucking your legs underneath yourself and happily accepting the glass of wine that Eddie holds out to you. He takes the cushion next to you, turning so his body’s facing yours.

“Did they let you drive the ambulance?”

“Yes! We had driving lessons, which were hilarious. There were some people there I wouldn’t trust to drive a golf cart, never mind an ambulance with a dying patient in.”

He cackles, knocking his knee into yours. All you can think about is how good he smells, all woody and musky and masculine.

You launch into a story about an emergency amputation on a plastic doll to distract yourself, which ends in both of you in fits of laughter, tears dripping down your faces.

The bottle of wine goes down too smoothly over the course of the evening, both of you a little tipsy. You’ve inched closer, legs tangled as you lean into each others sides. You can’t stop giggling, warm and flushed and happy to be in one another’s company.

Eddie’s phone vibrates, both of you scrambling around the cushions to find it. Eventually, he finds it, both of you chuckling at the theatrics of it all.

“Hello? Oh, hi Jenna. Yeah, sure. No worries, that’s fine. Give me a call if he needs anything, alright? Okay, tell him I say goodnight. Thanks, Jenna.”

You raise your eyebrows in question.

“Chris is going to stay the night at Cameron’s. His mom was just checking it’s okay.”

“He’s so grown up now,” you sigh. “Where does the time go?”

“I wish I had the answer to that,” he says as he throws his phone onto the coffee table. “I’ve got no idea.”

You lean against the back of the couch, resting your head on top of your arms. Eddie stares at you with the softest look on his face that you’ve ever seen, mirroring your posture.

“We all missed you,” he murmurs. “The 118 wasn’t the same with you gone.”

“I missed you. All of you. I was counting down the days until I could come back.”

He smiles at you all gentle and honey sweet, and you’re surprised you don’t melt into a liquid on his nice couch. Your heart is thumping against your chest, working overtime to keep you upright and breathing.

It’s never been like this with Eddie. Or maybe it has. You’ve always been able to tamper down your feelings, keep them buried and in check - so much so that a beautiful friendship has blossomed over time. You don’t want to ruin what you’ve built by admitting you’ve got some silly school girl crush on him and his moustache. It’d kill you if you lost him - Christopher too.

“Have you done something different?”

His buttery voice breaks you out of your daydream.

“Hmm?”

“You look… different. In a good way. Beautiful.”

He’s rambling, trying to cover his tracks so it doesn’t look like he’s coming onto you. You smile, shaking your head.

“Thank you, but I don’t think so. Oh wait, I have a new blush on my cheeks. Maybe it’s that?”

“Suits you.”

You bite your lip to stop yourself from grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“If I ask you a question, will you be honest with me, Blue?”

“Always.”

“What do you think of the moustache?”

Oh no. You pause, trying to formulate an appropriate answer quickly.

“I… like it.”

“You don’t sound like you do,” he chuckles.

“No, I do. I like it.”

“I thought you promised to be honest.”

His hand is resting on your knee, settled and comfortable. You’re not sure when he put it there, but you’re not complaining.

“I am being honest.”

“Look me in the eye, then.”

You hadn’t even realised you’d been avoiding him, too busy worrying about keeping your heart rate steady. You finally catch his gaze, those big brown eyes staring straight into your soul.

“Blue?”

“Eds?”

Your voices are low and cautious, careful not to disrupt the atmosphere you’ve created. You’re both wine drunk and warm, giddy off of the happiness of being reunited with one of your best friends.

“Tell me what you really think about the moustache. I trust you to be honest - if you think it’s terrible, I’ll shave it off right now.”

“Don’t shave it,” you say a little too quickly. “I meant it when I said I like it. Promise.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You look good. Fuck, you look good.”

The wine is making you too honest, but it’s too late to turn back now. He wanted the truth… he’ll get the truth.

“Oh. You like it, don’t you?”

He’s got this cocky smirk on his face, arrogant and self assured. You wish you hated it, but you don’t. Unfortunately.

“So what if I like a man with facial hair? Is that a crime?”

“It’s not a crime,” he laughs. “Just didn’t think the pornstache would be your kind of thing.”

“Well I didn’t think it’d be yours either, but here we are.”

He looks at you with nothing but mischief in his eyes, gaze raking up and down your body slowly. A shiver runs down your spine, the hairs on your arms standing up in anticipation. You sit in the quiet for a moment, waiting for Eddie to make the next move - you’re worried that your raging crush means that you’re misreading the atmosphere of the room.

“You wanna take it for a spin?”

Time stands still for a moment, both of you holding your breath.

“I- I- you… Eds, I- what?”

He chuckles all low and slow, like butter wouldn’t melt.

“You wanna take it for a spin?”

You’re looking at him with your jaw hinged open, blinking like a deer in headlights. When you don’t say anything, Eddie speaks again.

“You wanna sit on it?”

You’re quite convinced you’re in another dimension, catapulted into an alternate reality all of a sudden. An alternate reality where Eddie Diaz is… asking you to sit on his face?

“I- what, um… where has that come from?”

You’re only now noticing the blush on his cheeks, unable to tell if it’s from you and the close proximity or the bottle of wine that now sits empty on the coffee table.

“You like the moustache. And I like you.”

He looks almost sheepish, like he didn’t mean to confess out loud.

“I… do like the moustache. And I do like you.”

He grins at you all bold and beautiful, and you can’t help but grin right back.

“I had a dream last month that you sat on my face,” he murmurs, leaning in so he’s talking right into your ear. “I can’t get it out of my head. It’s like it plays on repeat.”

You clear your throat, attempting to get words out.

“Tell me more.”

“It was the hottest thing I’d ever seen in my life. It felt so real, Blue. I swear I could taste you on my tongue when I woke up.”

You’re almost gasping for breath, heart working overtime in your ribcage as you pant.

“Well I guess I better… how did you say it? Take it for a spin?”

He quirks an eyebrow at you to ask are you sure?, which has you smirking at him with nothing but deviance in your eyes.

“It’d be rude not to, Eddie. Seeing as you asked so nicely. And seeing as the universe is sending you psychic, prophetic, sexy dreams about me.”

He doesn’t waste another second, shuffling down the couch so he’s lying flat. When you don’t move, he props himself up on his elbows, looking at you expectantly.

“You can’t sit on my face from all the way over there, Bluebird.”

Laughing in disbelief, you crawl your way up his body, stopping when you’re straddling his waist. You lean down, pausing so you’re nose to nose as you breathe each other in.

“Can I kiss you?”

He looks confused that you’re asking but nods eagerly, softness written all over his face. You kiss him gently, carefully, sweetly. You’re figuring each other out, not wanting to push any boundaries too far too soon.

Eddie slips his tongue into your mouth eagerly, hips bucking up into yours. It’s all teeth and lust carnal need, years of built up longing bubbling to the surface. When you’re both so out of breath you’re lightheaded, you pull away, pecking his lips quickly before standing up to shimmy your shorts and panties down your legs. Eddie looks drunk - not on the wine, but on you.

You climb back on top of him, shuffling up his chest so you’re hovering over his face. You’re completely sure you want this, but there’s a tiny little inkling of anxiety that’s spreading through your veins, lighting up your nerves.

“I’ll take care of you,” he promises, looking up at you with nothing but love in his eyes. “Always.”

“I know,” you smile, gently moving a stray strand of hair away from his eyes. “Show me what you’ve got, Diaz.”

With that, you quit the hovering and sit down exactly where he wants you, throwing caution to the wind.

Eddie takes it slow at first, taking mental notes. It’s all careful and loving and considered, both of you holding back. He’s kitten licking, sucking gently, savouring the taste of you while he can. Eventually, you get a little impatient, accidentally bucking your hips into his face.

“S’that what you want?” he mumbles from underneath you. “Use me, Blue. Take what you need.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice, as you instantly grind your hips forward. He slips his tongue inside you, your back arching when the gorgeous slope of his nose bumps against your clit.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, tangling your fingers into his hair to use as leverage. “Right there, Eds. Keep doing that.”

He does exactly as he’s told, curling his tongue just right as you rock forwards and backwards, taking control of the situation. He’s groaning beneath you, clearly enjoying this just as much as you are. When you let out a particularly pornographic moan, his hips are bucking up into the air, desperate for any kind of friction.

“Close,” you mumble, fingers tightening in his hair. “So close, Eddie.”

His hold on your thighs only gets firmer, his grip bruising as he digs his fingertips into your flesh. As if he knows you need a little push, he smacks your ass hard with an open palm, the unexpected jolt of it sending you flying into your climax.

Eddie works you through it, tongue never ceasing its movements until you’re tugging him away and shuffling down so you can collapse against his chest. He wraps his arms around you, drawing patterns on any skin he can reach to calm your racing heart. There’s not an inch of space between you, bodies plastered together on his couch.

“You okay?” he’s asking all muffled into the top of your head.

“Never better.”

You feel his laugh rumble through your bones, making you chuckle.

“So… you don’t want me to shave the moustache?”

“You’re annoying,” you grumble, looking up at him with stars in your eyes. “But don’t you dare.”

“Yes ma’am,” he teases, pressing a kiss into your hair. “Loud and clear.”

You’re not sure how long the two of you lie all tangled up on the couch together. It doesn’t matter.

Tonight, you have all the time in the world.

2K notes · View notes

vanteguccir · 6 months ago

Text

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤCAR CRASH * MATT STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where an amazing date night leads to a devastating car accident, leaving Y/N severely injured and Matt hospitalized and feeling extremely guilt.

FEATURING　Matt Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　Car crash, blood, gore (nothing too extreme), mentions of surgery and death.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

The night had been perfect. The kind of night that made Matt wish he could bottle up every second and live it over and over again. As they cruised down the road, Y/N’s laughter filled the car, bubbling up with a joy that made his heart swell. He stole a quick glance at her, unable to resist the smile tugging at his lips as he watched her eyes crinkle at the corners.

It was all almost too serene. The road was deserted, stretching ahead like a long, winding ribbon through the dense forest. Trees lined both sides, their dark silhouettes swaying gently in the cool breeze. The glow from the dashboard lights bathed Matt’s face in a soft blue hue, highlighting the way his jaw clenched whenever he concentrated on the road.

Matt’s hand rested gently on Y/N’s thigh, fingers intertwined with hers. The music in the background was just soft enough to allow their conversation to drift through the air. Their fingers were laced together like they had been for years, her thumb softly brushing over the back of his hand in a way that always sent a thrill through him.

"You know." Y/N started, turning to look at him with that familiar, teasing sparkle in her eyes. "I still can’t believe you almost choked on that dessert tonight."

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

"Hey, those strawberries were huge, okay? It’s not my fault they didn’t fit in my mouth." Matt chuckled, his voice low and slightly raspy as he lifted her hand to press a soft kiss to her knuckles.

"Sure, that’s what she said." She quipped, sending a playful wink towards the brunette.

His laughter echoed through the car, his eyes crinkling at the edges.

"Hey, babe, we should-"

But before he could finish his sentence, Y/N's heart jumped to her throat as she noticed something.

"Matt!" Y/N’s scream pierced the air like needles.

Matt’s heart seized, his veins flooded with pure adrenaline. The world seemed to slow down, the seconds stretching into infinity as he turned his eyes from Y/N to the approaching car. It was swerving uncontrollably, zigzagging across the two-lane road, headlights blinding and erratic.

Panic gripped him like a vice. His instincts kicked in, hands flying to the steering wheel as he yanked it to the right with all his strength, desperate to avoid a head-on collision. The tires screamed in protest, the smell of burning rubber filling the car as the vehicle veered off the asphalt, gravel spraying against the undercarriage like bullets.

The seatbelt bit into his chest, and Matt let out a guttural grunt as the force of the swerve tried to rip him sideways.

"Hold on!" He shouted, the words raw and choked with fear.

But there was no time to process, no time to think. In the chaos, Matt’s vision narrowed to a tunnel. He could barely make out the blur of trees and darkness as the car skidded off the road. The other car blazed past them, its horn blaring like a scream of rage, disappearing into the night as if it had never been there.

Matt’s heart hammered in his chest, every beat like a drum of dread. He tried to correct the car’s course, but it seemed to be impossible with the velocity of it, and the steering wheel slipped under his frantic grip. The headlights illuminated nothing but shadows and thick trees ahead, and before he could even register what was happening, the world exploded into chaos.

The impact was instant. The front of the car crumpled like a tin can as it collided with the tree, the force of the crash sending them both jolting forward. Y/N’s scream was cut short as her side of the car bore the brunt of the crash, the airbags exploding around them in a cloud of powder.

Everything went black.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

A few seconds - or maybe minutes, Matt couldn’t tell - passed before he came to. The first thing he noticed was the sharp, metallic taste of blood in his mouth, his head throbbing like it was being split open. His vision was blurred, darkness and flashing colors swirling together as he tried to blink them away.

"Y/N..." He croaked, his voice barely a whisper. Panic seized his chest like a vice grip as he turned his head, trying to see her through the haze. "Y/N!"

She was slumped against her seat, her head tilted unnaturally to the side, blood smeared across her forehead where she’d hit the window.

"No, no, no, no!" Matt’s voice came out in a broken sob as he reached for her, his hands trembling violently. Pain shot through his ribs with every movement, but he ignored it, his vision blurred with tears. "Y/N! Wake up, please, wake up!"

But she didn’t move.

"C'mon, please. Please- fucking shit!"

He could barely breathe, his chest tightening as though an invisible hand was crushing his lungs. Warm blood trickled down his temple, but he barely noticed it. All he could focus on was Y/N, slumped lifelessly beside him.

"What do I do? What do I do?" His bloody hands flew to his head, smearing it all around his skin. "An ambulance, I need-need to call an ambulance."

His trembling fingers fumbled with his phone, hands slick with blood and sweat, and his vision blurred with tears. He couldn’t think straight; everything was a whirlpool of noise, pain, and terror. As he finally managed to dial 911, he searched for Y/N hand, squeezing the cold, unmoving member, his other hand shaking so hard it almost dropped the phone.

"911, what's your emergency?"

Matt could hardly get the words out, his throat so tight it felt like he was being strangled.

"We-we've been in an accident! Oh god, please- please help us! I... I don’t know what to do!"

His voice was a broken sob, the words tumbling out in a chaotic rush, barely coherent. He was gasping for breath, panic clawing at him with icy fingers. He kept glancing at Y/N, hoping, praying that she would suddenly move or blink or give any sign that she was okay. But she was too still, her face shining with blood, eyes closed, and her chest...

He couldn't even tell if it was moving.

"Okay, sir, I need you to try to stay calm. Where are you? Can you give me your location?"

Matt’s mind was spinning, the world around him a dark blur. He tried to remember where they were, but it was like every thought was slipping through his fingers.

"Uh- I, I don’t know! Somewhere near... near Elm and... I think we’re by a park or something. There’s glass everywhere, and- she's not... she’s not waking up!"

As he spoke, Matt’s voice cracked again, his words coming out in choked sobs. His free hand kept shaking Y/N’s shoulder, trying to rouse her, to pull her back to him.

"Alright, I’ve got your location. Help is on the way. Sir, I need you to focus for a moment. Is anyone else in the car with you?"

Matt’s voice broke into a desperate wail.

"Yes, yes, it’s my girlfriend. She-she’s not moving! I tried to wake her, but... but she’s just lying there, and she’s bleeding. Oh god, there’s so much blood!"

He couldn’t stop his crying, his entire body shaking as if he were freezing. Maybe he was.

"Okay, I understand. Help is on its way, I promise. But I need you to check if she’s breathing. Can you see if she’s taking any breaths?"

Matt let out a strangled noise, almost animalistic, as he leaned back to try to see. His hands were unsteady and he wiped furiously at his eyes to clear his vision. He leaned closer to her, straining to see if her chest was rising, but everything was too dark and chaotic.

"I-I can’t tell! I’m trying, but she’s not moving! Please, just help her!" His voice rose to a scream at the end, cracking under the weight of his despair.

"We're doing everything we can, sir. You’re doing great, okay? Just stay with me. Take a deep breath. I need you to look at her chest. Is it rising and falling, even a little?"

Matt tried. He really tried. But all he could see was blood. Blood on her eyes, her lips, her collarbone. He could barely make out her features through the darkness and the horror of what was happening.

"I don’t know, I don’t know!" He cried, his voice breaking into another sob. "It’s too dark, and her hair- there’s so much blood on her face. I’m scared to move her, I don’t want to hurt her more! Y/N, baby, come on. Please, don’t leave me." He begged, his voice raw with desperation.

He reached for his own seatbelt, fingers fumbling as he tried to undo the latch, but it was jammed. Tears blurred his vision constantly, frustration and fear boiling over as he yanked at it, the metal digging into his palms.

When the seatbelt finally gave way, he turned his attention back to her face.

"I’m here, I’m here." He whispered, pressing frantic kisses to her forehead, ignoring the cold of her skin and the taste of blood hitting his tongue. "I’m not leaving you, okay? Just stay with me."

"You’re doing the right thing by staying with her, sir." Their voice made him remember that he was still with the call on-going. "Just keep talking to her, alright? I know it’s hard, but you need to stay calm for her. What’s her name?"

Her name. God, her name was everything. It was the first thing he thought of when he woke up and the last thing on his mind before he fell asleep. He let out a shuddering breath.

"Y/N... Her name’s Y/N." He whispered, his voice raw. He cradled her face with his free hand, gently brushing the blood-streaked strands of hair away. "She’s so cold. Why is she so cold?"

"Y/N is going to be okay, sir. We’re sending an ambulance to you right now. I need you to tell me: are you hurt? Are you bleeding anywhere?"

Matt’s mind was short-circuiting, the edges of his vision tinged with black spots. But he couldn’t focus on himself. He couldn’t care less if he was bleeding or broken.

"N-No, I’m fine. It’s just her. She-she hit her head so hard." His voice broke into a whisper at the end, as if saying it too loudly would make it more real.

"I understand. But you might not realize you’re hurt because of the adrenaline. Can you check if you’re bleeding or if you feel any pain?"

Matt’s eyes darted frantically between his phone and Y/N. He couldn’t think about himself, couldn’t even process what they were asking.

"I told you, I’m fine!" He screamed into the phone, his voice cracking with a desperate fury. "I’m fine! It’s Y/N! Just... please save her! She’s... she’s everything. I can’t-" His words broke off into a series of harsh, broken sobs.

"I hear you, and I promise we're doing everything we can. Help is almost there, okay?"

Matt nodded frantically, even though they couldn’t see him. He clung to Y/N’s hand like a lifeline, pressing it to his lips, whispering her name over and over.

"Please, baby, stay with me... Please. You’re so strong. You can get through this. Just keep breathing for me, okay? Please..."

Outside, the wailing sirens grew louder, the red and blue lights flashing through the shattered windows of the car.

"Please... don’t leave me." He whispered one last time, the sound of his door being ripped open sounding muffled before the darkness around him finally swallowed him whole.

The last thing he felt was Y/N’s cold hand slipping from his grasp as the world went dark.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

A slow, rhythmic beeping was the first thing Matt became aware of as he drifted back into consciousness. His eyelids were heavy, as if weighed down by invisible anchors, and when he finally managed to pry them open, his vision was blurred, everything around him a hazy mix of white and blue. The smell of antiseptic stung his nostrils, making his head spin, and the low hum of machinery filled the air.

Matt blinked, trying to clear the fog from his mind. The room was dim, a soft light glowing from a corner lamp, casting long shadows across the pale walls.

There was an IV taped to his arm, the clear tube connected to a bag hanging from a metal pole beside the bed. His body felt like it had been crushed, every breath sending a dull throb through his ribs.

It hurt to move, but he turned his head slowly, trying to get his bearings. That’s when he noticed the figure slumped in an uncomfortable-looking position on a small armchair near the bed.

Chris.

His brother was fast asleep, his face drawn with exhaustion, dark circles etched beneath his eyes. The armchair seemed to have been pushed so close to the bed that it almost touched it, like Chris had wanted to stay as close to him as possible.

Matt’s mind was sluggish, like wading through thick mud. He couldn't remember how he’d ended up here. Why was he in a hospital? What had happened?

As he lay there, trying to piece together the fragments of his memory, a flash of vivid color cut through the fog like a lightning bolt; Y/N’s face, pale and covered in blood, slumped in the seat next to him.

The memory hit him like a truck, and suddenly everything came rushing back at once: the crash, the panic, the desperate phone call. Y/N’s lifeless body beside him.

"Y/N!" The name ripped out of his throat, raw and broken.

Adrenaline flooded his veins, pushing away the pain as panic seized him. He tried to sit up, ignoring the sharp agony that shot through his side and the dizziness that made his head sway. The only thought in his mind was finding her, making sure she was okay. He had to see her. He had to know if she was still-

His hands scrambled at the IV taped to his arm, trying to yank it free.

"No, no, no... C'mon, I need to find her!" He gasped, his voice frantic and uneven. His vision blurred with tears, anxiety closing in like a vice around his chest.

Chris woke with a sudden start, his eyes snapping open. For a split second, he was disoriented, but then he saw Matt struggling on the bed, clawing at the IV line.

"Matt! Hey, stop. Stop!" Chris practically leaped from the couch, crossing the short distance to his brother in a heartbeat.

Matt barely registered Chris’s presence.

"Let go of me! I need to find her!" His voice was wild, a desperate, guttural scream. He shoved at Chris with what little strength he had, the effort sending another stab of pain through his ribs, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was Y/N. She was out there somewhere, alone, hurt. He had to get to her.

Chris’s heart twisted painfully at the sight of his brother in such a state. He grabbed Matt’s hands, trying to stop him from tearing the IV out.

"Matt, listen to me! You need to calm down!" His voice was steady, but there was an edge of panic in it, fear for both Matt’s physical and mental state.

He pushed the call button for the doctor frantically, knowing they needed help, now.

Matt was beyond reason. He was sobbing, his voice breaking as he shouted like crazy.

"Get off me, Chris! Please, I have to find her! Y/N- where is she? Where’s Y/N?!" He thrashed against Chris’s grip, raw terror coursing through him. His mind was a whirlwind of worst-case scenarios, each one more terrifying than the last.

Chris used every ounce of strength he had to pin Matt’s hands down against the bed, his fingers digging into Matt’s wrists. He leaned in close, his face inches from Matt’s, forcing him to make eye contact.

"Matt, you need to stop!" He shouted, his voice cracking. "Listen to me, please! Nick is with her, and they’re taking care of her! You have to stay here and let them help you, okay? You’re hurt, too!"

But it was like Matt couldn’t even hear him.

"No, no, no! She’s not okay, she wasn’t moving! I need to see her, Chris! Let me go!" His screams were hoarse, filled with a raw, primal agony that tore at Chris’s heart.

Before Chris could say anything else, the door burst open, and a doctor, along with two nurses, rushed in, their expressions tense and focused.

"What’s going on?" The doctor demanded as she approached the bed, her gaze flicking between the brothers.

"He’s trying to rip the IV out." Chris said breathlessly, his voice shaking. "Please, he won’t calm down!"

The doctor nodded sharply, gesturing to one of the nurses.

"We need to sedate him before he injures himself further."

"No!" Matt screamed, thrashing even harder against Chris’s grip. "Don’t you dare! I need to find Y/N!" His voice was broken, desperate, his eyes wide and filled with terror.

Chris's hands tightened around Matt’s, holding him down as the nurse prepared a syringe. Tears streamed down Matt’s face, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

He was looking at Chris with an expression so lost, so utterly heartbroken, it nearly broke Chris, too.

"Matt, listen to me." Chris pleaded, his own voice breaking. "She’s going to be okay. But you’re going to hurt yourself if you don’t stop. I promise, I promise I’ll take you to her as soon as they say it’s okay. But you have to calm down, okay? Please, Matt..."

Matt’s eyes were wild, searching Chris’s for any sign of a lie, any hint that he was just trying to placate him. But Chris’s face was so full of anguish, so full of love and sincerity, that Matt’s resolve wavered for a moment.

The nurse took advantage of that brief second of hesitation, quickly inserting the needle into Matt’s IV line. Within seconds, the sedative began to take effect. Matt’s thrashing slowed, his screams dying down to broken sobs as the world around him began to blur again.

"No... Chris, please... It was my fault... Y/N..." Matt’s voice was barely a whisper now, his eyelids drooping as the drug pulled him under. The last thing he saw was Chris’s tear-streaked face, mouthing something he couldn’t quite hear before the darkness swallowed him whole.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The darkness that had pulled Matt under before slowly began to recede, but this time, it was different. Darkness enveloped him in a terrifying nightmare, pulling him under like the tide dragging him out to sea.

He was back in the car. The smell of gasoline and blood was suffocating, the crunch of broken glass grinding beneath his legs as he struggled to move. Y/N was next to him, her face ghostly pale, her eyes closed, blood streaming down her forehead and pooling beneath her. Her body lay limp, lifeless against the car seat, and no matter how many times he screamed her name, she didn't stir.

"... Y/N, please! Wake up!" Matt’s voice was raw, his throat burning with the force of his screams. He shook her shoulder frantically, his fingers slick with blood. "No, no, no... please, Y/N, don’t do this to me!" But she remained still, her head slumped to the side, blood trickling down her delicate features.

The world around him was spinning, the sound of sirens in the distance growing louder, yet somehow they never seemed to get closer. His breaths were short, and frantic gasps as he clutched at Y/N, his tears falling onto her lifeless body.

"God, no! Please!" He was breaking, unraveling, his heart tearing apart as he held her close, praying for a miracle that wouldn’t come.

"Matt!"

The voice was distant at first, barely cutting through the thick haze of his panic. But it grew louder, more urgent, like a beacon trying to pierce through the storm in his mind.

"Matt! Come on, wake up!"

But Matt couldn’t make sense of it. His eyes were still glued to Y/N’s lifeless form, his hands desperately trying to stop the flow of blood, his heart shattering with each second that passed. The voice was there again, louder this time, sounding so familiar, so achingly real.

"Matt, it’s okay. You're safe. Matt, listen to me!"

The scene in front of him wavered, flickering like a glitch in a broken film reel. The wrecked car, the blood, Y/N’s unmoving body; all of it seemed to blur, like someone was tearing the nightmare apart at its seams. Matt blinked, his vision shifting between the nightmare and something else. A figure - blurred, indistinct - hovered above him. He could hear that voice again, so much clearer now, so desperate and familiar.

"Y/N?" Matt’s voice was a hoarse whisper, his eyes darting around frantically. But his mind was still caught between the nightmare and reality. He could feel Y/N’s cold body beneath his fingers, could see her blood staining his hands. "No, please! Don’t let her die! God, please, don’t take her from me!" His voice broke into anguished sobs, raw and heart-wrenching, as he pleaded into the darkness.

The figure above him froze, and then, in an instant, arms wrapped around him. Matt was pulled into a tight embrace, warmth pressing against his trembling body.

"Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m here. Matt, it’s me. You’re safe." Chris’s voice was thick with emotion, his own tears spilling as he held Matt close.

The youngest dropped to his knees beside the hospital bed, leaning over Matt’s shaking form, one arm cradling the back of his head as he tried to bring him back from the brink.

"Shhh, it’s okay, Matt. Y/N is okay. I promise you, she’s alive. It was just a nightmare." Chris whispered desperately into Matt’s ear, his grip tightening when he felt his brother’s body shake with gut-wrenching sobs. He rocked them both slightly, his own chest heaving as he tried to keep it together for Matt’s sake. "I’ve got you, alright? I’m right here. She’s okay. I swear."

But Matt couldn’t process the words. His mind was still stuck in that twisted nightmare, where Y/N was cold and still beneath his hands, where he’d failed to protect her.

"No, no... I have to get to her." He choked out, struggling weakly in Chris’s arms. "I can’t lose her... I can’t..."

"Matt." Chris said more firmly, his voice breaking. He pulled back just enough to look Matt in the eyes, his hands cupping Matt’s face, thumbs brushing away the tears streaming down his cheeks. "Listen to me. You’re not in the car anymore. You’re in the hospital. Y/N is okay. She’s being taken care of. She’s safe."

Chris’s words were slowly, agonizingly, starting to sink in. Matt’s sobs grew softer, his breaths still ragged and uneven, but the desperate thrashing stopped. He could feel the warmth of Chris’s body, the steady pressure of his hands holding him down, grounding him in the present. The nightmare was slipping away, reality clawing its way back into his consciousness.

Matt’s fingers, which had been gripping Chris’s shirt with bruising force, gradually loosened. He blinked, his vision clearing enough to see the hospital room around him. The blinding lights, the beeping machines, the sterile scent, all of it slowly registered, pulling him further away from the nightmare’s grip.

"Chris...?" Matt’s voice was small, broken, like a lost child. His wide, tear-filled eyes searched Chris’s, looking for confirmation that this wasn’t another twisted dream.

"Yes, it’s me." Chris whispered, his forehead pressing against Matt’s. "You’re safe. I’ve got you."

Matt collapsed into Chris’s arms, his body going limp with exhaustion. The adrenaline that had kept him going drained away, leaving him weak and trembling. He buried his face in Chris’s shoulder, his hands clutching at his brother’s back like a lifeline.

"I thought... I thought I lost her..." He sobbed, his voice muffled and choked. "I couldn’t... I can’t lose her, Chris..."

"I know, I know." Chris murmured, tears streaming down his own face as he held his brother tighter, laying his cheek above his head. "But she’s alive. She’s okay. And you’re okay. We’re all here, Matt. You’re safe."

Slowly, so slowly, Matt’s sobs began to quiet. His breathing evened out, but that only brought the pain to control. Each breath sent a jolt through his bruised ribs. His head throbbed, the pain pulsing behind his eyes, and his skin was clammy with cold sweat. He shivered, his body exhausted and aching, but he let himself lean into Chris’s embrace, the warmth of his brother’s presence keeping him grounded.

Chris continued to murmur soothing words, his hands rubbing circles on Matt’s shoulder, trying to calm the tremors that still wracked his brother’s body.

"You’re okay, Matt. You’re safe. I’ve got you."

Matt let out a shaky breath, his body finally beginning to relax, the nightmare fading further into the recesses of his mind, the steady rhythm of Chris’s heartbeat against his ear helping to calm the storm inside him.

For the first time since waking, Matt felt like he could breathe again. He was still in pain, his body battered and broken, but Chris’s comforting presence kept him anchored, keeping him from slipping back into that dark abyss.

"Can... can you call me the doctor?" Matt whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible.

"Are you feeling pain?" Chris asked worriedly, receiving a small nod as an answer. "Okay."

Chris brushed back the damp hair on Matt's forehead while pressing his free hand against the red button.

"Chris." Matt croaked out again. "Y/N... how is she?"

His younger brother's face crumpled, and he let out a shaky breath. He looked away for a moment, trying to collect himself before turning back to Matt.

"She... she was in surgery." He said quietly, every word seeming to cost him. "Nick told me... she had internal bleeding, and they had to go in to stop it. She hit her head super hard, too. But... the surgery went well. She’s stable now and probably still asleep."

Matt’s heart shattered at those words, a cold, sick feeling twisting in his stomach. Internal bleeding. Surgery. Y/N had gone through so much, and it was all because he couldn’t control his own damn car. If he had just been paying attention... He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms as he struggled to hold back the tears.

"Can I... can I maybe see her?" He asked, his voice so small, so broken, it almost didn’t sound like his own.

Chris stared at him for long seconds, his eyes searching Matt’s face, like he was trying to read the thoughts swirling in his mind. And maybe he could see it. Maybe he could sense the guilt that was eating Matt alive. But Chris didn’t press him. Instead, he sighed heavily, searching for his hands and stopping him from hurting himself further.

"The doctor is the one who has to let you." He whispered, biting his bottom lip hard. "You know... I was really scared, Matt. I thought... I thought I was going to lose you forever."

Matt watched the pain swimming inside Chris's blue eyes.

"I’m sorry, Chris." He muttered, his voice cracking. "I’m really sorry for scaring you. You and Nick."

Chris looked down at him, his eyes shining with tears, and shook his head.

"No, Matt... no, it’s not your fault." He said, his voice fierce despite the tears. "I just... I’m just so glad you’re here. That you’re alive."

Matt swallowed hard, his throat tight. He didn’t deserve Chris’s relief, not when Y/N was still out there, hurt because of him.

Before he could say anything else, the sound of the door creaking open echoed, and a doctor stepped in, clipboard in hand. Behind her were two nurses, ready to assist with whatever was needed.

Dr. Patel, a middle-aged woman with gentle eyes, gave Matt a small, reassuring smile as she approached his bedside.

"Good to see you awake and calmer, Mr. Sturniolo. How are you feeling?" She asked, her tone soft yet businesslike.

Matt swallowed, his throat dry and raw from the crying.

"I... I’m in pain." He admitted hoarsely, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Everywhere."

Chris squeezed his hand reassuringly before turning to the doctor.

"Is there something more you can give him for the pain?" Chris asked, his voice thick with concern.

Dr. Patel nodded, her expression turning more serious as she flipped through the pages on her clipboard.

"We’ve been managing his pain with a mild dosage to avoid any complications, but given that he's more conscious now, we can adjust his medication." She gestured to one of the nurses, who immediately set about preparing a new injection.

Matt’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment as he tried to focus on breathing through the pain. Each inhale felt like it was slicing through his ribs, the weight of his guilt and worry making it even harder to catch his breath.

"Doctor, can... can I see her? Y/N, I mean... please." He pleaded, reopening his eyes before looking at her.

Dr. Patel paused, her gaze softening as she looked at him.

"Let’s take care of your pain first, Matt." She said kindly, her voice a steady anchor in the chaos. "I promise, as soon as you are stable enough, we’ll let you see her."

The nurse approached with the syringe, and Matt turned his head away, too drained to watch as she injected the painkiller into his IV. Moments later, a cooling sensation spread through his veins, slowly dulling the sharp edges of his agony, but it did nothing to ease the turmoil inside him.

As the medication began to work, Matt’s eyelids grew heavier, but he fought against the sleep that threatened to pull him under.

"I'm fine now... please." He begged, his voice wavering. "I'm fine, I need to see her. I... I have to make sure that she’s okay." His breath came in shallow, slow gasps, and his eyes darted to Chris, silently pleading for help.

Chris stepped forward, placing a calming hand on Matt’s shoulder.

"Hey, hey." He whispered, trying to soothe his brother. "Let the doctor decide if you're stable enough, okay? I promise you’ll see her soon."

Matt shook his head stubbornly, the panic still clawing at his chest.

"I promise that I'm feeling okay now, m-my pain is gone." His words sounded slurred, his eyes blinking slowly while trying to keep himself awake, looking at the doctor with determination.

Dr. Patel’s face softened as she listened to Matt’s broken pleas. The room was quiet for a minute, save for the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. She glanced at Chris, who was holding his brother’s shoulder tightly, as if trying to anchor him to the present moment.

"Please... I have to see her." He whispered again, the words more of a gasp now. "I just... I need to know she’s really okay."

The doctor sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. She understood his desperation, his need to see Y/N with his own eyes. It was a common reaction, patients often believed that seeing their loved ones would somehow confirm their survival would make it more real. And judging by the fear and panic still etched into Matt’s face, this was something he desperately needed.

Dr. Patel turned to the nurse beside her, exchanging a brief, silent conversation before she turned back to the brothers.

"Alright." She said finally, her tone gentle but firm. "We can take you to her room, Matt... but only if you’re in a wheelchair. You’re still recovering yourself, and moving around too much could set back your progress."

Chris’s head whipped toward the doctor, a glimmer of hope lighting up his tired eyes.

"Wait... you mean... he can see her?"

"Yes, but only for a few minutes." Dr. Patel clarified. "And he must stay seated. We’ll have to monitor him closely."

Matt’s entire body seemed to sag in relief at her words. He would have agreed to any condition at that moment if it meant seeing Y/N, even if it was just for a second.

"Yes... yes, please. I’ll stay in the wheelchair. I promise." He breathed, the frantic edge to his voice slowly easing into something softer, more hopeful.

Chris nodded gratefully at the doctor, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"Thank you." He whispered, his voice thick. He turned to Matt, squeezing his brother’s shoulder. "Okay, Matt... just breathe, alright? We’re gonna see her."

The nurse quickly wheeled in a padded, adjustable wheelchair. Chris helped Matt shift carefully from the hospital bed into the seat, wincing with every grimace of pain that crossed Matt’s face. Matt tried to hide it, but his stiff movements and shallow breaths were enough to betray just how much he was still hurting. Once seated, Matt clutched the arms of the chair with white knuckles, willing his trembling legs to steady.

Chris crouched in front of him, locking eyes with Matt.

"Are you sure you’re good to go?" Chris asked softly, his voice laced with concern. "If you start to feel worse, we can turn back, okay?"

"No." Matt said quickly, shaking his head even though the motion made him dizzy. "I need to see her, Chris. I won’t... I can’t rest until I know she’s a-alive." His voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper now, but it carried a weight that cut Chris to his core.

The small entourage - Matt, Chris, the doctor, and a nurse - began their slow journey down the fluorescent-lit corridor. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air, and the occasional sound of distant monitors and hushed conversations drifted from other rooms. Chris stayed beside the wheelchair, his hand on Matt’s shoulder the whole time, a steadying presence as they moved.

Matt’s heart was a wild drum in his chest, each turn of the hallway only ratcheting up his anxiety. He felt like he was caught in a nightmare that he couldn’t wake up from, the fear that he might find Y/N still and lifeless on a hospital bed eating away at him.

Finally, they stopped outside a door marked with Y/N’s name on a small placard. Dr. Patel turned to Matt, giving him one last assessing look.

"Remember, just a few minutes." She reminded him gently. "She’s stable but still heavily sedated. It might be a while before she wakes up."

Matt nodded, barely hearing her as his eyes locked on the door. Chris leaned down to give his shoulder one last reassuring squeeze before opening it. The soft creak of the door seemed to echo through Matt’s mind, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet hallway.

As they wheeled him inside, Matt’s breath hitched. There she was, his Y/N, lying so still in the bed, surrounded by machines that beeped and hummed softly, tubes and wires connected to her fragile form. Her face was pale, bandaged in places, and her chest rose and fell in the slow, steady rhythm of sleep. But she was breathing. She was alive.

Before his eyes could drink in every detail of her condition, his attention was pulled to another figure in the room.

Nick.

Nick’s head shot up at the sound of the door, his eyes widening in surprise. Relief washed over his face, softening the lines of exhaustion and worry that had been etched there. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, his hair disheveled, eyes red-rimmed.

"Matt." Nick breathed, his voice trembling with emotion.

He quickly crossed the room in a few long strides, his eyes scanning his brother’s face like he couldn’t quite believe he was awake and here in front of him. Without a word, he dropped to his knees beside the wheelchair, wrapping his arms around Matt in a tight, desperate hug.

"Oh God, Matt." Nick’s voice cracked as he held on tight, as though letting go would make this moment disappear. "I thought we lost you... I thought..."

Matt weakly lifted one arm, patting his brother’s back as best as he could manage.

"I’m okay." He whispered hoarsely, though the pain in his body begged to differ. "I’m here, Nick... I’m here."

Nick pulled back, his eyes shining with tears, but he quickly wiped them away with the back of his hand.

"You have no idea how scared we were, Matt... but God, I’m so glad you’re awake."

Chris, standing close by, put a comforting hand on Nick’s shoulder, giving him a small, reassuring squeeze.

"He’s okay, Nick. We’re okay." Chris murmured, nodding assuredly.

The doctor and nurse patiently waited for the brothers to have their moment before gently nudging the wheelchair forward.

"Let’s get you closer to her, Matt." Dr. Patel said softly.

As they wheeled Matt to Y/N’s bedside, all the noise of the hospital seemed to fade away. All he could hear was the soft, steady beep of the machines monitoring her vitals.

Matt’s eyes welled up with tears as he took in her pale face, the bruises peeking out from under the bandages on her forehead and the soft rise and fall of her chest.

He reached out with a trembling hand, his fingers brushing against hers. Her skin was cool to the touch, and a sob tore through him. Without hesitation, he leaned forward, bringing her hand to his lips. He kissed her knuckles softly, over and over again, his lips lingering on every bruise and scrape he could see.

"I’m so sorry." He whispered, his voice raw with anguish. "I’m so, so sorry, my love. Please... please forgive me. I love you so much, Y/N. I need you. You have to wake up soon. Please."

He kept pressing gentle kisses to her hand, his tears slipping down and wetting her skin. His heart ached in ways he never thought possible, the guilt eating him alive. This was his fault. If only he had been more careful...

Nick watched silently, his own eyes filled with tears, and Chris had to turn away for a moment, pressing a fist to his mouth to stifle a sob. The sight of their brother - usually so composed - completely broken over the woman he loved was almost too much to bear.

Finally, Matt’s strength gave out. His body, already weakened and worn from the medication, was quickly reaching its limit. He slowly leaned forward, resting his head gently on the edge of Y/N’s bed, his cheek pressed close to her hip. He stayed there, clinging to her like she was his lifeline, his breaths coming in soft gasps as he struggled to stay conscious.

"I’m here, Y/N... I’m right here." He whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. "I won’t leave you... I promise."

The pain was slowly fading, his body seeming to finally allow the medication to work its way through his system. Matt’s eyes grew heavier, his body sagging with exhaustion. But he didn’t want to sleep. He wanted to stay with her, to watch over her, to be there when she finally opened her eyes.

Dr. Patel watched him with a soft, sympathetic gaze. She could see how much this was costing him, but she also understood that this was what he needed.

"We’ll let him stay for a little longer." She said quietly to Chris and Nick, who both nodded gratefully. "But you must agree that, if anything changes, if he starts showing signs of distress, you call for me immediately.”

"We will." Chris promised, his voice low and earnest. Nick nodded in agreement, his eyes never leaving Matt.

With that, the doctor and nurse quietly exited the room, leaving the three brothers alone with Y/N. The room was dim and quiet. The only sound was the soft beeping of the monitors and the occasional muffled sniffle from Nick or Chris.

Matt finally let the exhaustion pull him under, his breathing evening out as he drifted into a fitful sleep. His fingers were still wrapped loosely around Y/N’s hand, and his head rested against her side as if he could protect her even in his sleep.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Several hours passed in quiet vigil. Chris and Nick stayed sat on the small couch by the wall, watching over Matt and Y/N like silent guardians, their hearts heavy with worry but relieved that, for now, their family was still holding on.

As the soft light of dawn began to creep through the tiny window in Y/N’s room, there was a faint stirring.

The world around her was a hazy blur, everything out of focus and spinning, like she was caught in a dream she couldn’t quite wake up from. There were distant beeps and muffled voices, but they all seemed so far away, like she was listening from underwater.

A faint, familiar smell flooded her nose. Matt. Or is it Nick? It was something like strawberries or maybe coconut. She couldn’t tell, but it was comforting enough. She tried to move, to lift her heavy eyelids, but her entire body felt like it was weighed down by an invisible force.

After what felt like an eternity, Y/N finally managed to blink her eyes open, the harsh bright lights above her making her squint. The ceiling was white and sterile, and as her vision adjusted, she could make out the faint sounds of machines beeping rhythmically around her. Her mind was foggy, like a thick cloud had settled over her thoughts, and it took her a moment to realize where she was.

A hospital. She could feel something tight around her ribs, a dull, throbbing pain in her head, and an odd numbness throughout her limbs that made it difficult to move. Her throat was dry, like sandpaper, and when she tried to swallow, it sent a sharp ache down to her chest.

Panic started to bubble up in her chest, her heart rate quickening as fragmented memories began to resurface - the blaring headlights, the screech of tires, and the sudden, jarring impact that had stolen her breath away. She let out a small, pained whine, her chest tightening as she tried to remember more, but it was all so blurry, so confusing.

A voice cut through the haze, it sounded quiet but rough, like it had been scraped raw.

"Y/N? Hey, it’s okay... you’re okay."

She turned her head slowly, every movement feeling like she was wading through thick mud. The face that came into focus was familiar, a face that brought her the feeling of home amidst the confusion.

Nick.

Y/N’s eyes blinked slowly, struggling to focus on the two faces in front of her. She was still groggy, the world around her hazy, but the concerned expressions of Chris and Nick gradually came into focus. Her brows furrowed slightly, confusion clouding her tired gaze.

"N-Nick...? Chris...?" She mumbled, her voice rough and barely audible. Her throat was parched, every word scraping against the dryness.

Nick let out a shaky laugh, tears gathering in his eyes.

"Oh my god, I was so... I'm so glad you're back." He whispered, his voice breaking with a mixture of relief and emotion. He stepped closer, reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair away from her face.

Chris nodded, his face lighting up with the first real smile in what felt like an eternity.

"We’ve been really worried about you, Y/N." He murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "You’re a fighter, you know that?"

Y/N tried to smile, but even that felt like lifting a mountain.

"What... what happened?" She asked, her voice weak, her words slurred from the medication and anesthesia coursing through her veins. "I... I remember the crash. I remember..." She trailed off as she recalled the moment of impact, the way everything had gone black in an instant. "It all happened so fast."

Nick’s eyes filled with tears, and he traveled his hand from her hair to her shoulder, squeezing the covered skin tightly.

"It was... it was really bad. But you are here now, okay? You made it through the surgery. You’re safe."

"Surgery?" The word sent a chill down her spine. She tried to remember, but everything after the crash was a blur. "What... what happened to me?" She asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Nick took a shaky breath, his grip on her tightening as if he needed the contact to ground himself before connecting his eyes with Chris's, begging for him to answer her.

"You had internal bleeding caused by some broken ribs." Chris explained gently, cleaning his throat to disguise the emotion in his voice. "You’ve been out for at least 15 hours after a four-hour surgery. And... and you hit your head really hard. But the doctors said the surgery was a success, and your concussion is mild. You’re going to be okay."

Y/N let out a shaky breath, the reality of it all crashing down on her. Surgery. Internal bleeding. The thought of how close she’d come to... She couldn’t finish the thought, the fear overwhelming her.

"Where... where’s Matt? Is he okay? Oh god, he was driving-"

Chris’s eyes softened, and he exchanged a glance with Nick.

"He’s right here, Y/N." Chris reassured her gently, pointing towards Matt's figure with his head.

Y/N’s gaze flickered downward, and her breath hitched when she finally registered for the first time Matt slumped over on the edge of her hospital bed, his head resting beside her hip. His brown hair was disheveled, and his face looked paler than she had ever seen, decorated with a variety of bruises and cuts, but he was breathing, his chest rising and falling steadily.

It was then that she noticed the weight of his fingers against hers, holding her hand firmly as if she could disappear at any moment.

"He’s been by your side from the minute he woke up..."

The sound of the boy's voice, combined with the familiar touch of his girlfriend, pulled Matt from the depths of his medication-induced sleep. His eyelids fluttered, a groggy groan escaping his lips as he slowly stirred awake. For a moment, he looked confused, his eyes unfocused as he blinked against the harsh lights.

But then, as his gaze settled on Y/N’s face, now wide awake and staring back at him with teary eyes, everything clicked into place. His heart leaped in his chest, and any remaining fog of sleep vanished instantly.

"Y/N?" He croaked, his voice raw with disbelief. His eyes widened as he looked at her, truly seeing her awake for the first time. "Oh my god... you’re... you're awake."

Y/N managed a weak smile, tears gathering in her eyes as well.

"Hey, baby. I'm here." She whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "You look like you’ve been through hell."

Matt let out a choked laugh, a mix of relief and joy bubbling up inside him. He quickly pulled himself closer to her, his hands shaking as he reached for her face, brushing his thumb tenderly over her bruised cheek.

"I thought... I thought I had lost you." He confessed, his voice breaking. "God, Y/N, I was so scared. I... I couldn’t-" His words were cut off by a sob he couldn’t contain, and he buried his face in her neck, pressing desperate kisses to her exposed skin, his curls tickling her chin in a grounding way.

Y/N’s heart ached at the sight and feeling of him so broken. With what little strength she had, she squeezed his fingers, trying to comfort him.

"I’m here, Matt." She whispered. "We’re okay. You don’t have to worry anymore."

Matt shook his head, his tears soaking her neck.

"I’m so, so sorry." He choked out between sobs. "I’m so sorry, Y/N. I should’ve protected you... I couldn't even-"

Y/N’s brows knitted together in confusion as she tried to process his words. She lifted a trembling hand to stroke his messy hair, trying to calm him down.

"Matt, baby, hey... where's this coming from?" She asked, her voice soft and full of concern as her eyes traveled momentarily to Chris and Nick, searching for an answer in them that they didn’t seem to have.

Matt just kept shaking his head, his sobs growing louder, muffled by her skin.

"It’s my fault... it’s all my fault." He whispered, his voice breaking. "I should’ve seen the car... I should’ve done something... God, you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me. I'm really, really sorry..."

Y/N’s confusion turned to anger as she realized what he was saying.

"Matt, look at me." She demanded, her voice suddenly stronger despite her weakened state.

He slowly lifted his tear-streaked face from her shoulder to meet her gaze momentarily, his eyes red and puffy.

"How can you blame yourself?" She asked, her voice tinged with disbelief. "You... Matt, there was nothing you could’ve done. A crazy driver was coming to our direction. You didn’t cause this."

"But... but I should’ve seen it sooner. I should’ve done more." Matt insisted, his voice cracking terribly. He couldn’t meet her eyes for more than a second, ashamed of the guilt that had consumed him. "You got hurt because of me... I should be the one lying in there, not you."

"Don't you dare say something like that, Matthew." Y/N said firmly, her fingers gripping his hand as tightly as she could manage. "Listen to me. It was not your fault. There was nothing you could have done to stop it." She let out a shaky breath, her eyes softening as her free hand traveled to his face, softly brushing away the tears from his cheeks. "I’m okay, Matt... because of you. You were there. You kept me safe until help came."

Her words only made Matt’s tears flow harder, dripping directly where her fingers met his skin, his sobs causing his body to tremble and his ribs to ache, but there was a shift in his eyes, a flicker of something like relief. He didn’t fully believe her, but hearing her say it, seeing the sincerity in her expression, it was like a balm to his raw, bleeding heart.

"You did everything you could, baby. You saved my life. If it wasn’t for you..." Y/N couldn’t even finish the sentence; the thought was too painful to bear. To lose a life with the love of her existence.

Matt sniffled, pressing the side of his face against her palm and wiping the other side of it with the back of his hand, still holding on to Y/N like she was the only thing keeping him afloat.

Nick and Chris watched the whole scene unfold in silence, their hearts heavy with the raw emotions in the room. Chris discreetly wiped away a tear while Nick stood there, his arms crossed over his chest as if trying to hold himself together.

"I love you so much." Matt whispered, nuzzling against her hand. "I can't even picture a life without you."

"I love you too, Matt." Y/N murmured back, her fingers weakly squeezing his. "But you don’t have to picture anything. I’m right here."

Matt let out a shaky breath, nodding.

"Now, why don't the both of you rest a little bit more?" Nick's voice seemed to remind them of the brother's presence. "It will do good for your healing process." Y/N's eyes lifted to the oldest momentarily before nodding slowly.

As the room settled into a comfortable silence, Matt gently laid his head back down on the bed, still holding Y/N’s hand as if it was his lifeline. Y/N stroked his hair softly, her heart aching with love and relief.

For the first time in what felt like forever, they could finally breathe. They were together, alive, and that was all that mattered.

2K notes · View notes

astraystayyh · 1 month ago

Text

Not a lot, just forever.

🪷 In which you make flowers bloom in a heart hyunjin saw as lifeless.

pairing: (tortured) painter!hyunjin x florist!yn.

genre: fluff. strangers to lovers. angst (but not between the characters). just very soft and tender.

wc: 10.2k

a.n.: this entire fic is inspired by the fact that hyunjin has his florist’s number. so i ran with it and it gave way to this!! i really love this fic so i hope you’ll love it in return 🫶🏻 and, of course, happy birthday to my spring, my light, my hyune. thank you for being such an easy person to love. i hope happiness always finds you wherever you may go❣️you deserve it. (pic is mine which is #crazy still can’t believe i’ve been in monet’s home!!!!)

In theory, a heart is simply a heart—an organ, no more sacred than the others, pulsing to pump blood into our veins, working tirelessly to keep one alive.

But to Hyunjin, a heart is a bit more than that. To him, the heart is a graveyard, a hollow, decaying thing where his dreams are laid to rest before they ever bloom. He finds it cruel, almost laughable, that the very thing meant to sustain him is the tomb beneath which he perishes—day after day, night after night.

Hyunjin never understood the notion of ending one’s own life. Weren’t there always reasons to stay? Beautiful things to gaze at, to hold on to— the slant of golden light through a window, the swell of waves as they kissed the shore? Wasn’t the sun always there patiently waiting to be seen?

But now he understands. It doesn’t matter if the sun is there or not. For the sun rises every day, yet Hyunjin can no longer see it.

Hyunjin hadn’t seen the sun for a long time.

He wasn’t always like this. In fact, he loved existing. He loved finding beauty in the smallest of things, in the details that mortal eyes don’t often stop to admire, too busy running, too busy surviving. But Hyunjin was different. He craved living. So, he paused. Almost reverent in the way he’d breathe in the sweet perfume of roses, soak in the way the sea folded itself around his ankles.

And he liked commemorating his feelings, he didn’t have the strongest memory, so he painted. He liked painting. No, he loved it, since he was a child and he found out what a brush is. He loved it the way the ocean loves the shore, relentlessly, endlessly, painted until his hands ached and his bones grew weary. He painted the way he loved too— excessively, hungrily, until the first threads of light stretched across the sky, his fingers stained in oil and watercolor, in reds deep as longing and blues heavy as sorrow.

It felt like a waste not to spend every waking moment painting, loving, yearning. it felt a waste not to feel as grandly as the mountains, as vastly as the stretch of oceans.

It felt like a waste for Hyunjin not to love Scarlet.

It must have felt like a waste, too, for the universe not to let him die at her hands.

So it did.

Hyunjin has not been alive for a long time. He does not think he will ever be again.

He’s staring at the blank canvas before him, a cruel expanse of white that’s almost mocking him. If he looks long enough, he can almost see a shape forming, lips moving to whisper the same word, over and over—worthless. worthless. worthless.

His fist drives through the cloth. The canvas falls to the ground in a thud so loud Hyunjin has to cradle his temple to ease the pang of pain it shoots through him. The wood easel splatters to the floor, though it does not look out of place in the ruins of his studio. Not when his brushes are scattered everywhere, palettes smashed against the walls, paint smeared in angry streaks against his floor.

His chest heaves as he stands there, amidst the wreckage that he caused, the place that once used to be his sanctuary. When did it all change? Perhaps when there was nothing left worth painting. Nothing worth breathing for.

He has always known it. A life does not end when one is laid underneath the soil. A life ends when nothing stirs wonder in your heart anymore, when you pass through the days but they do not pass by you, when they leave you untouched, unchanged.

He buries the sob wrapping around his throat. He has cried enough for things he cannot change, hasn’t he?

With trembling hands, Hyunjin reaches for his phone, thumb pressing Felix’s name—his publicist, his friend.

“Did you paint something?” Felix’s voice is bright, unshaken as he replies instantly.

Hyunjin closes his eyes.

“No,” he breathes. Not anymore.

A pause. Then, “Would you book me that trip to Giverny?”

“Giverny?”

“I’m giving myself one last chance.”

“To paint?” Felix asks, tone too eager, too hopeful.

“Mm,” Hyunjin nods absentmindedly. He can’t find it within him to break Felix’s hope, to whisper bleak things when his voice is so cheerful.

It’s not about painting anymore.

This is Hyunjin’s last chance to live.

—

The bell above your florist shop chimes sweetly as someone pushes open the large wooden doors. You glance up, slipping off the gloves you wore to tend to the newest arrival of white roses, carefully removing every damaged leaf and petal.

Your smile falters.

A man stands in the doorway—not just any man, but the most beautiful human you have ever seen.

You’ve had many visitors in the short year you’ve been in Giverny—locals and tourists alike. There is always a certain gentleness to the people who choose to step inside, those who pause in the midst of their days, their travels, to admire flowers, to buy them for their loved ones. You’ve seen it all—honeymooners exchanging delicate bouquets, old couples finding the smallest excuses to gift each other roses, solo travelers picking their favorite flowers to commemorate their journeys.

But never have you seen someone so heartbreakingly beautiful, so unbearably sad stepping into your shop.

“May I help you?” you ask.

He jolts, as if pulled from deep waters. His eyes meet yours across the shop, and it strikes you then—how effortlessly he belongs among the flowers. How his eyes resemble withering petals, how his sunken cheeks remind you of a bloom left untended.

You take pride in the way you’ve arranged your small shop. No flower is placed randomly, rather, you wanted them to speak to one another, talking in a language only few can understand. All your visitors have never failed to mention just how beautiful it looks. And yet, here he stands, untouched by its light.

“I’m just looking,” he says, his voice barely a whisper, and you have to lean in to catch its fragmented pieces. His gaze skims over the flowers, never lingering, never seeing.

“Is it your first time in Giverny?” you ask.

He nods, tucking his hands into his pockets. A white graphic tee clings to him, a plaid shirt tied loosely around his waist. A cross dangles from his neck. Your eyes trace the hollows of his cheeks—he is beautiful in the way shattered glass is. In the way standing amidst a storm is.

“It is,” he says curtly, then hesitates. “I’ll be here for a little while, though. Three or four months… We’ll see.”

“That’s exciting!” You smile, sidling closer. He smells of something sweet—flowers and musk, warmth and rain. “So, you don’t know what kind of flowers you’re looking for, do you?”

He shakes his head. “No.” He whispers it as if ashamed of not knowing.

“Then I’ll make you a welcome bouquet! On the house.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he murmurs, your eyes locking on his. all you see is his sadness, it’s everywhere, dripping over his face, staining his clothes, the very air around him. He’s so sad it makes you sad too.

“It’s okay,” you say softly. “I’d like to.”

A pause, then, something uncontainable prompts you to add—

“I know what it’s like to need to get away. Even if just for a little while.”

Your cheeks warm under his scrutinizing gaze. You’ve never been this bold with a stranger. Did you overstep?

But he only holds your eyes a moment longer before exhaling, a quiet breath through his nose.

“Thank you.”

You get to work. He lingers by your desk, watching as you deliberate over which flowers to pick. Minutes pass, and you can feel his gaze, burning as it traces the nape of your neck.

You know what to pick then. White Freesia—delicate, trumpet-shaped, the star of the bouquet. You pair them with Delphinium, deep blue against soft white, and baby’s breath, like a scattering of stars. A touch of foliage, then—

“What’s your favorite color?” you ask suddenly.

His eyes widen.

“Hm? Oh. Um—blue.”

You grin, reaching for blue wrapping paper. Scribbling a note, you tuck it into the bouquet before placing it in his hands.

“Ta-da,” you smile. “I hope I’ll see you again.”

It’s a courtesy to say to all your clients, but somehow you find yourself meaning it more when it comes to him. His sadness startles you, you do not know what must be roaming inside his mind for him to be this sorrowful— like an open wound, gushing droplets of blood for everyone to see.

“Will I? Right?” you suddenly add, a touch eager, worried.

His fingers delicately brush the petals.

“Yeah. You will.”

—

It is many hours later, the sky is dipped in an exquisite shade of midnight blue. Yet, sleep still refused to visit Hyunjin.

He lies awake, staring at the bouquet by his bedside. The note you wrote him itched behind his eyelids: Listen to the flowers. They’re always talking :)

He exhales, finally reaching for his phone. He types in a quick search: meaning of Freesia.

Friendship.

A small smile tugs at his lips.

Would you like to be his friend?

He doesn’t have much to offer. But maybe you’d like it if he just sat by your side while you tended to your flowers. He’ll make himself small too. You wouldn’t even feel his presence.

—

Hyunjin hesitates at your shop entrance— Anthomania, the dusty pink sign reads, swaying softly with the breeze. It’s around nine a.m., the quaint town slowly buzzing with life, like a swarm of bees swirling around the first blooms of spring. He’s clad in a white blouse, its first two buttons undone. His jade necklace rests comfortably by his collarbones, and he itches to touch it, to ground himself away from the anxiety thrumming right beneath his skin.

Is it too soon? To see you again in the very first hour of the next day? What if he had misread your gesture? What if the bouquet was nothing more than kindness, a simple marketing strategy? He must not be the only one you’ve given flowers to-

“Oh, hey!” you greet cheerfully, suddenly appearing beside him, a basket of fresh yellow tulips balanced on your hips. The scent of roses clings to you. Your eyes are so bright as if morning dew dripped into them too. You look happy, and it’s nine a.m., and Hyunjin doesn’t regret coming by as much as before.

“Hi,” he smiles, hesitant, awkwardly, only to wince inwardly. Is this what he has come to? Second guessing everything he does, even something as instinctive as smiling?

“I, um... I brought you croissants?” The statement tilts into a question as he lifts the paper bag, the warmth of the bakery still clinging to it. “As a thank you. For the bouquet. For—” He hesitates, his gaze flickering downward. “The Freesia. And… the friendship.”

Your lips curve into a smile, the morning sun catching on the glitter dusted across your eyelids. “So, you did listen to what the flowers had to say.”

You push the wooden door open, and he quickly follows.

“I looked up their meaning, if that’s what you mean.”

“It doesn’t sound nearly as romantic when you word it this way,” you pout, plucking the croissants from his hands. Hyunjin has to smile, pretend as if your words did not just stab him right across his chest in the middle of your shop. A gruesome act in the midst of beauty.

He too used to look for romance in everything. Not anymore. The more you seek it, the more it learns how to wound you.

He clears his throat, swallowing the phantom taste of blood before it can spill past his lips—before it can stain your flowers, stain you.

“I also looked up the meaning of Anthomania, an obsession with flowers in Latin. Are you?”

“Obsessed? You mean?” you giggle softly. “Given that I packed my bags and opened a florist shop in this town despite everyone’s warnings… I’d say yes.”

“Why Giverny?”

“I don’t know,” you muse, gaze drifting toward the window. Two children are walking hand in hand past Anthomania, their giggles make you smile for a fleeting instant. “Some places just feel right to our souls. Maybe because they know before we do that something beautiful is meant to happen there.”

You turn back to him, eyes warm. “Coffee?” You gesture toward the machine, and he nods, lost in thought.

“You seem distant,” you muse, gently placing a steaming cup of coffee before him. The scent of freshly ground beans drifts through the air, but it doesn’t spark anything within him—nothing like it once did. Not anymore. “Like your heart is elsewhere,” you finish.

“My heart?” He smiles softly, a breathy laugh escaping him. “Doesn’t the expression say your mind?”

You giggle, shaking your head. “Our minds wander all the time, that’s natural,” you say, voice trailing off as you study his face. “But you…” You hesitate, unsure. “You look like someone who’s been separated from their heart, and now, you’re almost grieving for it.”

He flinches.

Your eyes widen, and in a panic, you cover your mouth. “Oh god, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I said that I didn’t mean to—fuck, I’m sorry, I never think before I speak—”

“No, no,” he interrupts, shaking his head, his voice gentle. You quiet down, the color rising to your cheeks, and he feels it—seen, in ways he hadn’t thought possible. By a florist on the other side of the world, a stranger, a kind one, a beautiful one.

“You’re right.” His fingers tighten around the cup, his grip a little too tight. “I don’t think I can get my heart back. It feels like it’s buried somewhere far from me… I think I buried it,” he adds in a choked whisper, “that makes it worse.”

It strikes him how easily the words fall from his lips, how terrifying they are to say aloud. Yet, they slip out before you with no resistance, no shame. Maybe it’s the flowers—the thought that their petals might absorb the ugliness of his words, carry them away. Or maybe it’s just you, and the warmth of your gaze, that makes it feel safe to speak.

“Do you know where the lotus grows?” you suddenly ask.

He shakes his head, caught off guard by the shift in conversation.

“Their seeds are buried deep into the mud, forgotten at the bottom of still water. But then they germinate. They break through the darkness, reaching for the sun rays, until one day, they bloom, floating atop the water, untouched by the ugliness of where they have been, beautiful.” Your gaze softens. “Maybe your heart is simply being reborn. Give it time. It will find its way back to you.”

—

Hyunjin sits on a bench overlooking the Epte River, a fresh bouquet beside him—white lilies and pink tulips. Hope and warmth. He insisted on paying this time, slipping you a tip far too generous against your loudest protests.

For the first time in six months, something stirs within Hyunjin. Not quite sadness, not quite grief—something else.

His fingers itch for his charcoal pens, for his pastel watercolors. not to sketch the bouquet at his side, not to capture the river’s beauty. No, only to try, attempt to trace the memory of your smile.

He clenches his fingers into a tight fist. Not yet. But maybe… soon. When he finally learns the sound of your name.

That happens quicker than Hyunjin thought it would.

For three days, Hyunjin has watched his flowers with bated breath, waiting for the first petal to give in, for the first sign of decay. Then, at last, the freesia wilts, one trumpet falling to his bedside. And before he can think, Hyunjin is already out the door, following the familiar path that leads him to Anthomania.

“Back so soon?” you tease, grinning as he steps inside, the bell above chiming sweetly.

He falters beneath your gaze, almost self-conscious, as warmth creeps up his neck, blooming across his cheeks in shades of pink. “I—uh—sorry, I can just—” He gestures toward the door, flustered, but you only laugh, reaching for his wrist and pulling him deeper into the shop.

“Oh my god, I’m kidding! You’re always welcome here.”

The ghost of your touch lingers on his skin, almost burning him right where your fingers rested. It feels unfamiliar, strange—to feel anything other than sorrow resting in his bones.

“I wanted new flowers,” he finally says.

You giggle. “Are you opening a flower shop?”

“Yeah,” he says, a smile tugging at his lips. “Competing with yours, actually.”

You pout, snipping the stems of the sunflowers piled up before you. “That’s unfair. People will keep coming to you just because you’re pretty.”

“So you think I’m pretty?” He grins, a smile that does not feel rehearsed, nor heavy on his face. He’s smiling because he simply wishes to.

“Well, you are. Aren’t you?” you simply say, as if there is no reason to be coy about something as evident as this.

His smile softens, so does his voice. “You’re very truthful.”

“Isn’t it a waste of time to hide how you feel about things? Flowers are beautiful, right? Why is it so easy to say? Why should it be any different for people?”

You aren’t lying, that is your philosophy, you’ve found that lies sit heavy on your lungs, as if you’re caging your breaths in. Hiding the truth feels even heavier, like stones wrapped around your ankles, pulling you down. But still, complimenting Hyunjin makes you feel uncharacteristically shy.

You don’t know what to make of him—this stranger who keeps on returning to see you, his sadness trailing him like a shadow, his eyes dimmed, as if he had to snuff out their light, to pretend as if no soul inhabits his body, so he’d be left alone. So he’d survive.

“You’re right,” he says, gaze flickering toward the street. “I hate lies. I really, really hate them.” he grows quieter, smaller.

Something within you tightens at his words, at the sincerity within them mostly. You set your flowers down, turn to face him with your pinky extended.

“Then I promise that I’ll never lie to you.”

He exhales, his shoulders releasing some of their tension. And after a moment, his pinky hooks around yours. “Neither will I.”

Your fingers are soft, delicate, and he notices that your eyeshadow matches your shirt today. Auburn, a color that makes your irises gleam. He wants to tell you you’re beautiful, but the words feel too fragile in his mouth. Not as easy for him as they are for you.

Hyunjin had come for flowers, but you do not rush him. Instead, you bring him a glass of fresh lemonade, mint leaves and lemon slices swirling in ice, and pull up a stool by the window. The shop is quiet, save for the music floating from the speakers—Neon Moon by Cigarettes After Sex. His pick. You have similar tastes.

He watches you, not in a way that unsettles you, but in a way that makes you hyper-aware of your hands, of your breath, of your heartbeat. Mostly, he looks at the flowers, asking questions, his curiosity insatiable—What does this one symbolize? And this one? And this? But still, it is you who feels scrutinized, as if bathed in a bright, glaring neon light.

A soft hour passes then—soft like the moon light brushing against the window, soft like the way he speaks, voice never rising above a murmur when he answers your questions.

“I’ve been meaning to ask. What’s your name?”

“Hyunjin.”

You taste it, let the letters settle on your tongue before swallowing it down. It will take root within you and bloom into something beautiful later, though you do not yet know it.

You say yours.

“And what do you do, Hyunjin?” his name already feels familiar for you to speak.

“I’m a painter. Was. I… I’m not really sure.” he almost cowers in his place, you pretend as if you don’t notice, but your grip on the scissors falter.

“Was?” you echo.

“I haven’t painted in six months.”

Oh.

“Are you taking a break?”

“No. I… I actually,” he pauses, sighing. “I don’t want to lie to you, so I’d rather not answer,” he says, voice quiet, almost pleading, as if baring a wound too raw to support the weight of his words.

“It’s okay,” you smile, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. You can see his moles from this up close, the shape of his velvety lips as they part to exhale.

“I’d like to tell you, it’s just…”

“Does it hurt you?”

He nods, sudden tears glistening in his waterline. The sight makes something within you crumble. You know this pain—the kind that lingers just beneath the surface, waiting for the smallest touch to release it.

“The burden will ease with time. And then you’ll be able to speak of it. Your pain will be released into the wind, and the wind will scatter it away. it always does.”

“Will it still hurt this much?” he asks, lip trembling as he gazed up at you, pupils wide and lost

“It will be bearable. and soon you’ll grow accustomed to it. And then it will become a friend.”

“I suck at making friends though,” he says earnestly and you both burst into giggles.

“I don't think so. Look, you have befriended me.”

“Yeah, you’re my friend.” he smiles like the afternoon sun, like he has forgotten the warmth he used to carry at his zenith. “I'm happy you are.”

—

Hyunjin first met Scarlet in his art gallery, where the winter winds seemed to carry her in, sweeping past the doorway with each click of her heels.

She moved gracefully through the room, pausing before every painting, her crimson lips pressing together as she tilted her head to the side. Contemplating. Now and then, a hand would drift to her raven hair, tucking it behind her ear, twirling it between her delicate fingers. He was drawn to her— to her olive skin, the depth in her brown eyes, the curve of her neck that seemed to call his name.

Scarlet was a sculptor, and like the name she bore, she was vivid, untamed, catching the eyes of everyone around her. And she basked in their gaze, feeding on their admiration like it was the very oxygen she breathed.

She loved Hyunjin loudly, extravagantly, parading him through the world as if to say, Look what I have found. An artist who only has eyes for me. She draped him in praise, her voice ringing clear for all to hear. And for a while, he believed it.

But Scarlet did not love him—not in the way he had hoped. She loved his brightest hues, the fire in his hands, the sound of his name murmured in circles of art and acclaim. She stood beside him in the gallery, basking in the applause for his paintings as though it belonged to her. She loved the lights, the cameras, the way his gaze softened when it landed on her.

But she did not love his blues—the quiet ache that spilled from him when inspiration faded. She did not love the weight in his voice when he longed for a hand to hold, for a shoulder to rest upon. When the fire in him dimmed, when he was no longer the sun with planets orbiting at his feet, she withdrew. almost bored. He saw it in the flicker of her eyes, in the way her attention wandered elsewhere. As if he was a burden to care for, to tend to.

Hyunjin came to understand that Scarlet did not love him. Not truly. Not despite the way she swore she did. Not despite the way she kissed him before what turned to be his final work trip, her lips scorching against his skin. “So you’d carry me with you,” she had whispered, winking, leaving a mark on his neck like a signature, like a brand.

And he did carry her, he still does—like a weight wrapped around his ankles, like smoke filling his lungs, thick with the taste of his own shortcomings. He was not enough for her. And if he was not enough for her, then perhaps he would never be enough at all. in anything he does.

But the sting on his neck eases when he’s near you.

A month has passed since he arrived in Giverny. He has seen little of it—only the lake that stretches beyond his window, and you.

You do not shy away from his silence. If anything, your smile brightens when you see him. You do not speak of his withering career, his lost passion. You do not question why he needs flowers twice a week, and why he needs to talk to you for an hour—sometimes two, sometimes three—before deciding which blooms to pick. what words he’d like to convey to you without speaking.

Except for once.

He was lingering by the lilies, his fingers gently caressing their pink petals, tracing the lines of crimson right in their middle. Though it took him all his will to not look at you, again, more than what’s deemed socially acceptable. To capture you in his mind since he cannot do so with his pens.

“I saw your paintings,” you suddenly said, words coming out in a rushed string. He froze in his place, hand hovering over the rosy flowers. You sidled up to him. You smelled sweeter than all the blooms combined.

“I looked you up. I was curious and I… I can’t stop thinking of your paintings. They are exquisite Hyunjin.” you said with a conviction that seemed to rekindle something with him, a fire to paint even better so you’d compliment him more.

“Really?” he asked, turning to look at you. His eyes searched yours, looking for something, a reassurance, that he wasn’t a lost cause, that you’d look at him the way you do withering flowers, with the same affection as fully blooming ones.

“Yes. Your use of color… it’s breathtaking. It’s as if you give them voices, emotions, a soul almost. Especially that blue painting, the man screaming. His eyes… they feel endless, like sorrow spilling over. It’s so—” You stopped yourself, laughing. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“No—no,” he rushed to say, stepping closer, a flush creeping up his neck. “Please. Tell me more.”

And you did.

Over a chocolat chaud at your favorite pâtisserie, you pulled up each of his paintings, tracing every detail you loved with words only an outsider to art could offer—unpolished, unrestrained, but brimming with wonder. You asked him questions, too. What inspired you? Why this color, this shape, this technique? Which one was your favorite? Your hardest? Your loneliest?

You talked and talked, until the drink grew cold but his heart felt lighter than it had in months.

Hyunjin was no stranger to praise—he was South Korea’s youngest millionaire-painter, after all. His work was admired, auctioned, owned. And yet, no compliment had ever felt quite like yours—so eager, so sincere, so soothing.

That evening, he walked you home, stopping just before your front door, neither of you quite willing to part.

“Can I have your number?” he asked suddenly.

You tilted your head, smiling.

“For… for the flowers,” he added, a little too quickly. “So I can order them, you know, in advance?”

“Right,” you giggled, typing your number into his phone. His fingers brushed against yours, his soul felt like it was cleaved wide open.

That night, he lay in bed, staring at your empty conversation, heart thrumming. Finally, he types a message.

thank you for today :) i dont think i expressed it well, but your words made me happy

really

Two seconds.

of course!!!

And then—

idk what happened hyunjin, but… i think art will find you again,, i don’t think a painter like you could ever stop painting

it’d be a waste for our world, really

He reads your words again and again, a quiet smile curling at the corners of his lips. They linger in his mind as his fingers brush the worn spine of his sketchbook, as he coaxes it open after months of neglect. And then he draws for the first time in months—nothing grand, nothing worth sharing, surely. Just a rose at first, simple and familiar, like the path to Anthomania.

Then, he turns the page. His posture shifts; he leans into his desk, back curved, brow furrowed in concentration. Time spins forward unnoticed. He doesn’t realize he’s been holding his breath till he finally exhales it, putting his pen down. he sees it then, what he painted in his insatiable frenzy. it’s you, smelling the rose.

He sleeps with a blooming blush on his face that night, as the inks in his dream bleeds into the color of your lips, the lines of his sketches softening into those of your silhouette.

—

Hyunjin started texting you more after that—on the days he forced himself not to drop by your flower shop. Because, yes, you said he was your friend, still, he didn’t know how many visits it’d take for you to realize he’s not worthy of friendship, or love, or the warm way you gaze at him.

But he was still greedy, drinking in the way conversations between you flowed as easily as rushing water. You spoke of everything and nothing: your favorite flower—tulips, his favorite painter—Monet. The way he missed the iced americanos from home, his deep disdain for eggplants, your love for glittery eyeshadow, and the names of the stars outside your window.

Your messages became a breath of fresh air to him, a little sanctuary hidden within his phone, filled with pictures of the blooms you carefully arranged each morning. He had no paintings to send in return, so instead, he captured his walks by the river, the way sunlight draped over the fruit he laid on his checkered picnic cloth.

Then, it turned to calls, and Hyunjin’s world shifted when your voice rang like an answered prayer through his phone. He was initially timid, calling you to check if you had sunflowers in your shop. It was an excuse, really, because it was nearing midnight and he felt terribly lonely in a way only you can soothe.

Your conversation didn’t stop then. Instead, it continued like the turning of books, spilling from one page to another. You were both so curious about one another, that it seemed as if you never ran out of questions to ask.

“When did you think of becoming a florist?” He asked you one night, the rustling of your sheets told him you were shifting in bed, in search of comfort.

“When I was five.” His eyes fluttered shut, as if to better listen, to pretend you were near. “My mom used to have lots of flowers in our backyard, and I’d tend to them on the weekends and vacation. I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life surrounded by beauty, and wisdom.”

“Wisdom?” he asks.

“Mm.” And he can imagine you lying on your back, staring up at your ceiling. He suddenly wishes he was next to you, holding your hand as you spoke. “Everything I know is from flowers.”

“What’s the most valuable lesson, you think?”

You’re quiet for a long while, only the softness of your breathing ringing through the phone. It lulls him to a peaceful place he hasn’t set foot in in a long time. Somewhere where his worries drift away, carried by the tide of your presence.

“That flowers always bloom again. Even when the winter stretches for months and months, and the cold feels so harsh you forget what the sun ever felt like. Even then, the flowers will bloom once more. Winter passes, and spring comes.”

He bites his lip, as if trying to sew shut his mouth, physically stopping the strings of words from rolling off his tongue. And yet, they win.

“You feel like spring, little florist.”

A sharp inhale. Yours. A breath, unsteady. His. He wishes to bury himself within his covers. He wishes he could teleport to you.

“Thank you, Hyune.” The nickname settles against the sore places in his chest. He felt bruised by it, split open in the gentlest way.“I hope you have dreams as sweet as you.”

Hyunjin didn't sleep that night, not when his heart hadn’t felt this alive in an eternity, bursting with colors he hadn't seen in so long.

The phone calls continued, night after night, your voice coming to him as his own breath. still, no matter how much he enjoyed seeing your name light up his screen, nothing compared to you in person. Watching your expressions shift with his every word, witnessing your hands coax life into each bouquet, the warmth you pour nto every customer you spoke to.

People seemed to leave your shop a little lighter, as if you had tucked something magical between their petals. Hyunjin knew why. It’s because you understood flowers beyond their beauty, saw meaning even in the ones with bruised roots and browning leaves. And it is that same compassion you extended to humans. Though you seemed unaware of how much grace you carried within you.

It moved him. It unraveled him.

Hyunjin hadn’t known what he had been yearning for these past six months. The ache had been constant, an insatiable hunger for something nameless, a restlessness settling right beneath his skin, an itch he could not scratch. But now he knows—he has always been longing for kindness.

Your kindness, to be exact.

“You haven’t been to Monet’s house?!” you exclaim, eyes wide in disbelief. It’s your lunch break, and Hyunjin has brought you seafood pasta from a place he discovered on one of his walks.

“No, I haven’t seen much of Giverny, to be honest,” he admits.

“But you’ve been here for forty-five days.”

“Have you been counting?” he smirks, teasing.

“No,” your voice grows an octave higher, “it just coincided with a big shipment of roses, that’s all.” (That is a half-truth.)

You clear your throat, waving a hand dismissively in the air. “Anyways, let’s go tomorrow!”

Hyunjin’s heart plummets to his knees. You must notice it—the flicker in his expression, the slight falter in his gaze.

“Don’t you want to go?”

He says nothing. Your voice softens.

“Do you want to go alone?”

Hyunjin sighs, taking a long sip of the strawberry lemonade you prepared that day. The sweetness of the fruit makes it easier for him to speak.

“I told you that Monet is my favorite painter, right? When I started painting, I’m talking thirteen, fourteen, I was obsessed with technique, with proving that my paintings could be as realistic as possible. But then I discovered impressionism. And I… I fell in love with it. I realized that abstraction could hold even more emotion, even more depth than realistic paintings. And I… I’ve always wanted to see Monet’s gardens, to see what inspired so many of my favorite paintings.” He sucks in a deep breath, “but I’m scared… I’m terrified I’ll sit there amidst so much beauty and still feel nothing. That I won’t feel inspired. That I won’t wish to paint again.”

You nod, understanding, your eyes softening like silk honey. A quiet settles between you before your face brightens.

“Isn’t it good then? If you don’t feel inspired right away then we’ll have an excuse to visit such a beautiful place again.”

He exhales, something in his chest loosening.

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Find a silver lining in everything I say.”

You smile, almost melancholic, your gaze lost somewhere else. “I believe life is made up of lots of sorrows and lots of silver linings.” Your eyes meet his again. “Since my house burned down, I now own a better view of the moon… It’s a Japanese quote,” you clarify after a heartbeat. “I’m not that good with words.”

“Really? I find that I like your words much more,” he says, earnestly.

Both your fingers twitch at the same time.

Do yours hungrily want to reach for his too?

—

You like Hyunjin.

It seemed to be an inevitable outcome, one you didn’t even try to outrun, a tide you did not resist, instead, letting the water carry you wherever it saw fit. It’s as if you knew it was bound to happen when he set foot into Anthomenia for the first time, when his eyes glazed over the flowers with so much sorrow it felt like thorns curling around your throat. When he returned, again and again, when you started awaiting him with your breath clenched between your teeth. When you selfishly wished your flowers would wilt faster just so you’d be able to see him again.

It was inevitable for you to like Hyunjin. The beautiful man who sees beauty in everything but himself. The tortured painter with a heart so bruised you’re scared a single press of your thumb would be his undoing, like an overripe fruit, so sensitive to any touch, aching to be treated with tenderness.

You do not expect anything out of this crush. You do not expect him to reciprocate your feelings. You don’t think he ever would; even fantasizing of him thinking of you as fondly as you think of him makes you feel like you’re floating on cotton clouds. But then, the plummeting would only hurt even more, wouldn’t it? The sweetest dreams always ache at their zenith right before they dissolve into nothingness.

But you understand Hyunjin, in ways even you can’t fully describe or explain. In ways you aren’t sure he would himself. You can’t fault him for that— Hyunjin can only see your glittering surface. After all, you’ve gotten better at concealing your anguish, worn it for so long it has become a second skin to you.

But what matters is that you understand Hyunjin. It is because you understand that you wish for his spark to come back.

A life with no spark is no life, after all.

Hyunjin is growing increasingly nervous as you wait in line to enter Monet’s home and gardens. He’s fiddling with his Vetements t-shirt, tucking his hand into his jeans only to remove them once again. His fingers twist his jade necklace, then spin the rings adorning his hand, only to reach for his necklace once more.

You stare right ahead as you finally take hold of his fingers, entwining them softly with yours. You can feel him staring at you, his gaze burning the curve of your neck as his hand goes limp in your hold. He looks at you, and you look ahead. You’re scared of what he will read in your trembling irises if you dare hold his gaze.

But he doesn’t let go. Only holding on to you tighter, his thumb swiping gently across your palm. Your wrist. Anywhere its softness can reach.

You’ve been within these colorful gardens countless times before. On your first day in Giverny and once per month since, without fail, except when it closes for Winter.

Yet, you are always as bewitched by how beautifully arranged the gardens are, by how vastly their greenery stretches before your eyes. There is beauty to behold wherever your eyes rest, conversations between blooms to catch at every corner. You smell the mingling fragrances— the sweetness of roses and the citrus of orange blossoms. You hear the birds, singing and rejoicing in seeing another day, the rush of water carving its path through stones.

It is buzzing with life, the nature that seems to stretch its hand at you, beckoning you into the warmest of embraces.

Though today, you do not heed its call. Today, you hold on to Hyunjin’s hand.

He doesn’t let go of your hold as he slowly strolls around, stopping by the dahlias, breath caught in his throat as a bee buzzes around a nearby crimson peony. He leans into a yellow rose, his nose nearly brushing the dewdrops gathered on its petals. He breathes in beauty, lets it fill the hollows within him, and you watch—because seeing it through his eyes makes it all the more beautiful.

He smiles as he climbs the stairs of the home. As he pauses in the living room, taking in the dozen paintings hung on the wall—A Woman with a Parasol, The Water Lily Pond, Impression, Sunrise, Poppies, Bouquet of Sunflowers. Then, the lively bedrooms scattered around the home, the vibrant blue kitchen, the Japanese prints, and the pink orchid.

There is a little magic to his step as you follow the flowery path to the Water Lily Pond, with bamboo trees greeting you on your walk. He pulls you onto a bench, his eyes fixed on the turquoise and the floating water lilies, rootless yet still as happy, as beautiful. Like Hyunjin.

You can’t be as truthful as you wish around him anymore. Every compliment is starting to taste like a confession to you.

“I was in love with a girl,” he says, resting your interwoven hands upon his thigh. Your breath stumbles. You did not expect the sharp, sudden sting of jealousy latching onto your ribs, the burn of it. You look at the pond, hoping the water will rise from its place and douse the fire in your chest.

“She was my muse for the longest time. I was foolish, so I… I placed my heart within her palms. Here, take it, it’s yours, I told her. I was too blinded by my own need to be loved to realize that she didn’t love me.”

You steal a glance at him to find his eyes closed, his head leaning back. He’s so beautiful it almost feels like a dagger pressed against your throat.

“She cheated on me. In my own bed. While I was away for work,” he whispers, but his words still ring loudly in your ear. His words are so violent they feel out of place in such a beautiful setting. You swallow them. You don’t let him bear their weight alone.

“I don’t love her anymore. I think it evaporated the moment I saw her with him. But what hurts–” His voice trembles, and when he turns to you, his eyes are glistening, “what kills me is that I showed her all of me. I bared my soul to her, and it did not matter. It wasn’t enough for her to love me. And I… I don’t paint out of thin air, I paint out of my soul. I pour from myself onto the canvas. And if what makes me me isn’t worthy, then how could my paintings ever be enough? How could I ever be enough? In anything, to anyone?”

What do you do when someone hands you their bruised heart, bloody and butchered, when they unveil their deepest pains under the scorching sunlight, out in the open, with nowhere to hide it, nowhere to cancel it? What do you do with this violence? How do you undo it? How do you soothe it?

You don’t know. You wish you knew, more than ever before, as Hyunjin looks at you—almost expectantly, pleadingly—as if he has been waiting for months to speak these words to another soul. To unveil it.

Release me. You could almost hear it on the tip of his tongue. Please. Please. Please.

“Hyunjin,” you choke, your thumbs sweeping away the reflections of the swaying branches on his tear-streaked skin. “Hyunjin, Hyunjin, Hyunjin,” you repeat, as if he could hear the weight his name carries, the way it has taken roots within your ribs. “You are enough. You were enough before her, and you will remain so after.”

His lower lip trembles and quakes; you can feel that he’s standing on the precipice of unraveling, completely, loose threads falling apart at the slightest gust of wind. You can’t stitch him back together, you can’t order the wind to pause in its travels. But you can speak.

“Don’t torture yourself over things that aren’t your doing. She may have been your inspiration, but she was never the sole core of your talent. That is all you, Hyunjin. Your kindness is you, and your paintings are you. No matter who you loved, or if you had loved no one at all. You still would have made it here. Because you are Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin exhales, a sound between a sigh and a sob. “What if I feel like nothing without her?”

“She’s only everything because you’ve given her your entire self. She’s everything because you see in her a reflection of yourself. Your beautiful self.” You exhale softly. His tears gather at his lashes like petals trembling before the fall.

“We promised not to lie to one another, didn’t we?” you say, voice barely above a breath. “I’ve been lonely here, Hyunjin. Not physically. But something has been missing. A friend. You. Having you here makes me happy. And someone who isn’t beautiful could never make the world more beautiful just by being in it.” You smile, your nose tip almost resting against his. “You are enough, Hyunjin. Her wrongdoings aren’t your fault.”

He nods, closing his eyes, leaning into the warmth of your palm, his lips almost brushing against your skin. “I want to paint again. I miss it terribly.”

“You will.”

His next words are softer than the wind rustling the trees. “I drew you.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Did I turn out pretty?”

He smiles like a spring sun, warm and kind on your soul. “Of course. It would be impossible for you to be otherwise.”

—

Something has shifted.

Like sailing winds catching the perfect speed to carry a boat to safety, something within Hyunjin has clicked into place. Eased is the better way to describe it, as if his heart, once sinking like a stone in his chest, now floats weightlessly along his ribs, unrestrained.

He has been happier since stepping out of Monet’s house, his smile blooming the way flowers do in spring, the way water rushes down a waterfall, like a second nature.

He pauses before you, the sun that has pulled him from the dark, clasping his hands together. You smile, tilting your head, and his heart swoons at the simple motion, swaying as if caught in the wind.

“Should we rent bikes?” he asks, grinning. “There’s so much I haven’t seen in Giverny.”

You pout, teasing. “Is my shop no longer enough for you?”

He shakes his head fervently. “No, no, your shop is still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” His eyes widen with (exaggerated) sincerity. “I think all the other florists never stood a chance against you. In fact, every flower shop in the world should close right now!”

You laugh as he throws an arm over your shoulder, pulling you close. He leans into you instinctively, as if he belongs there, inhaling your flowery scent, borrowing your warmth.

“Alright, alright,” you giggle, “I’ll be your tour guide, then.”

True to your word, the two of you spend the afternoon biking—past the river, through the narrow streets of Giverny, past the old Mill of Vernon and the Impressionism Museum where flowers sketch your path. The sun sinks behind you, spilling watercolors across the sky. The wind tousles Hyunjin’s hair, and he feels it for the first time in a long time—what it must be like to be a bird. Free. Unbound. Guided by nothing but the pull of his own heart.

You keep glancing over your shoulder as you bike ahead of him, tossing excruciatingly beautiful smiles his way. He feels them in his chest, burning and ablaze where coldness once sat.

By the time you stop to rest, you’re both breathless, slightly sweaty but pleasantly exhausted.

He can already sense it– you’re only seconds away from saying you should head back, but he’s still not satiated of you, he doesn't think he ever will. “Come home with me. I want to cook for you. As a thank you.”

His cheeks are rosy, his chest rising and falling as he awaits your response. He prays you won’t say no. He thinks he’s ready to beg at your feet if you refuse.

But your smile is warm, your gaze soft as it traces the contours of his face. You’re already saying yes with your eyes.

“Depends. What will you cook for me, Mr. Hwang?”

“Anything you’d like.”

That turns out to be just ramyeon as Hyunjin quickly realizes his fridge is unfit for anything more elaborate. He peers inside, dismayed, and you burst into laughter at his expression, clutching the sides of your stomach. But as you watch him move around the kitchen, speaking excitedly about all the paintings he’s inspired to create now, your laughter slowly fades.

Because you see it then—a vision. Hyunjin cooking you breakfast tomorrow. And the day after. And the years to come. You see yourself standing up, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing a tender kiss to the nape of his neck. It’s so vivid, so sweet to imagine that it disarms you. Leaves you aching and pulsing for nothing. Like a heart beating with no blood flowing through it.

The vision lingers, syrup-thick, as Hyunjin hands you a steaming bowl of noodles. And when he gently wipes a smudge of sauce from the corner of your lips—when he licks it from his own thumb without thinking—your pulse stutters. His gaze darkens, storms brewing behind his irises. You feel as if he’s kissing you with his eyes alone, touching you as he stands a few feet away.

Hyunjin only manages to steady himself when you both settle in the canopy in his backyard, sipping the peach lemonade you made for him days ago, listening to the cicadas humming far away. The breeze is cool against his collarbones. The full moon bathes you both in silver light.

It seems closer tonight, as if watching over him. As if urging him to speak.

“Can I paint you?” he asks suddenly. “I… I’d like to paint you with you here.”

You blink, caught off guard, before placing your hand over his.

“I’d love that, Hyune.” You smile softly. “But tonight, I’d rather you paint yourself. I think it would help you see that you don’t need any muse but you.”

The sincerity in your voice makes him ache, makes him want to collapse into your arms with the certainty that you would catch him. You didn’t run when his pain shadowed you, when his tears slipped down your palm like salty rivulets. You didn’t let go.

He feels you within him now—a soft mass of stars and sunlight, resting below his ribs, expanding, glowing, loving.

So he does exactly that.

As the night weaves itself forward, the two of you settle into his room—you curled up on his bed, thumbing through a book, while he brings out his oil paints, the scent of turpentine invading his senses at once, like an old friend. The sight of you in his room drives him to the edge of delirium. You belong in his home, in his heart, so effortlessly that it makes something deep in his chest ache.

The conversation drifts in and out between you, like waves kissing the shore—never fully retreating, never fully letting go. Shadows stretch and soften beneath the moonlight. You are half-asleep when his voice stirs you awake.

“What do you think, little florist?”

He tilts the painting toward you, his heart lodged somewhere in his throat.

It is a portrait of himself—but not as the world sees him. Rendered in deep Prussian and Manganese blue, abstract save for his eyes, which shimmer with unshed tears caught in the waterline. Yet his expression is not sorrow. No, it speaks of reverence. As if he is gazing upon something unbearably beautiful. Something so profound, it threatens to undo him.

You.

Your breath catches as you push yourself up, eyes widening.

“My God, you are so talented,” you whisper, stepping beside him, drawn in by the painting. He almost—almost—lets his head rest against your side but stops himself. Instead, your hand finds his shoulder, grounding, warm. You squeeze gently.

“How you ever thought you weren’t good enough is beyond me. This is the most beautiful painting I’ve ever seen. I mean it.”

His ears burn. He feels their warmth creeping down his neck, this unbearable, tender shyness you seem to bring out in him every time.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice barely above a breath.

Your gaze flickers to the window, to the darkened sky. “It’s 3 a.m. already?” you murmur, blinking as exhaustion settles over you.

He hesitates for only a moment before reaching out, fingers curling lightly around your wrist.

“Stay the night.” It isn’t a demand, nor is it casual—it is hesitant, hopeful. “Unless you want me to take you home. I will, of course, but—I’d like you here.”

A pause. Two paths forging before you.

“I’d like that too.”

You change into the oversized T-shirt and pair of shorts he hands you, the fabric hanging loose around your frame. It smells like him—like paint and something sweet, something flowery too, as if he carries Anthomania on his skin like you do.

As you climb into his bed, he lights a single vanilla candle, its flame wavers, and you watch it for a while, thinking. The bed is wide enough that you do not have to touch. And yet—like a moth to a flame, like a flower bending instinctively toward the light—something in you aches to move closer. To rest against him. To rest in him.

He feels the same.

It starts with his hand, inching toward yours.

Then, the slow, tentative brush of his pinky against your skin, gently tracing the contours of your palm. Your fingers slide over his, resting there.

“You’re still awake,” he murmurs, voice low and drowsy.

“So are you.”

He hums softly, and his thumb begins to move—small, absentminded circles against your skin. As if his body has decided to reach for you before his mind can catch up.

You shift onto your side, edging closer, and now you can see him fully—the candlelight catching on his cheekbone, the way his dark hair spills onto the pillow. His eyes flicker open at the movement, lazy and heavy-lidded, a half-smile playing on his lips.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks.

You shake your head. “Not yet.”

A pause. A heartbeat.

Then, softer, more vulnerable, he whispers, “Can I hold you?”

Your heart stumbles. For a moment, neither of you breathe.

“Can I tell you something first?” you ask, fully turning toward him, and he follows suit. Your fingers inch toward his face, ghosting over the mole by his eye, the one near the bridge of his nose, then down to his jaw, tracing his pulse where it beats wildly beneath your touch.

“Anything, little florist.”

You swallow. “I’ve never been in love before. And I’ve never been loved. I’ve spent the better part of my life craving a feeling that always seemed just out of reach.” A sad smile tugs at your lips. Hyunjin’s eyes soften at your confession. “It’s as if I’ve been deprived of something monumental and grand, something I searched for in everything I did.” You bite your lip. “And I like you, Hyunjin. I like you a lot. As silly as it is, because you are you and I am me, but it would kill me if you only wanted to hold me as a friend.”

“Shh, what are you saying?” he whispers, his thumb brushing over your lips, soft and reverent. “can’t you see it? you are the one who brought me back to life. I was a wilted thing before you. i feel as if you watered me, like one of your flowers.”

“Well, you are as beautiful as a flower.” A tear slips past your lashes. “And I am just a florist.” Perhaps it’s the late hour, or the way his warmth lulls you toward something soft, something safe. Or maybe it’s because the most beautiful person you’ve ever met is looking at you as if you are something holy.

But you start crying, unyielding tears coating your cheeks in their wetness. You don’t cry prettily nor quietly, but Hyunjin doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t leave before this gushing wound you’ve carried—this thirst for love you could never quench—now overflowing, too much, too much, too much.

Instead, he gently takes your hand, and presses it over his chest. Beneath your palm, his heart pounds wildly, you cannot fathom that it is your doing.

“I think you’re more beautiful than all the flowers combined.” His knuckle tenderly wipes your tears away. “And I adore you, my little florist. Not as a friend. In case that wasn’t clear.” He giggles, and so do you, something light and giddy coming to life between you.

“Then, can you hold me? Please.”

And he does. Instantly, greedily—his arms curling around you, pulling you into the warmth of him. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in, letting him breathe you in. You both sigh at once, as if you’ve been waiting your whole lives to reach this moment. As if you have spent too many years with no safe space to exhale.

“So, you like me?” he asks, pressing a tender kiss to your hair.

“I think I’ve made it pretty clear.” You smile, and he laughs.

“You feel warm,” he whispers, voice quieter now. “And safe. I never thought I’d feel this way again.” His nose tip grazes yours tenderly. “Please don’t hurt me, my little florist.”

“I think I’d rather hurt myself,” you confess, gently tucking away strands of his hair behind the cuff of his ear.

“Then, never mind. Hurt me instead,” he murmurs. “I don’t want you to cry anymore.”

“Are you trying to outdo me?”

“Mm, just need to prove I like you more.”

You giggle quietly, blushing. It’s nearly five a.m. now.

“I feel like I’m dreaming, Hyunjin. I’m scared I’ll wake up and won’t find you near.”

“I’m here,” he reassures, placing a tender kiss on the crown of your head. “I won’t leave. But would you wait for me? There are parts of myself I still need to heal before I can love you properly. You understand, right?”

“Love?” you echo.

“Is it too soon?” He shakes his head. “You know, I don’t care. I know that if we continue this way, I’ll only end up loving you. I think I’ve always known.”

“So did I,” you grin like the sun. “But I won’t wait for you from afar. I’ll hold your hand till you become even happier.”

He exhales, eyes fluttering shut. It looks like the milky way is swimming within his eyes once they lock on you. “I want to love you so much you’ll forget what it felt like to not be loved. I will. I promise you.”

And you believe him.

“Can you start tonight?”

It happens then—both of you moving at once, drawn together like tides to the moon, like roots seeking water. Your lips meet and something inside you quakes, shatters, is born again. His kiss is gentle, reverent, the kind of softness that makes your skin prickle, makes you ache in places you didn’t know could.

He tastes like peaches, like flowers, like the way his name sounds in your mouth. His hands find your waist, fingers digging into the curve of you, tracing the length of your spine as if memorizing the shape of you, as if afraid you might slip away. And you are floating, slipping in and out of consciousness, dizzy with warmth, with his touch, with the way his lips seek yours again and again, as if he could kiss you for eternity and it still wouldn’t be enough to quench his thirst.

Your hand is the first to move beneath his shirt, fingertips grazing over his fevered skin. He shudders, his forehead pressing against yours.

“Touch me,” you whisper.

And Hyunjin swears he could die like this—if this is death, he would meet it ten times over at your hands.

He is everywhere, all-encompassing, warm, and tender, the weight of him pressing into you, anchoring you to this moment. Still he keeps asking, voice unsteady— Would you like me to stop? Tell me and I will. His fingers slip down the ridges of your stomach, tracing every dip, every line of yours, and your answer remains the same, pleading— No, keep going, please. please. You are a flower cracking through the hard soil, unfurling, meeting the light for the first time.

You have your answer then— why Giverny? It was to find him. It was to be found. It drapes over you like a certainty a year later, when his arm wraps around your shoulders, his chin resting on the crown of your head. As you gaze at the series of paintings he’s created over the past seven months— every bouquet you’ve ever made him since his first visit to you. Your gaze drifts to the central piece of his newest exposition— you, looking out of his window, laying on a bed of wildflowers, the light grazing your bare back like a lover.

He titled it Anthomania. An obsession with you.

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyujin imagines #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin angst #skz scenarios #skz au #skz angst #stray kids angst #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fluff #stray kids scenarios #skz fluff

571 notes · View notes

eatfishies · 8 months ago

Text

Intoxicated By Your Sweet Taste 🔞

summary: Zayne thinks he hasn’t given you much attention due to his work.

Pussy drunk! Zayne can’t get enough of you.

word count: 2k tags: NSFW, zayne x reader (afab), no plot just filth, oral sex, oral fixation, cunnilingus, clit play, swearing, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, overstimulation, coming multiple times, domestic fluff at the end, pet names, breeding kink, creampie, established relationship fish notes: as always, pls heed the tags ~ nevertheless, this fic was inspired by this twt here ! hope all of u enjoy <3 ── ao3 link ★ ˙ ̟ | my twt !

It was past midnight when the door creaked open, revealing a tired looking Zayne. She was already in bed, snuggled up with the plushies her dear lover got for her. Zayne smiled at the sight before striding towards her, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

That action caused her to stir, fluttering her eyes open to look at her partner. “You’re back.” She mumbled sleepily.

Zayne gently stroked her hair, lulling her back to sleep. “Go back to sleep, love.” He said as he continued to play with her hair.

“I’ll only sleep if you do too.” She replied, which earned her a small smile from Zayne.

Once he had finished showering, she couldn’t help but marvel at his chiseled chest, glistening with droplets of water, running down ever so slowly. She tore her eyes away, feeling a little bit flushed.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by her observant lover though as Zayne pointed out, “Weren’t you half awake earlier? It seems like you’ve got your attention elsewhere now.”

She didn’t even bother to attempt and deflate herself because it’s true. She is enjoying this view very much.

Just like that, she hoisted herself up and had her eyes solely on him. Desire and lust coursing through her veins. “Yeah… you’re not wrong. It’s because you’re so fucking hot, you know that?”

A chuckle rumbled out of Zayne, a little surprised by her bold declaration, considering how sleepy she was earlier. “Ah, so that’s what caught your attention?”

Before she could even reply, Zayne is already making his way to the bed. Her eyes widened slightly as he pushed her down gently, making her gaze up at him.

“Have I neglected my darling? Am I not pleasuring you enough?” He spoke as his face inched closer. She felt her breath hitched in her throat as the pit of her stomach coiled with pure lust.

The words she wanted to say were caught up, speechless by the sudden mood change. She bit her lip, “What are you gonna do if I say yes?”

Thick, strong fingers found its way to cup her face, “Then I shall take it upon myself to satisfy you until all your needs are met.” Without any hesitation, Zayne closed the distance between them and passionately kissed her.

She gasped as his other hand went to grab her hips, keeping her firmly in place as his tongue explored her mouth. Every ounce of sleepiness she had in her quickly vanished, instantly replaced by a primal hunger for him. She needs, no, she yearned to be one with him. To feel him in every way possible.

“Don’t… hold back.” He murmured in between her lips before he moved to trail kisses down on her neck, eliciting moans and whimpers. She closed her eyes shut, taking in the pleasure she’s receiving as he continued to suck and bite on her neck, leaving behind marks.

It was just a pure coincidence that she decided to wear a nightgown but she’s thankful nevertheless since it gave Zayne easy access to slip his hand up and caress her soft skin, feeling her up. She can feel her pussy growing needier and wetter with each touch he makes.

She sucked in a deep breath when his fingers began to rub against her slick, “Someone’s excited.” Zayne remarked as he suddenly pulled his fingers away and moved down to crouch in between her legs.

Instinctively, she spread wide open, staring down at him. “So wet for me… you really want this, hm?” She nodded eagerly, “Please… I need it.”

The once impassive doctor morphed into something else entirely. His expression held a plethora of emotions behind them as he felt his own hardness beneath his towel. “Very well. Scream for me princess.”

Any sort of thoughts she conjured up turned into nothing the moment Zayne licked her drooling pussy. His tongue expertly flicked her clit as she laid back down on the bed and writhed in intense pleasure.

“F- fuck! Zayne… hghh!” She moaned out as Zayne lapped at her needy cunt, savoring all of her wetness, wanting to taste all of her.

Her hands immediately tugged onto his hair, pulling him closer to her crotch as she screamed out his name repeatedly. It was too good that she could barely keep still, Zayne held onto her thighs to stop her from squirming.

The familiar pit in her stomach intensified, itching her closer to release. “Hahh…! Z- Zayne! I’m close, I’m so close!” She whined out, to which he kept tonguing her entrance vigorously until she arched her back and came all over his face.

Zayne pulled away slightly and licked his lips. There are traces of pussy juice on his mouth but he didn’t care. Not when his precious sweetheart tastes so divine. Before she could even beg him to put his hard shaft inside her, she gasped once she felt Zayne’s tongue on her folds again.

“W- wait! I… I just came!” She exclaimed, feeling like her legs were gonna give out from pleasure. But Zayne paid no mind as he resumed his ministrations on her sopping wet cunt. Even after orgasming, her pussy still throbbed for more.

At this point, she’s pretty sure she’s on cloud nine, especially when Zayne sucked on her nub, making her tremble. Green eyes observing her movements, watching as she moans and whimpers. Looking beautiful like this, Zayne wanted to keep this memory etched into his mind forever.

It was unbearable, she tried to push him away but he kept a strong grip on her legs, his tongue relentlessly flicking her eager pussy, swallowing all of her juices. He can feel himself getting intoxicated by her dripping cunt. There is nothing more rewarding than coming home everyday and getting to lap at her entrance like a starved man whilst also relishing her delightful sounds.

“C- coming!” Her hands scrambled for purchase as she came undone. Zayne lifted his head and spoke in a raspy voice, “Did you feel good, honey?”

There was no single coherent thought in her mind right now. She couldn’t even think properly, it’s all a muddled mess, too foggy with pleasure. Sensing her pliant demeanor, Zayne moved to her side, brushing off the strands of her hair from her face.

“You’re so good for me, dear.” Was the only thing she heard before Zayne trailed his fingers down to caress her inner thighs, igniting goosebumps all over. She weakly muttered, “What are you doing?” Instead of responding, Zayne leaned down and pecked her lips. “Are you a good girl for me?”

His finger easily slipped in her gaping pussy, thrusting it in and out, earning a mewl from her. She bit her lips, “T- too sensitive... Zayne…” She clutched onto his arm, looking at him with glassy eyes.

“I said, are you a good girl?” Zayne repeated his question but this time, he inserted another finger in, taking away all of her last resolve.

“Mhmm… ah! Yes! Yes!” That further drove Zayne to keep plunging his fingers deep inside her gummy walls.

It has been hours since Zayne has been pushing her far off into her limits. Sleep be damned as he is now lapping up at her loose, dripping cunt. She could only let out soft mewls and moans whenever he skillfully buried his head in between her thighs. No amount of protest could get him to stop. It’s like Zayne has been possessed by an insatiable lust demon or some sort, at least that’s what she thought.

Tears stained her cheeks as she stared at Zayne who was lazily eating her out. “Zayne… please…”

He gave her pussy one last lick before meeting her teary gaze, “Please what?”

“Please… fuck me…” She pleaded, her hands reaching out to pull him on top of her. “You’ve been torturing my pussy non-stop… I want to make you feel good too.”

“Ah, I see. So, my needy princess wants it that bad?” He spoke as he discarded his towel. It’s kind of amazing at how he managed to hold back his desire to mount her completely, especially since she looked ravishing like this. Blissed out and glowing from the amount of orgasm she lets out.

She nodded eagerly, “Give it to me, please? I’ve been so good.” To emphasize, she wrapped her legs around his hips, trying to close the gap between them and feel his body against hers.

“I guess someone deserves it, after all.” With ease, Zayne lined his cock on her entrance, sliding it in and immediately began to thrust.

While their love-making session was always tender, albeit sometimes a bit passionate, it was never really like this. Intense and unrelenting with vigor as Zayne continued to pound into her deep. Her cunt spasming and clenching tightly around his cock. “Fuck… you feel so wonderful around me, sweetheart.”

Even if she wanted to say something, each thrust made her eyes roll back. Her mind is running into an overdrive as Zayne picks up his pace, unfaltering and burning with the need to come inside her.

Noticing Zayne’s furrowed brows and his eyes closed shut, “Come for me. Come inside me, baby. Want you to breed me.” She spoke, her voice laced with urgency and desperation.

At last, Zayne thrusted inside her hard before stilling, heaving and burying his face in her neck. She smiled at him dazedly as she cards her fingers through his hair. When Zayne pulled out, he watched in fascination at how her cunt drooled with cum. The sight alone made him want to ravage her right then and there, but he knew, they both had to sleep.

So, instead, Zayne helped clean her up and cuddled her as they both drifted off to slumber.

Something was wet… and there were sounds of shuffling. When she woke up, her eyes widened as she saw Zayne languidly circling her clit with his tongue. “H- huh?” She uttered out, confused and yet, Zayne only mumbled out, “Lay back. Let me please you once more before I leave for work.”

How could she refuse when her lover had asked so sweetly? She did as he instructed and laid back down on the soft bed, letting him spread her wide open. At this point, she had lost track of how many times she came, especially from last night.

This time, Zayne made sure to take his time, flicking her folds ever so slowly. One part of her felt like he was torturing her but another part of her couldn’t help but preened at how good it feels when he’s savoring her like this.

The morning sun casted a soft glow around the room, making this even more enjoyable as she focused on Zayne, tasting every drop her cunt oozed, not letting any of it go to waste. The slurping sound reverberated across the walls as she flushed.

Despite coming so many times, the familiar pit in her stomach still lingered, coiling and intensifying as she neared her climax. “Hghh… Zayne… baby, I’m so close.” She meekly mewled out, her legs shaking. Zayne sucked on her nub and sneakily thrusted a finger into her cunt, scissoring her whilst he ate her out.

Just like that, it was enough to drive her to the edge. She came, hard on his face. Her vision blurs and she shuts her eyes closed, letting the euphoria wash over her.

She faintly heard Zayne uttering a soft, “I love you” to her before getting up and tucking her in bed.

The second time she woke up, she found that Zayne had already left for work. She groggily got out of bed and headed to the kitchen. There, she found a plate of breakfast ready made for her and a bouquet of flowers.

Her body was sore all over but this gesture made it all worth it. Smiling, she walked up to the table and picked up the bouquet, smelling the flowers before sitting down and stuffing the food, the tiredness fading away and was replaced by hunger.

Luckily for her, she had a day off today and was able to cozy up at home until Zayne comes back. He gave her a fond smile as he placed the bag on the coffee table, “I got you macarons from the cafe. What do you feel like having for dinner? Let me cook for you.”

Safe to say, she is indeed a lucky girl to be able to love and be with Zayne.

2K notes · View notes

saltcxrcle · 3 months ago

Text

sweet smiles and sweaters ── . ✶ s. winchester

summary: you want to be close to sam as possible, which means you might crawl into his old hoodie... with him in it

pairings: established sam winchester x reader, sam winchester x gn! reader warnings: no use of 'y/n', fluff, pure fluff, like tooth-rottingly sweet, word count: 1.3K a/n: this is just me being obsessed with sam bc who isn't?? but this was inspired by a video i saw on my feed lol hope you guys enjoy this fluffy fic with sam hehe <3 sam winchester masterlist

IT WAS SCARY how fast you fell for Sam. But how could you not? Sam’s smile never failed to make your stomach flutter whenever he aimed it your way. Oh, and how could you forget to mention the adorable dimples that appeared when he smiled brightly and never failed to make you melt in your seat. You could feel your heartbeat race at the sound of his loud and boisterous laugh when you said something funny and couldn’t help but laugh along with him; his laugh was the best type of pick-me-up you could ever ask for.

Sam’s mind was one that you always admired; he was brilliant, and you always loved to hear what he had researched for the hunt you guys were on. You loved hearing him talk; the low timbre of his voice never failed to fill your veins with warmth as you stared at him as he spoke—no doubt with love in your eyes; you always smiled and nodded along as he spoke.

Sam made you feel in a way that you never had experienced before—and it scared you. You never entertained the thought of the chance of him reciprocating your feelings because you thought he could never see you as more than as a friend, someone he hunts with, and someone to confide in—but not be in a relationship with.

The thought of confessing to him made your stomach churn and twist into knots (a rejection from Sam would probably hurt more than the time you were thrown down a flight of stairs by a vengeful spirit on a hunt). Besides, there was no way you were risking messing up the friendship you had established with him, nor with the dynamic you had with the brothers.

So, your plan of shutting up about your feelings was your best bet to save you from messing everything up until Sam came in with a sledgehammer (a metaphorical one, of course) and shattered it completely.

The two of you were chatting quietly through a movie (a terrible one at that) that was playing on the TV in the motel room the three of you were sharing. Dean was out at the nearest bar, and Sam was sitting next to you, his shoulder against yours. You chuckled at the joke he had made about the flimsy plot. You looked at Sam as your laughing subsided, seeing a soft smile on his face as he looked at you—fondness glinting in his hazel gaze.

Sam unconsciously leaned toward you, his hand coming to rest against your face and his thumb swiping against your cheek softly. You couldn’t help but lean into the warmth of his hand, but you were slightly confused at the action. You didn’t verbalize it, not wanting to break the spell Sam had put you under.

His eyes flicked from yours to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “Can I kiss you?” Sam’s breath was fanning over yours, resting his forehead against your own.

You didn’t realize how close he had gotten but gave him a soft smile. “Yeah.” You murmured.

Sam mirrored your smile before placing his lips on yours, drawing you in for the sweetest kiss you had ever gotten in your life (until that moment, of course). Your eyes fluttered shut when Sam kissed you, savoring the feeling of his lips against yours.

You were convinced that you were dreaming, but the warmth of Sam’s palm against your cheek told you that this was very much real and Sam was kissing you. It seemed to have lasted forever, but Sam pulled away from you slowly like he was reluctant to part from your lips. But he didn’t stray far; his forehead was still resting against yours.

You could feel your lips stretch into a broad smile, feeling giddy at the fact that Sam just kissed you. You slowly peeled your eyes open to see your favorite sight, Sam beaming down at you—something akin to love coloring his gaze as the two of you locked eyes with one another.

Dean had a shit-eating grin on his face when the two of you woke up the following day after you guys had shared your first kiss but congratulated the both of you for finally getting over your fears and getting together.

Now, you were at the table in another motel room, on another hunt in a random town in the Midwest, researching and typing away at your laptop. You couldn’t help but cast glances at your boyfriend, who was lying on your shared bed, his back against the headboard, as he flipped through one of the lore books he was able to check out from the library in this town. Sam’s brows were slightly furrowed, and you wanted to smooth out the wrinkle between his brows with either your fingers or a kiss.

You smiled at the thought as you continued to look at Sam. He was wearing an old, worn Stanford hoodie that rarely saw the light of day, having been at the bottom of his duffle bag since he left university. You looked back at your laptop; you hadn’t found anything useful before looking back at him. You smirked to yourself before closing your laptop and getting up from the table you were hunched over for the past hour.

Your hands went above your head, stretching out the stiff muscles in your shoulders and back before you padded over to the end of the bed where Sam was reading. He hadn’t noticed that you were there until you started to crawl onto the bed and towards him.

Sam glanced up from the book to see your smirking face as you climbed up his body. “What are you doing?” He asked with a confused smile on his face.

You didn’t bother with answering him verbally; you just shot him a sly smile before lifting the hem of the red hoodie he was wearing and crawling into it head first.

Sam let out a shocked laugh, and an exclamation of your name fell from his lips. The book he was reading fell from his grip as you shimmied your way up his sweater. Sam squirmed slightly as your body shifted up his, plastering yourself against his. You eventually got your head through the top of the sweater, now being nose to nose with your darling boyfriend.

“Hi.” You greeted him with a wide grin.

“Hi.” Sam chuckled at your antics. His hand came to rest on your back as you straddled his body. “Is there any reason why you’re in my sweater with me?”

“Do I need a reason to be close to my boyfriend?”

“I suppose not, but you could have done without almost suffocating yourself in my hoodie.”

You shook your head. “Nope, this is way more comfortable.”

Sam let out a chuckle at your words, shaking his head. “Okay then honey.”

“To answer your question, I was bored and I felt like it.” You weren’t exactly lying. Doing research on your laptop had lost its charm when you kept hitting dead end after dead end. But you weren’t going to admit that you just wanted to be as close to him as possible (there were days that you wanted to crawl into his skin, but you weren’t going to address that thought any time soon).

“You got bored doing research didn’t you?”

“Yep.” You popped the ‘p’ as you answered Sam, and he shook his head at you.

He kissed your forehead, and your eyes fluttered at the feeling of his lips on your skin. Sam pulled back slightly before kissing you. You sunk into the kiss before he pulled back, placing another peck on your lips.

“Are you going to stay there the entire time?” Sam asked you as he picked up the book from the bed.

You nodded.

“Will that be comfortable for you?” Sam had a slight frown on his lips. Not that he didn’t love having you this close to him, but he didn’t think that his sweater was big enough for the both of you.

“I’ll be fine.” You told him before shifting downwards slightly, resting your head on his collarbone, and closing your eyes.

Sam couldn’t help but smile at the sight of you through the opening of his sweater. He kissed your forehead again before going back to reading.

[join my taglist !; read rules before sending in an ask]

505 notes · View notes

concretejunglefm · 7 days ago

Text

inspired by a thot @floodflameschosen had about Noah after dethrone hehe 💕

CW: includes mentions of rough unprotected sex, possessive!noah, semi-public

Smut below the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

It all starts with that roar.

You’re at the side of the stage when the final encore begins, watching as Noah effortlessly falls to his knees, letting out a guttural roar. You once joked that his roar made your coochie vibrate, but it’s definitely not a joke—not when you feel a rush of heat pooling between your thighs every time you’re fortunate enough to witness this set and see him in all his glory. The way his muscles ripple with every growl he lets out into the mic, how he paces back and forth like a caged animal.

Sometimes, he glances off in your direction, and for that split second, you catch the flicker of heat in his eye. He looks angry, but there’s no anger directed at you—only lust. It makes your body flush, and you can’t look away from him for the entire performance.

When Noah finally steps off the stage, the roar of the crowd still echoes in his ears, his chest heaving beneath his sweat-soaked tank. Strands of damp hair cling to his forehead, and his eyes, wild and dark, reflect the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Naturally, he’s drawn to you, pulled in like a magnet.

A large, tattooed hand comes up and settles at the back of your neck, pulling you in. His mouth crashes against yours in a kiss that’s more like a growl. His hands grip your hips, possessive and bruising, while his entire body trembles, desperate and needy. The sharp pinch of his teeth against your lower lip makes you hiss before you break away, his intentions quickly revealing.

“Come with me,” he growls lowly, barely giving you time to process what he’s saying. You’re still completely dazed by the kiss, nodding in agreement as you glance back at him. Before you can even think about what’s happening, he takes your hand and leads you to the nearest private room, just the two of you.

Noah needs only one thing at this moment, and that’s you, fueled by his intense desire for you.

Slipping into a nearby storage closet, his body presses against yours, radiating heat. As his hands slip under your clothes, urgent and rough, his mouth presses to your neck. “I need you,” he rasps, pinning you against the wall as if he needs to fuse with you to come down from the high. “Fuck—I need you,” he repeats, lifting your leg around his waist. Your panties are pulled to the side as he shoves down his pants enough to slip himself free and take you—fast, raw, and desperate.

Every thrust is a claim, burying himself deep into you, making you bounce against the wall as he keeps you pinned there by his own larger frame. Every breathless moan and the growing animalistic sound in his throat is broken by; “I’m sorry—but I need you, I need this,” and “you have no idea what you do to me. My perfect fucking toy.”

All you can do is hold on as Noah fucks the adrenaline out of his system—rough, hungry, like you’re the only anchor keeping him from burning out completely. His thrusts are deep, relentless, slamming into you with a force that knocks out the faintest, broken sounds from your lips. Each one is higher than the last, your breath catching in your throat, pleasure intertwined with the way it teeters on the edge of becoming too much—but never quite crossing that line.

His forehead rests against yours for a brief moment, just long enough to whisper, “You take it so well. You always do.” Then, he moves to tuck his head against your neck, low growls against your skin as he relentlessly fucks you. “Say you’re mine,” he gasps, his voice strained and breathless as he thrusts into you more forcefully, “say it. Say you belong to me, to be used whenever I need to.”

“I—” you gasp, your words stuck in your throat as the pleasure builds rapidly, dizzying you and pooling low in your stomach with each brutal, precise thrust. Your mind races, your breath coming in short gasps, yet your mouth still manages to open, forming a cry that calls out his name.

He groans, his voice cracking as if it’s being torn from deep within. “God, I’m sorry—I’m so fucking sorry, baby. I can’t stop—it feels so good, and you feel so good too.” Despite his apology, he continues, slamming into you as if he’s trying to erase the space between you, like he needs you to absorb the last remnants of his rage and adrenaline that he hadn’t released on stage.

The truth is, you don’t want him to stop. You want to be the one he comes to and uses, you want to be his fucking salvation—even if it’s rough, even if it hurts, because there’s nothing quite like the way he needs you in this very moment.

And God, you need him just as bad.

tagged: @fadingangelwisp @deathblacksmoke @geminigirlfromfinland @fuck1ng-queen @xxkittenkissesxx @lacy1986 @ami--gami @floodflameschosen @dominuslunae @tosoundlessdarkistare @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @lonelydragonlady @th4t-em0-k1d @amelia-acero @dollieomens @sitkowski @athenexe @trvshdxddy @collapsedglasshouses @overmydeadbodysblog @xmads-omensx @ajordan2020 @astronoids @courta13 @oobleoob @bluehairpunklol @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @swissy23 @i-love-the-smell-of-your-blood @concretenoah @death-ofpeace-ofmind @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @blade-dressed-in-red @bloody-spades @limerinseme @lilgarbitch @pipidoll @heyyoplayer @limerinseme

#bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfiction #bad omens smut #noah sebastian smut #noah sebastian x reader #concretejunglefm fics

231 notes · View notes

misctf · 6 months ago

Note

Hey, my dad says I play video games too much and that I should take on more responsibilities. I mean I just graduated High School a year ago. He wants to send me to a M. A.N. camp that a friend of his said he sent his son to. Can you help me out?

You didn’t really know what to expect when you were escorted to your room at M.A.N. camp. There were a few posters highlighting proper workout forms. Even a few “inspirational” quotes. You really couldn’t imagine that this was it. There had to be something more beyond just some tacky wall décor. And as you unpacked your bags, you grumbled at how empty the room was. No gaming station or computer- just a mirror and bed. When you got out of here, you were going to finally tell your dad off. He went way too far this time.

On your first morning, they assigned you to Garrett. He was supposed to be your “coach” or “bro” or whatever the stupid jocks who worked here said. In non-frat language, he was your mentor- the man who was going to make you into more of a man. You were escorted to the gym where you found him working out.

“Bro, it’s nice to meet you.” He smiles, and shakes your hand firmly, “My name is Garrett.”

You raise an eyebrow. He was dressed in camo pants and an olive green shirt. His muscular arms on full display. You can’t help but feel that your dad would’ve been a lot more happy if Garrett was his son. But you can tell by the dopey grin that the term “jarhead” really fit him well.

“I’ve had a lot of success with the guys here.” He continues, “Trust me, I’ve got a regimen that works real well.”

And so your journey with Garrett begins. You spend the next two days with him. He’d wake you up early in the morning for “bootcamp”, which often involved a brief run and workout session. You’d grab a protein-rich breakfast, head back to “lecture”, and then find him later for workout number two. And by the end of the first two days, you’d return to your room sweaty and tired. Your thoughts always returning to Garrett. His muscular physique, encouraging attitude, his dopey grin. You can feel your dick twitch as more lewd thoughts enter your mind. But the intense sessions take their toll and you’re fast asleep, dreaming of running your hands down his firm pecs and abs.

The next day, you eagerly wake-up, excited to see Garrett. But when he comes by that morning, he tells you today will be a chill day. A part of you feels disappointed- you wanted to go to the gym. See him push himself. Smell his musk. He just grins.

“Trust me, you’re already making great progress.” He pats your arm and you look down.

Since when did your biceps bulge like that? You run a hand along the firm muscle of your triceps and biceps- anxiety now coursing through your veins. This wasn’t...

“Dude, put a shirt on. I have something for us.” Garrett smiles and you suddenly realize you were walking around shirtless.

You quickly rummage through your old clothes, trying on various different shirts. But they all seem too tight. You can feel Garrett’s eyes on you and can sense his amusement. Eventually, you settle for just going shirtless. And as you walk with Garrett through the hallway, a bunch of the jocks pat you on the back and fist-bump Garrett, commending his methods and your progress.

“Welcome to my room.” He says, beckoning you to enter, “Thought you deserved a break.”

You smile when you see his gaming station and two controllers already set up. The two of you quickly start playing, and while this first-person military shooter wasn’t your usual go to, you were just happy to be playing videogames. You don’t know how much time passed, but eventually you put down the controller.

“Bruh, that was fuckin’ sick.” You can’t help but feel the words leaving your mouth weren’t your own.

And as the two of you look at one another, you begin to lean in. When your lips finally meet Garrett’s, it’s like fireworks go off in your brain. You don’t know how quickly it happened, but he’s out of his uniform and you’re tearing off your pants. Your hands explore one another’s bodies. The way his firm muscles feel causes you to shudder. And you moan as he plays with your sensitive nipples. Garrett finally has you get on your knees, your mouth open. When his dick enters your mouth, he begins to moan.

“Good boy.” He breaths as you continue to suck him off, “Fuck yeah... part of being a man is knowing how to serve.” He continues, “Just my obedient little soldier boy.”

You can feel his cock throbbing. Choking you. And a moment later, he releases. You both fall back onto his bed, panting heavily. Basking in the afterglow of pleasure.

“You’re learning well.” He breaths, “Go and get cleaned up, soldier. I’ll be by in a bit.”

You nod and walk back to your room. Good soldiers follow orders. But upon arriving there, the anxiety returns. What the fuck just happened? You stare in the mirror and gasp. This wasn’t you. The muscle, the pecs, the abs, the squared-jaw. All of this couldn’t be you. And you painfully realize that whatever this place was doing to you, it was in fact working. In your panic, you realize you need to escape. And quietly, you slip out of your room. You skillfully maneuver past the staff, using skills and knowledge from your military training. Training? You groan and grasp your head. There were new memories- ones you could’ve sworn never existed. But you fight through them, knowing you needed to get out of this facility.

“Soldier, where do you think you’re going?”

Your heart sinks when you hear Garrett’s voice. And when you turn to look at him, you can see the disappointment in his eyes. You accuse him of brainwashing you. Turning you into something you’re not. You feel betrayed by him. But before you can say anything more, you’re quickly restrained by the guards. Garrett removes his shirt, a stern look on his face.

“I’m sorry to have to do this to you.” He says as you thrash against the hands restraining you, “But I don’t have a choice.” He lifts his arm, exposing his musky, sweaty pit.

You beg for him not to. To stop. But as your vision is obscured by his hairy pit and your nose is filled with his manly musk, your world goes dark.

Your father can barely believe his eyes when he sees you. Your muscular physique on full display, arms crossed, and a stern look on your face. Even from a day ago, the amount of muscle you packed on is unbelievable. Your hulking form even puts Garrett to shame. Garrett stands next to you, clearly proud of his work.

“We may have went a bit overboard.” Garrett chuckles, “Could barely find a shirt that fits him. But as you can see, he’s made a lot of progress. As a soldier, he’ll understand responsibility and respect.”

Your father just nods, still clearly impressed by the outcome. Meanwhile, you just stare ahead. Speak when spoken to. Show respect. All of these commands rattling around in your simple brain. Just an obedient soldier boy. And as you begin to walk towards your dad’s car, you’re stopped when you feel Garrett grab a handful of your meaty ass.

“Can’t wait to see you in bootcamp, solider.”

Your lips form a sly grin and your dick twitches. You couldn’t wait either.

#male tf #male transformation #mental change #dumber tf

394 notes · View notes

cosmicflw3rr · 1 year ago

Text

cash in.

dominik mysterio x fem! reader

summary: you cash in at wrestlemania.

A/N: this is inspired by damian’s cash in, just something to put out while I work on my other things! btw pls request stuff I need to unleash my creativity 😈😈

btw in this short fic, for the inst post at the end im using pics from liv’s cash in, and a pic of bianca and montez but you can imagine yourself however you want it’s just pics i chose for the post :)

your nerves were jumbled up as you watched bayley and iyo sky fight for the title. their feud had been going on for a while now and was finally going to be resolved at the grandest stage of them all.

what they didn’t know was that tonight you’d finally cash in the money in the bank contract you'd been clutching for months. you had never found the perfect moment to make your move. yet, something in the air felt different, electric. today was the day you'd cash it in; you could just feel it.

you had to look away from the screen at the amount of close calls the match had, you moved away from the monitor sitting down on the couch in the little spot the tv crew had for the judgement day. damian, finn, jd and rhea also watched the match intently.

you held your head with your hands, sighing. your leg bouncing up and down anxiously. dominik, your boyfriend sat down next to you placing his hand on your knee to stop it from bouncing.

as soon as dom's hand touched your knee, you paused and locked eyes with him. "hermosa, talk to me," he urged, understanding the weight of the evening on your shoulders, yet not wanting you to be overwhelmed by stress.

leaning back, you let out a groan, the frustration clear in your voice. "what if it doesn’t work? what if I can't cash in the contract?" you shared your fears, the pressure mounting. "I might not get a chance like this ever again." the uncertainty of it all was eating at you.

you were convinced this was a once-in-a-lifetime shot, but dom saw things differently. he knew just how incredible you were in the ring, how you owned every match you fought and put your heart into everything you did. so to hear you think you weren’t ever going to get an opportunity like that again hurt, because he knew you would.

“listen amor.” when you wouldn't meet his gaze, he gently tilted your chin up, eyes meeting yours, and saw the worry glistening there. with a soft, reassuring smile, he whispered, "amor, don't worry. you've got this. you're one of the best wrestlers out there, and no matter what happens, there will be more chances. believe in yourself like I believe in you." his words were the comfort you didn't know you needed.

you eyes met dom’s as you nodded, understanding flickering between you. suddenly, the bell echoed, one, two, three times. your head whipped around to the screen, and there it was—bayley's victory. the members from your faction turned to you, their faces a mix of surprise and disbelief.

aithout a second thought, you grabbed your briefcase and bolted towards the gorilla, heart racing. "I'm cashing in! I'm cashing in!" you shouted at the top of your lungs. the production crew exchanged quick glances, barely able to process your words as you grabbed a referee by his shirt and charged onto the stage, adrenaline fueling your every step.

running down the ramp as your theme blared through the arena, the crowd erupted in cheers, instantly recognizing the moment unfolding. You reached the ring sliding into it with the referee on your heels. you turned thrusting the briefcase into his hands, “I’m cashing in!” you yelled.

he looked down at the briefcase his voice tinged with uncertainty, "are you sure?"

without hesitation, you shouted back, "yes, I'm cashing in, do it!" your hand came down hard on the briefcase, affirming your decision. the buzz from the crowd surged through you, adrenaline coursing wildly through your veins.

bayley staggered to her feet, unsteady. you bounced on the balls of your feet, ready, and as the bell chimed for the third time, you quickly delivered your finisher, the ripcord flatliner.

she hit the mat, motionless. yet, the roar of the crowd told you to keep going. you quickly pulled her to the ring's center, seizing her legs and cinching in a figure four lock, the cheers growing impossibly louder.

the excitement from the crowd was electric and the adrenaline in your body was hard to contain.

with the figure four perfectly locked in, bayley was trapped, dead center of the ring with no hope of grabbing the ropes. you yelled, teeth gritted, tightening the hold. then, the moment came—bayley tapped out, the bell sounding three times.

your music blared out as you released her, you scooted back, your spine meeting the ropes, shock written on your face. your hands flew to cover your eyes, tears leaving paths down your cheeks as you sobbed, the crowd's roar drowning your thoughts, the reality of the moment not quite sinking in.

wiping your tears, you turned to the referee, who held the championship title towards you. grabbing it from, you sat there dazed, just gazing at the title, a fresh wave of tears blurring in your eyes as pride swelled within you.

you got to your feet, lifting your arm, and the cheers from the crowd grew even wilder. you let out a smile, wiping away those involuntary tears. just then, at the top of the ramp, you noticed the judgement day coming out, cheering you on.

without missing a beat, you slipped out of the ring and bolted up the ramp. reaching the top, you found dominik first, waiting for you. the two of you collided into a tight embrace, him lifting and twirling you off the ground.

when your feet touched solid ground, you stepped back, locking eyes with him briefly, then sharing a tender kiss. after the kiss, you both melted into another warm hug, your arms around his neck and his on your waist.

“I’m so proud of you baby. I told you everything would work out.” he whispered, stirring fresh tears in your eyes. you nodded against his shoulder.

"I love you so much," you choked out, voice trembling, tears streaming down. breaking from the embrace, he tenderly held your face, wiping away the tears, then kissed you once more.

a smile broke through as he stepped aside, revealing the judgement day, all hyped up. In an instant, they swept you and dom up in a massive group hug.

you all erupted in cheers, bouncing around with excitement as each one expressed their pride in you, bringing a beam to your face. the group hug ended, and everyone turned towards the ring.

in a swift move, dom and damian hoisted you onto their shoulders, your hands clutching the title as you raised it high, pyro blazing in the background.

with a joyful shout, you took in the cheering crowd. after soaking in the moment, they carefully lowered you back down. you lifted your hand in triumph one last time before Dom draped his arm over your shoulder.

backstage, away from the roaring crowd, the intimacy of the moment enveloped you and dom as the judgment day trailed behind. you wrapped your arms around dom once more, this hug deeper, more personal.

tears freely flowed as the weight of your victory hit you, and dom was there, a comforting presence, rubbing your back gently. "I am so, so proud of you, amor. you've earned this and so much more," he whispered, his words a soothing balm to your overwhelmed emotions.

pulling back from the embrace, you brushed away the lingering tears, offering him a tender kiss. "thank you, babe. for everything," you murmured with heartfelt gratitude.

"this was all you," he replied, his pride in you evident.

"maybe, but your support has been my rock, the thing that's kept me pushing forward," you said, your voice laced with appreciation. his smile then met yours, and he leaned in to seal your shared moment with another kiss.

LIKED BY DOMINIK_35, RHEARIPLEY_WWE, ARCHEROFINFAMY, YAONLIVONCE & 5 MILLION OTHERS

y/n: and your new…

tagged: dominik_35

VIEW COMMENTS

dominik_35: so proud of you amor❤️

y/n: ❤️❤️❤️

rhearipley_wwe: all rise!!

y/n: judgement day is ALWAYS on top!!💜⚖️

yaonlylivonce: so happy for you! you deserve it!! 🥹❤️❤️

y/n: thank you so much liv! I love you so much!!🤍

archerofinfamy: proud of you chiquita💜

y/n: 💜

samanthairvinwwe: by far my fav name to call out tonight! congrats girl! you deserve it!! 👏💗

y/n: shhhh🤫 don’t let them know you have favorites😏

wwelover: was in sm shock watching! congratulations!!

y/n.vsp: the edits I alr have lined up for this😝

wrestlingstan: I KNEW SHED CASH IN! OMG!

WWE: your new women’s champion!

y/n: thank you to all of you who gave me the opportunity❤️.

807 notes · View notes

jinwoosungs · 4 months ago

Text

01/05/25; 10:07pm

xavier x fem.reader / mc.reader

obligatory tags: @milkandstarlight

notes: this is dedicated to all of you xavier girlies out there, with his misty silhouette card as my sole inspiration (⺣◡⺣)♡

[ minors don’t interact; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something n-fw despite the warnings. ]

{ so if i get jealous, i can’t help it | i want every bit of you, i guess i’m selfish. }

you saw a flash of anger across xavier’s eyes the moment he turns away from you, focusing on one of your plants when he grabs the gardening shears. the snipping sounds of those slender blades cutting through the branches echoes throughout the room. you could sense the wave of possession that courses through xavier’s veins, and you knew that you had to stop him.

swallowing thickly, you use the tip of your heels to reach him, managing to give his backside a gentle kick. he lets out a gasp, facing you with a darkened gaze. “don’t take your frustrations out on the plants. they’re innocent.”

he remains silent, turning around to completely face you as he gently grips at your knee, “where should i put it then?”

with your lips pursed, you slowly wrap your legs around his waist, forcing xavier to hold you against him. despite the faint pink hue seen on his cheeks, he manages to tell you, “don’t use the same tricks twice. it loses its effectiveness.”

a cheshire cat grin spreads across your features when you lean in to whisper in his ear, “then what are you suggesting?”

he was unable to resist you, leaning closer to you before admitting, “i don’t know.”

knowing all too well that he was throwing a tantrum, you lean forward and purposely bite down against his ear, earning yet another breathless gasp from him. “if that’s the case, then two can play at that game.”

you hear xavier click his tongue before leading you against your windows, “didn’t you say i shouldn’t take it out on the plants? what exactly did i do wrong?”

you met his gaze, allowing your hands to gently frame at his face, “are you pretending to be mad, xavier?”

he suddenly presses your front against the cold window, causing goosebumps to erupt all across your skin. his large hand was felt resting against your chin, pressing lingering kisses against you while admitting, “i’ve only pretended not to be.”

you tremble before telling him, “i thought that you were the type to calm down quickly…” yet your words die against your throat the moment you felt xavier grinding against your backside, making you feel something hard poking you. “that depends… on who i’m with.” he breathes in your scent, still grinding on you while admitting, “it also depends on how i want to calm myself down.”

you fought against the desire that threatens to course through you, attempting to keep a clear mind as you spoke to him, “xavier…! something’s off about you today…”

“i agree… it’s very strange.” with a pant, you felt him continue to slowly grind into you, “but it looks like… i won’t be easily satisfied tonight.”

with those final words, he carries you toward your couch, settling you against the leather seat while keeping a large hand on your kneecap. the warmth exuding from the palm of his hand felt on your skin causes a shudder to course through you when you tried to stop him, “xavier, we can’t do this here-“

“don’t move.” his voice takes on a low tone, your protests falling on deaf ears when he spreads your legs for him. embarrassment causes your cheeks to heat up in response to his actions, and you felt your mouth go dry when he manages to pull the waistband of your panties down, allowing the flimsy material to hang precariously on your right ankle before kneeling in front of you.

the skirt of your dress hides his face from you, yet the moment you felt his thick finger dip into your slick heat, you were given little choice but to cling to your seat as xavier wastes no time devouring you. pumping his finger in and out of your core, you felt the way he presses his lips over your cunt, tongue tracing at the borders of your center before diving right in to drink up all you had to offer. the squelching sounds of his fingers moving in and out of you echoes throughout your living room, making you cry out when he suddenly pinches at your hardened clit.

in mere seconds, you spill into his mouth, your thighs trapping xavier against you as you felt the way his groans causes pleasurable vibrations to course through you. you were in a daze now, dimly aware of the shifting of fabric before feeling something hard pressing against you. your eyes look down, witnessing xavier’s cock for a brief moment before it disappears from within the fabric of your dress.

your breath hitches, feeling xavier push up the fabric of your dress, allowing you to see the way his cock was ready to impale you. with large hands gripping at the back of your thighs, xavier brings your body closer to him before sliding his cock within your slick walls.

you both toss your head back at the sudden intrusion, with xavier holding your body against him with one hand while the other was gripping at the armrest of the sofa. he moves with quick pounds against your aching cunt, the red hot sensation of his cock stroking your walls becoming too much to bear as you cling to him.

running on pure desire alone, your legs wrapped themselves around xavier’s waist when he fucks himself over and over again into you, purposely brushing his hardened length against your clit each time he meets your hips. you cling to him with a desperation, meeting his thrusts with your own as you felt the pleasure threaten to explode-

and with another, particularly hard thrust, you felt the entirety of your release rushing out of you, earning a grunt from xavier as he witnesses your clear fluids sliding down the length of his cock.

with a broken grunt of your name, xavier falls back against the floor, taking you with him while still connected to you. your hands automatically brace themselves against his hard chest, glistening with sweat as he lay with his shirt open. “ride me, starlight, ride me… since only you can make this endless envy disappear…”

with your breathing hitched from the honesty of his words, you continue to bounce up and down his cock. even when you were sobbing from the sheer pleasure of it all, you still rode him, chasing your next high while believing that you would never get enough of him…

{ … }

dawn was close to breaking through the windows of your bedroom when xavier finally carries you back to bed. your naked bodies were both damp from the activities the night before, and you felt pleasantly sore as xavier lays you in bed.

laying beside you, you give him a tired smile and trace at his handsome features with your fingertips. “xavier, why do you think i’ll leave you?” his gaze softens while leaning into the palm of your hand, “you won’t?”

“of course not.” you giggle, gently ruffling at his hair. this succeeds in making your boyfriend smile when he takes a hold of your hand, pressing a kiss against each fingertip. when he finishes, a wistful smile lands his expression, “do you think i’m childish?”

“yes.” you admit to xavier with a giggle, earning a pout from him, “but i can’t help it.”

“i know.” you tell him with clear affection heard in your voice, moving closer to him before beginning your reassurances for him,

“only one neighbor can open the lock to my apartment. his name is xavier.”

“in terms of people, only one of them is held as my favorite. his name is xavier.”

“and there’s only one person whom i’ll never leave, and his name is xavier.”

you complete your speech with a giggle, framing at xavier’s face once more, “does this make me childish, too?”

you bask in his bright smile before feeling the way his powerful arms wrap around your frame, bringing you oh so much closer to him as you felt him whisper in your ear,

“as long as i’m like you, that’s enough. childish, brave, and loved- i want to be just like you.”

end notes: i’m so happy at how this turned out, and despite not being an xavier girlie, i hope i did his story justice 🥹

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

#xavier smut #xavier fluff #xavier x you #xavier x mc #xavier x reader #love and deepspace #lads smut #lnds smut #l&ds smut #lads x reader #lnds x reader #l&ds x reader

530 notes · View notes

corruptedcaps · 3 months ago

Text

Better the Devil You Know

This is inspired by @rylem33 multi-ending story that can be read here.

Victor had always been the kind of guy who blended into the background. He was scrawny, awkward, and perpetually nervous, with glasses that always seemed to slide down his nose at the worst possible moments.

His best friend, Lily, was the only person who truly understood him. She was just as dorky as he was, obsessed with comic books, bad puns, and obscure indie bands. Victor had been in love with her for years, but he could never muster the courage to tell her. Every time he tried, his voice would crack, or he’d trip over his words, and he’d end up laughing it off like it was some big joke.

But one night, after yet another failed attempt to confess his feelings, Victor sat alone in his dimly lit apartment, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He hated what he saw. Weak. Pathetic. Unworthy. He clenched his fists and muttered to himself, “I’d give anything to be strong. To be confident. To be the kind of guy Lily could actually want.”

That’s when the room grew cold, and the air seemed to hum with an otherworldly energy. A voice, deep and smooth, echoed from the shadows. “Anything, you say?”

Victor spun around, his heart racing. Standing before him was a man, or at least, something that looked like a man. He was impossibly tall, with sharp features, piercing red eyes, and a smirk that could only be described as devilish. His suit was tailored to perfection, and he exuded an sense of power and confidence that made Victor feel even smaller than usual.

“W-who are you?” Victor stammered, taking a step back.

The man chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent shivers down Victor’s spine. “Let’s just say I’m your neighbour downstairs. Way downstairs and I’m here to give you exactly what you want. Strength. Confidence. The kind of looks that turn heads. All you have to do is agree to my terms.”

Victor’s mouth went dry. “What terms?”

The devil grinned, revealing teeth that were just a little too sharp. “Your soul, of course. A small price to pay for the life you’ve always dreamed of, don’t you think?”

Victor hesitated. His soul? That sounded… bad. But then he thought of Lily, of how she deserved someone who wasn’t a walking disaster. Someone who could sweep her off her feet. Someone who wasn’t him.

“Deal.” Victor said, his voice trembling but resolute.

The devil’s grin widened. “Excellent.”

The transformation was immediate. Victor felt a surge of power course through his veins, his scrawny frame filling out with muscle, his posture straightening, his jawline sharpening. His glasses disappeared, replaced by perfect vision, and his once-mousy hair became thick and lustrous. He looked in the mirror and barely recognized himself. He was… handsome. Confident. Strong.

But something felt off. There was a coldness in his chest, a void where his heart used to be. He shook it off. This was what he wanted, right? This was what he needed.

Victor decided to find Lily. He knew she’d be at their favorite coffee shop, the one with the mismatched chairs and the barista who always messed up their orders. He stood outside, peering through the window from a nearby alley, and spotted her sitting at their usual table. She was wearing her favorite oversized sweater, her nose buried in a book, her glasses slipping down her face just like his used to.

As he watched her, a strange feeling washed over him. The warmth he usually felt when he saw her was gone. Instead, he felt… disgust. Her dorky clothes, her awkward mannerisms, her frizzy hair, it all seemed so… unappealing. What had he ever seen in her?

“Quite the sight, isn’t she?” a familiar voice purred beside him.

Victor turned to see the devil standing there, his red eyes gleaming with amusement. “I don’t understand.” Victor said, his voice tight. “Why do I feel this way? Lily’s… she’s everything I ever wanted.”

The devil chuckled, a sound that sent a chill down Victor’s spine. “Oh, Victor. You wanted strength, confidence, and beauty. And I gave it to you. But in exchange, I took your soul. And without your soul, you’ve lost any interest in nice girls like Lily.”

Victor’s stomach churned. “But… I did this for her. To be good enough for her.”

The devil smirked. “And now you’re too good for her. Isn’t that ironic? You only want supermodels and beauty queens now. Vapid mean bitches who would bully girls like Lily, isn’t that right?”

Victor stared through the window at Lily, feeling nothing but disgust for her. His eyes drifted to the leggy blonde who was berating the barista for now getting her order right. The devil was right, his desires were different. They were better. And yet he was angered that he had been tricked so easily.

Victor clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. “This isn’t what I wanted.”

The devil laughed, a sound that echoed in the empty alley. “Oh, but it is. You just didn’t know it. But tell you what, I’m feeling generous. I’ll grant you one more wish. You can use it to reverse what you’ve become, to go back to being that weak, dorky man who loved Lily. Or… you can use it to change her. Mold her into the kind of woman you desire now. The choice is yours.”

Victor’s mind raced. Reverse what he’d become? Go back to being the guy who couldn’t even look Lily in the eye? Or change her, twist her into someone who fit his new, soulless desires? Surely there would be a catch to whatever he had chosen. He needed to outsmart the devil. Maybe there was a third option.

“I can make any wish?” Victor asked, his voice low and steady.

The devil’s grin faltered for the first time. “Of course. Anything you desire.”

“And this wish is permanent, no reversals, no changes?” Victor asked in a way that made the devil suddenly wary.

“Yes of course, ironclad.” The devil replied, somehow unsure of what Victor was about to ask.

Victor’s eyes gleamed with a dark, dangerous light. “Then I wish to be you. I wish to have the power, the station and knowledge that you have. I wish I was the devil!”

The devil blinked, his smirk vanishing. “What? No, that’s… you can’t wish for that. That’s not how this works.”

But it was too late. Victor felt a surge of power unlike anything he’d ever experienced. The air around him crackled with energy, and the devil staggered back, his form flickering like a dying flame.

“What… no this isn’t possible! I won’t allow it!” The devil stammered, his voice tinged with panic.

Victor laughed, a deep, menacing sound that echoed through the street. “You said any wish. You said it would be ironclad. Not even you can stop it!”

The devil’s body began to disintegrate, his power flowing into Victor like a river of darkness. “No! This is impossible! You can’t—!”

But his protests were cut short as his form crumbled to dust, his essence absorbed entirely by Victor. The alley fell silent, the only sound the faint hum of power radiating from Victor’s body. He looked down at his hands, now glowing with an otherworldly energy, and let out a cackle that sent shivers through the very fabric of reality.

“Oh, this is going to be fun.” Victor said, his voice dripping with malice. He turned back to the coffee shop, where Lily still sat, oblivious to the chaos that had just unfolded.

The sight of her still disgusted him and she was the last thing he desired but as he looked at the bitchy blonde still arguing with the barista he also felt a cold disdain. He knew what he wanted instead, and he was going to get it.

Victor strode into the coffee shop with a confidence that turned heads. His presence was magnetic, his aura dark and commanding. He spotted Lily sitting in their usual corner, her nose buried in a book, her oversized sweater swallowing her frame. She looked up as he approached, her eyes widening in surprise.

"Victor? Is that you?" She asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.

He smirked, sliding into the seat across from her. "In the flesh. Or something like it."

Lily blinked, adjusting her glasses. "You look… wow. Have you been working out?"

Victor chuckled, a low, menacing sound. "You could say that. But enough about me. Let's talk about you."

Lily frowned, sensing something off in his tone. "What about me?"

Victor leaned back, his eyes scanning the room. He gestured to a group of women at a nearby table, their legs long and toned, their hair perfectly styled, their makeup flawless. "Don't you wish you had legs like those? Or hair like that? Or maybe… lips like hers?" He pointed to another woman, her pouty lips glistening with gloss.

Lily's cheeks flushed with embarrassment and anger. "Victor, what the hell are you talking about?"

He turned his gaze back to her, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light. "I'm just saying, Lily. You could be so much more. Don't you wish to be the kind of woman who turns heads? The kind of woman who gets whatever she wants?"

Lily crossed her arms, her voice firm. "I like who I am, Victor. I don't need to change for anyone."

Victor's smirk widened. "Oh, but you do. You just don't realize it yet."

Lily stood up, her chair scraping against the floor. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but I don't like it. I'm leaving."

As she turned to go, she stopped in her tracks, her eyes welling up. Turning around she looked Victor in his eyes. "All I ever wished was to be the woman you wanted!"

The words hung in the air, and Lily stood steadfast as if waiting for a response from him, something to show a glimmer of humanity. Instead his eyes glowed a deep, fiery red, and the world around them seemed to freeze. The chatter of the coffee shop faded into silence, the other patrons frozen in place. Lily's breath caught in her throat as she realized something was terribly wrong.

"As you wish." Victor said, his voice echoing with power as he snapped his fingers.

Lily's body began to convulse, her limbs twisting and contorting as an unseen force took hold of her. She gasped, her hands flying to her head as her hair began to change. The frizzy, unkempt locks smoothed and straightened, turning into a cascade of silky, jet-black strands that shimmered with an unnatural sheen.

"Oh God, what's happening to me?" Lily moaned, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and pleasure.

Her lips plumped and darkened, becoming full and pouty, as if kissed by the devil himself. Her skin smoothed and tightened, her cheeks hollowing out to create a more angular, striking appearance. Her breasts swelled, filling out her sweater until it strained against her new curves.

"Victor, please… stop…" She begged, but her voice was weak, her protests half-hearted as a strange warmth spread through her body. “Mmm fuck please DONT stop!”

Her nails elongated, turning into sharp, perfectly manicured claws painted a darker than dark black. Her makeup appeared as if by magic, her eyes lined with dark, smoky shadow, her lashes long and thick.

But the changes weren't just physical. Lily's mind was being twisted, her thoughts clouded by a dark, seductive force. Her once-kind heart began to blacken, her desires shifting from the simple joys of life to a hunger for power, attention, and control.

"Oh… oh my God…" Lily moaned, her body arching as the transformation reached its peak. "This feels… incredible…"

Victor watched with a satisfied smirk, his eyes glowing brighter as Lily's soul was slowly corrupted. "That's it, Lily. Embrace it. Become the bad bitch buried inside."

Lily's moans turned into a low, sultry laugh as the transformation completed. She straightened, her new body radiating cruel confidence. She looked down at herself, running her hands over her curves, a wicked smile spreading across her face.

"Holy shit!" She breathed, her voice now a sultry purr. "I look fucking amazing."

Victor leaned back, his grin widening. "You do. And now, the world is yours for the taking."

Lily's eyes met his, and for a moment, there was a flicker of her old self, a hint of the dorky, kind-hearted woman she used to be. But it was quickly extinguished, replaced by a cold, calculating gaze.

"Fuck yeah, it is," she said, her voice dripping with malice. "Let's see what this new me can do."

Victor laughed, a deep, menacing sound that echoed through the frozen coffee shop. "That's my girl."

Victor's hand snapped out, grabbing Lily by the waist and yanking her against him. Their lips crashed together in a searing, possessive kiss-all teeth and hunger, a collision of two corrupted souls. Lily pulled back after a moment, her new black lips curling into a smirk as she stared into his glowing red eyes.

"About fucking time!" She purred, her voice dripping with venomous desire. Before Victor could react, she shoved him backward onto the coffee shop table, sending frozen cups and saucers shattering to the floor. His shirt tore open under her clawed nails, revealing his chiseled, inhumanly perfect torso.

"Fuck, Lily-" Victor growled, but she cut him off with a sharp laugh, her gaze raking over him.

"Lily is dead baby. Call me Lilith. But enough about me, look at you." She breathed, her fingers trailing down his abs to the waistband of his pants. "All that power... but does that power extend lower?" She undid his belt with a flick of her sharp nails, freeing his thick, veiny, and impossibly large cock. Her breath hitched, a flicker of her old self surfacing in her widened eyes. "Jesus Anti-Christ, Victor. You're fucking monstrous."

But the shock melted into hunger. Lilith dropped to her knees, her new jet-black hair spilling over his thighs as she took him into her mouth with a low, greedy moan. Victor threw his head back, a ragged groan tearing from his throat as her tongue swirled and her lips tightened.

"That's it!" He snarled, tangling his hands in her hair. "Suck your devil's cock like you were made for it."

Lilith hummed in response, the vibration drawing a loud growl from him. Her nails dug into his hips as she took him deeper, her moans muffled but relentless. When he tensed, nearing the edge, she pulled back with a wet pop, her lips glistening.

"Not yet." She whispered, climbing onto the table and straddling him. Her new body-all curves and lethal grace-hovered over his, her skirt riding up. "I want to feel you ruin me."

Victor gripped her hips, his claws pricking her skin. "Then ruin yourself on me!" He commanded.

Lilith sank down onto him with a scream of pleasure, her back arching as he filled her. "Fuck-Victor!"

"That's Lord Victor to you now." He growled, thrusting up into her. The table beneath them splintered, but neither noticed. The air around them began to smolder, flames licking up from the floorboards as their rhythm turned frantic, their moans mingling with the crackle of fire.

"You feel that?" Victor hissed, his hands roaming her skin. "That's hellfire, baby."

Lilith rode him harder, her nails raking his chest as the flames coiled around them. "Burn with me, baby! Burn!"

The fire erupted, engulfing them in a vortex of heat and ash. Their clothes disintegrated, leaving them naked. It didn’t pause their sinful act one moment. If anything it just ignited their passion even more.

“Mmmm fuck my lord! Cum inside me! Make me feel the fires of hell inside me!” Lilith groaned that was more demanding than requesting.

“Yessss! I’ll make you my queen! The queen of darkness! Together we’ll rule hell and then, the world!” Victor cried, thrusting harder.

“I’ll be such a wicked bitch! I’ll be your wicked bitch! Do it baby! Do it now! I can’t wait anymore!” Lilith said moving her hips in a way that made their orgasms inevitable.

They climaxed together, a roar of infernal power shaking the coffee shop to its foundations. The flames siphoned into their bodies, filling each with immense power that exploded out and wrapped each in new clothing.

Lilith's new outfit clung to her like a second skin. A shorter than short black latex dress with crossed straps. Fishnets flowed up her legs and 8 inch studded shoes wrapped around her feet. Her black hair took on the colour of the fire itself, giving her a dangerously red look.

Victor's own attire was a mirror of dark power. A tailored coat, a collar of flames, and a smirk that could damn nations. His suit gave off an otherworldly sheen that was as mesmerizing as it was handsome.

Lilith collapsed against him, her eyes now a burning red like his own. Her lips brushing his ear. "Well that was... hot."

Victor smiled at her weak joke. "You're the Mistress of Evil and yet your jokes haven't improved."

Lilith dug her now longer nails into his chest, drawing blood while smiling manically. "I'm everything you desired me to be, bad puns and all."

Victor looked at her. Her fiery red hair, her dark gorgeous lips, her evil eyes. He was more in love with her now that he had ever been before. "I sold my soul to have you, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

"Well you literally own my soul now so I'm not going anywhere my lord." Lilith said with a wicked smile that Victor knew would make him scorch the earth if she asked.

Standing up off the table, Victor stretched out his hand for his new queen to take which she did without hesitation.

"What now, my love?" She asked, ambition in her eyes.

Victor gripped her by her waist, not gently, and kissed her until her toes curled. "Now," he said, "we rule."

Fire erupted from the floorboards beneath them, wrapping around them, consuming them and then suddenly with a poof, they were gone. Moments later, the frozen coffee shop sprang to life again with it's patrons left to wonder why there was suddenly a mess of coffee cups and napkins on the floor and the smell of sulphur and sex in the air.

THE END

#f2f #corruption #bitchification #magic #evil bitch #evil couple #cc2025 #betterthedevilyouknow

184 notes · View notes

aurorawritestoescape · 3 months ago

Text

Joel’s twin x f!reader || 500 words

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, pwp, unprotected piv, creampie, m!oral.

A/n: this little thing inspired by the buzz cut Joel edit has been in my docs for ages but I’ve decided to post it bc I think it’s hot lol Beta-ed by my love @milla-frenchy <3 dividers by @/saradika-graphics

MASTERLIST || more twin action (different au)

“Yeah, just like that, baby. Suckle on ‘im.”

You‘re moaning, your lips wrapped around the fat tip of a cock. Joel’s twin is feeding you his salty precum, that’s oozing generously, thanks to your skilled mouth.

“You suck his dick like that?”

You shake your head a little, trying not to hurt him with your teeth, and he smirks,

“‘s what I thought. He’s probably too weak to ask it from you, huh? Always busy with our screw-up of a little brother. Fuck him. Fuck ‘em both. C’mon up, baby.”

He grabs your arm and yanks you off the floor. He plops on the bed and you clench your fists around his jacket, straddling his lap.

Your and Joel's bed.

He’s fully clothed, only his jeans and boxers pulled down to his mid thigh while you’re completely naked, your dress and panties wherever he ripped them off you.

“Does he even make you come, baby?” His chest pressed to yours, his voice at your ear, gruff and sultry, acts like gasoline poured into a fire, burning the whole of you up. It’s so similar to Joel’s, yet so much sexier that your pussy aches with need whenever he talks.

“Sometimes,” you reply truthfully and hover over his stiff cock while he guides his tip to your sopping hole. His hot head prods your entrance and you whine at first but then gasp when he pushes your hips down and pierces you with his fat cock in one go.

You bite your lip while your pussy stretches around his manhood with a dull pain and your walls spread, trying to accommodate his mighty girth.

He doesn’t let you get used to the feeling of his cock splitting you in two and a harsh slap lands on your asscheek, ringing loudly in the silence of the bedroom.

“Ride it”, just two words from him and you start eagerly bouncing on his dick like your life depends on it. You don’t even know why you let him do all this to you, why you sucked his cock, why your pussy is drooling on his big balls but you love it. Love the sensation of your husband’s twin fucking you on your marital bed. It’s nasty, filthy, wrong and so hot you're already coming.

Joel’s caring, soft, loving. But his twin brother’s effect on you can not be explained. He comes once a month or so, pumps your cunt full of his hot cum and leaves. He’s rough, dominant, mean, everything Joel isn’t. And you love how dirty you feel when you’re with him.

“Fuck, love your pussy, baby. Gonna come so deep in her, she’s gonna be crying me for days, ya hear? Til the next time I fuck you.” He chuckles through heavy panting and begins thrusting his hips up into you, forcing your pussy to fall on his cock harder, faster, sending his tip up to kiss the deepest part of you.

The sweet poison of his words is already coursing through your veins, you can’t get enough of him, and soon your pussy starts contracting, greedily milking his cock off every drop of his thick load.

Joel comes soon after in his cuck chair, loudly moaning at the sight of his wife unraveling on his twin brother’s cock. He loves how wrong and dirty it is. All three of you do.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic!<3

MASTERLIST || another twin story (different au)

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesfaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40

#twin au #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #Joel’s twin x reader #pedro pascal characters #pwp #smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller au

261 notes · View notes

vanteguccir · 1 year ago

Text

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ5 CUTE LITTLE MOMENTS * CHRIS STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where Chris is deeply in love with Y/N and isn't ashamed to show it; OR, 5 cute little moments between Chris and Y/N.

FEATURING　Chris Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　none.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

1. Surprise on tour

A mixture of nervousness and euphoria coursed freely through Chris's veins as he prepared to enter the stage. The boy discovered after his first tour alongside his brothers that the sensations of being on a stage, surrounded by people who adore him, were very similar to the sensation of an orgasm. And he loved it.

As soon as the lights came up and the opening song started playing, he found himself fully immersed in the energy of the crowd.

While he and his brothers went through their usual fan interactions, Chris couldn't get Y/N out of his mind. He wanted her to be there with him, sharing this special moment with him and his brothers.

When it was time to take the break to talk to the fans again, Chris took a few seconds to survey the crowd in front of him, sweeping his blue eyes over each head he saw.

Until he founded her.

He frowned automatically, squinting his eyes into thin lines to try and see better, quickly realizing that it wasn't his mind playing tricks on him, Y/N was really there.

"Wait! Wait, can I- Oh my God." Chris interrupted Nick, who was speaking into his own microphone, raising his right hand towards his brother and holding it in the air, telling him to shut up silently. "Baby? Is that... Is that really you?"

Y/N - who was surrounded by fans who recognized her the moment she appeared there - felt her cheeks take on a reddish hue almost instantly, her eyes filling with tears from being able to interact in person with Chris after so many weeks apart.

The girl knew he couldn't hear her even if she screamed, so she just nodded, a huge smile decorating her face.

"Is Y/N here?" Matt's voice sounded over the speaker, his body moving closer to his brother's as he tried to find her in his line of sight. “Oh, hey, Y/N!”

"Guys, my amazing girlfriend, Y/N, is here with us tonight!" Chris shouted into the microphone, raising his free hand and waving his fingers in the air in euphoria, holding himself back from jumping in place.

The crowd erupted in applause and cheers as Chris explained how Y/N wasn't going on tour with them because of her studies. His voice could barely hide his excitement when talking about her, the volume having a constant fight with the loud volume of the fans' screams.

"Wow, it feels like I haven't seen you in weeks." Chris teased, throwing a wink her way.

Nick's laugh was heard right next to him, his voice echoing through the speaker with a random comment that Chris didn't try to understand, his eyes fixed on his girl as his heart overflowed with love.

"You look prettier than ever, babe." Chris flirted, his tongue escaping between his lips and wetting them as his ears were filled again by the euphoric screams of the crowd.

Y/N could only laugh out loud in nervousness and shyness, her red cheeks glowing under the colored lights. Some fans around her made funny comments about the situation, joking - or not - about how they wanted to be in her place.

It was safe to say that the night of the show was filled with comments and flirtations from Chris directed at Y/N, the boy having to hold himself back for long minutes to not run down the stage towards his girl arms.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

2. Mispronounciation

"Is that açaí, Nick?" Chris's question caught Y/N's attention, who took her eyes off the nugget shelves she was analyzing in one of the freezers a few steps away from the triplets, now focusing on them.

"Did I hear açaí?" Her voice echoed in excitement, her hands quickly grabbing the package of nuggets that she liked the most before returning to the boys, placing it inside the cart with the other frozen products before standing next to Nick, analyzing the container in his hands. "Oh, it is! I want it, please?"

"Of course, we'll take it." Nick quickly responded, nodding his head as he turned, facing the cart and allowing the freezer door to close behind his back.

"Can we have condensed milk and milk powder to put in it? Oh, oh, and banana too!" The girl pleaded, her voice full of excitement as she clasped her hands in front of her chest, raising her eyes towards Chris and widening them slightly.

"Sure, babe..." Chris nodded almost instantly, unable to say no to his girl. "I still don't understand how she can have açaí with condensed milk and milk powder." He muttered only for the camera to catch it, failing miserably as his tone came out loud enough for Y/N and his brothers to hear it.

"Hey! It's the only right way to have açaí, okay?" Y/N argued, rolling her eyes playfully and turning back to the cart, arranging the container next to the other frozen products, as she did with the nuggets, being the type of girl that liked to organize her groceries.

"Guys, look! It's prepackaged, but we did find some asparagus." Matt interrupted the silence seconds after, rescuing the medium package of asparagus and quickly showing it to the lens with a proud smile on his face.

"I love aspargos so much. Your cooking will be the best in this series you guys are making, Matt." Y/N murmured, smiling big and pointing with her chin at the package while Matt put it back on its place.

"What did you say?" Nick asked with a frown. Being a little away from the three made it difficult for him to understand what they were saying, and it worsened with her pronunciation.

"Um... aspargos?" The girl repeated, frowning in confusion.

"The pronunciation is wrong, babe. You say it like s-par-gus." Chris corrected gently, lowering the camera slightly and watching her with caring eyes.

He loved the little pronunciation mistakes his girl made. He understood that she was still learning English and that her Brazilian accent could make it difficult to say one word and another, and all that made him fall in love again every day.

"Oh." Y/N bit her lower lip lightly, feeling her cheeks heat up in embarrassment, receiving an encouraging smile from Matt, who watched them silently while Nick was still collecting products from that aisle.

"Hey, it's okay, pretty girl. It's just one word, let's try it together, okay?" Chris assured her, handing the camera to Matt and approaching his girlfriend, taking her hands and squeezing her fingers gently.

The girl nodded, maintaining her eyes on her boyfriend's face before focusing them on his lips, watching him saying the word again before trying it herself.

"S-par-gus. Asparagus." She repeated slowly, trying to imitate the pronunciation and accent Chris had shown her, finally saying it correctly.

"That's it, babe. You did it!" Chris smiled big, his voice echoing louder than before and euphoria exuding from his body. He quickly pulled her into a big hug, sealing the right side of her forehead with his lips for long seconds.

extra - comments:

"It's so incredible to see how Y/N has evolved every day with her english pronunciation 🥺"

"the way Chris is patient and kind in correcting her 😭"

"Chris helping Y/N pronounce the word in the right way was the best thing I've seen today 😔✋🏻"

"I agree with her, açaí with condensed milk and milk powder is the best thing in the world 🤭"

"have a boyfriend who supports you like Chris does for Y/N 😫😫"

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

3. Euphoric mood

It was a busy day for Chris and his brothers. They were rushing from one appointment to another, trying to keep up with all the demands of the channel and their brands. However, what would normally be a busy day became even more chaotic due to Chris's uncontrollable euphoria.

From the moment he woke up, Chris was in full hyperactivity mode. He talked nonstop, jumping from one topic to another with dizzying rapidity. His brothers were beginning to get irritated by his incessant energy, unable to keep up with the frantic pace of his thoughts.

"Chris, bro, you need to calm down a little." Matt muttered, frowning as he tried to keep up with his brother's rapid-fire conversation.

"No, wait! I spoke to a friend who is going to medical school, Josh, you know him." Chris ignored him, continuing to speak without slowing down, his words coming out jumbled. "And if you had a broken bone or a sprain, you'd know already, you know? It's been so long since-"

"Chris, slow down." Nick shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb, feeling overwhelmed by the torrent of information coming out of Chris's mouth since hours before.

Chris stopped abruptly, looking at his brothers with a mixture of surprise and confusion.

"What? I'm just trying to help!"

Matt sighed, straightening in his seat on the couch, trying to find the right words to express his frustration.

"Chris, we understand you're trying to help me with my ankle, but you're driving us crazy with all this energy. We need a moment."

Before Chris could say anything, Y/N - who was in the kitchen preparing an afternoon snack for them - turned from her place and walked slowly into the living room, her hands holding a metal tray with the food, watching the scene with understanding eyes. She had noticed Chris's agitated state since the beginning of the day and knew it was time to intervene.

"Chris, honey." She called softly, placing the tray on the television stand and approaching him. "Why don't you sit down for a bit and relax? You're stressing yourself out."

"But baby, Matt has been in pain for days and doesn't want to take care of the problem, so I'm coming with the solution." Chris directed his gaze at her, frowning and crossing his arms like a child.

"I know, my love, and I think the boys understand that too. Why don't we watch something for a while? Your day was tiring as well. Maybe a little rest will help everyone, okay?" Y/N smiled gently, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

She guided him to the couch and made him sit with his back against the soft backrest, sitting next to him and raising her right hand, taking it to his head, stroking his hair gently with her long nails. Chris felt instantly calmer, his frantic mind slowing down.

Nick and Matt watched in surprise and amusement as Y/N calmed Chris with her simple presence and caring gesture. They never got tired of seeing the gigantic effect the girl had on their brother.

"Are you a magician or something?" Nick teased, earning a middle finger from Chris and a laugh from Y/N in response before finally grabbing his lunch from the tray.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

4. Making out session

Chris and Y/N were lying together in their bed, wrapped in a soft blanket as they watched an old romantic comedy movie on the television. The soft light from the screen illuminated their faces as they snuggled together, enjoying the tranquility and intimacy of the moment.

As the movie progressed, Chris felt his heart beating faster as his closeness to Y/N seemed to be more palpable. No matter how many years they had been together, Chris always felt like it was still the beginning of the relationship, or, as they say, the honeymoon phase.

His blue eyes found her side profile, admiring the softness of her features and the sparkle in her eyes as she was absorbed in the story of the couple in front of them.

Without thinking, the boy moved his hand, reaching for hers and intertwining their fingers. Y/N smiled softly at the gesture, lightly squeezing his hand, conveying comfort and affection without saying a word.

The girl turned her face towards him, feeling his eyes burning into her for long minutes, ready to question him if he was still interested in the story, but her words caught in her throat when she saw the intensity of his gaze.

She knew that look.

Their eyes remained connected for long seconds, the sound of the television becoming muffled to their ears. With one smooth movement, Chris slid his free hand up to Y/N's face, caressing her warm cheek with his fingers in an almost ghost touch. He felt the softness of her skin under his, losing himself in the comforting sensation.

Y/N sighed softly, closing her eyes and pending her head against his hand, enjoying the gentle affection. In one quick movement, Chris got closer to her face, leaning towards her. Their noses met lightly, the boy caressing the area lightly in an eskimo kiss before adjusting his position, their lips finally meeting in a slow and gentle kiss, filled with tenderness and desire.

They explored each other gently, their kiss slowly gaining a rhythms as they gave in to the intimacy of the moment. There was no rush, just the sweet feeling of being together.

Chris's warm tongue caressed her lower lip in a silent request for entrance, which was quickly granted, their tongues intertwining in a wet and skillful kiss.

The boy raised his free hand to the back of Y/N's head, his thumb pressing the tip of her jaw, caressing the hot and flushed skin tenderly, feeling drunk by the natural scent of her body as they surrendered to the heat of the moment. Their hearts beat in unison, a symphony of love and desperation.

In one swift movement, Y/N moved under the blanket that covered their legs, strategically climbing into his lap and sitting on his gray sweatpants covered thighs, her legs wrapping around his hips securely. She moved her hands to his shoulders, tilting her torso slightly and deepening the kiss with the new position.

External sounds disappeared for the two, only the sound of their rapid and choppy breaths echoing in their ears, creating a warm bubble around them.

Chris's hands traveled over Y/N's body in a slow and sensual way, finding home on her hips and tracing imaginary shapes with the tip of his fingers above the thin fabric of her panties, lightly squeezing the area, a low moan escaping the girl's throat.

When the air began to run out, they reluctantly separated, their eyes closed while their tongues still savored the fresh taste of each other that predominated their mouths. Y/N leaned her forehead against his, lightly pressing their noses together as she caught her breath.

When her eyes finally opened, her first sight was Chris's swollen-lipped smirk.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

5. Trying to match my boyfriend eating

Y/N's phone camera was already open, and the device rested on the nightstand on her side of the bed, propped up against the pink lamp so that the screen pointed towards her and, consequently, Chris, who would sit next to her.

The girl smiled at the front camera after clicking the red record button, settling back down on the mattress, waiting for Chris, who would return soon with the burgers they had ordered for delivery to eat while they watched a movie.

The sound of the door opening echoed through the room some minutes after, and the girl quickly lifted her gaze towards the source, smiling widely when she saw her boyfriend with the large paper bag in one of his hands.

She quickly took it from him, opening it in one quick movement and taking out the burgers, fries, and sodas, individually separating the ones that were hers and the ones that were his.

"Hungry, babe?" Chris asked with a smile in his voice, a nasal laugh following his sentence as he settled into bed next to her, retrieving his burger quickly.

"You have no idea." The girl murmured, taking advantage of the fact that Chris was unwrapping his lunch as if it were the most precious thing in the world to quickly look at her phone, winking at the camera, unwrapping her own burger.

Y/N wasted no time, noticing from the corner of her eyes her boyfriend already taking the first bite, quickly following him. She tried to bite off a piece in the same size as his, but her attempt was futile, only getting half of it, which was already too much for her.

Chris chewed the piece without any problems, leaning forward slightly and reaching for the remote control that was in the middle of the bed, quickly picking it up and clicking the play button, resuming the movie where they stopped before the food arrived, his mouth working on taking another bite without even looking at his burger.

Y/N's eyes widened, forcing herself to swallow what was still in her mouth so she could take more, this time a little bigger than the last. She found it difficult to chew as quickly as Chris did, closing her eyes tightly as she tried, futilely, to concentrate on swallowing as quickly as possible.

A cough escaped her throat, muffled by her closed lips, but catching the boy's attention, who looked up at her with his brow furrowed in confusion.

His blue eyes widened comically at the sight of her cheeks inflated because of the food and trying to chew, a loud laugh escaping his lips.

"Babe, what the fuck are you doing? Slow down." The brunette adverted, wrapping his burger again and leaving it on the bed - away from his legs so as not to run the risk of crushing it.

He leaned toward her, patting her back lightly with his right hand while his left reached for her Diet Coke, touching the end of the straw to her closed lips.

Chris watched her carefully and with worried eyes, waiting for her to swallow the food, finally taking a few slow sips of the sweet drink.

"I'm sorry." Y/N whispered, a small smile decorating her face along with her cheeks flushed in embarrassment. "It was supposed to be a TikTok, but you eat too quickly."

The boy shook his head in confusion, running his eyes around the room and quickly finding his girl's phone recording them.

"Your food will run away or something?"

"Shut up."

1K notes · View notes

softlandos · 10 months ago

Text

the moment i knew | lando norris

summary: the one where you win the british grand prix instead of your teammate and you both face the harsh realities of falling in love with your rival

warnings: angsty!! and sad lando :( lmk if you want a part 2!

inspired by lewis’ win at silverstone and these videos of sad lando :(

a/n: this is my first ever fic! please please please let me know if you like it!

The roar of the engines was deafening as the Silverstone Grand Prix reached its climax. The crowd was on the edge of their seats, watching two teammates battle it out for the lead. Lando Norris was in P1, but you were hot on his heels, fighting for every inch of the track.

Lando, leveraging his years of experience, expertly defended his position. He loved the challenge you presented, finding it exhilarating to duel with his teammate, especially someone in just their second season.

"You're not gonna pass me that easily," Lando smirked, his voice crackling over the team radio as he blocked your latest attempt to overtake. He was enjoying every moment, the thrill of the race coursing through his veins.

But you were relentless. Spotting a gap, you pushed your car and yourself to the absolute limit, probably destroying your tyres in the process. With a bold move, you managed to squeeze past Lando, your car sliding into the lead.

"Damn it!" Lando cursed, his frustration evident. He had given it his all to defend that position, and yet, you found a way through. It was a testament to your skill and determination, especially impressive for a second-year driver.

"Let's goooooo!" you shouted into your radio, exhilaration filling your voice.

Lando rolled his eyes at your celebration, but deep down, a part of him was proud. You had shown incredible tenacity and skill, but he wasn't going to let you stay ahead without a fight. He began pushing his car to its limits, determined to reclaim the lead.

"Lando, she's degraded her tyres trying to get that spot," his race engineer informed him. "She’ll have to pit soon."

A smile spread across Lando's face. Your aggressive move had come at a cost, and now he saw an opportunity. With your tyres wearing down, he could catch up and potentially reclaim his position. He pushed his car even harder, closing the gap between the two of you.

However, as he tried to overtake, he recognized something familiar in your defensive maneuvers. You were using his own techniques against him! He couldn't help but feel a mix of annoyance and respect. It was clear you had been watching and learning from him.

"Damn it, she's really good," Lando grumbled to his engineer, the frustration evident in his voice. "She's using my own moves against me!"

His engineer's calm response came through the radio, "Her tyres are starting to wear down. You can get her in a few laps. Play it smart, and we can win this race."

With renewed determination, Lando pushed his car to the brink. On social media, fans and commentators buzzed with excitement, praising the intense battle between the two teammates. They lauded your skill and determination while acknowledging Lando's impressive defense.

"My tyres are getting destroyed," you radioed to your team, the strain in your voice clear.

"We know, keep it cool for now," your team responded, trying to calm your nerves. "Lando is catching up, but your tyres are still good. Defend as much as possible and wait for the right opportunity to pit for fresh tyres."

With only a few laps left, you made a bold decision. "No pitting," you declared firmly.

Your team was thrilled. "We hear you, no pitting! Let's do this! Last four laps, give it everything you got!"

As the laps dwindled, the tension was palpable. Lando was right on your tail, and the battle was fierce. At the pit wall, your team joked, "On a scale from 1-10, how pissed is Lando right now?"

"Ten, definitely a ten," they laughed. "If he wasn’t so focused on racing, he’d be ripping his hair out right now. She’s making things so difficult for him!"

With every turn and every straight, the race to the finish line was a testament to skill, determination, and sheer willpower. The battle between you and Lando was one for the ages, a true Silverstone showdown.

"GUYS IM SO CLOSE!" you shouted, the excitement in your voice unmistakable.

At this point, the entire team was cheering you on over the radio, clearly thrilled by your determination and skills.

With two laps left, the tension was at its peak. "Two laps left, you can do it!" your team encouraged.

The entire team was on the edge of their seats, watching the race with bated breath. As you entered the final lap, the energy in the paddock was electric. "LAST LAP!” your team shouted in electric excitement, then quickly adjusted their volume. “Just one more lap, you can do it! Go, go, go!”

With sheer determination, you crossed the finish line first. "I DID ITTTTT!" you screamed into the radio.

Everyone in the paddock erupted in celebration. "YOU DID IT! YOU WON! CONGRATULATIONS!"

The celebrations continued as everyone was ecstatic about your victory. "That was amazing! You were incredible out there! We're so proud of you!"

"FIRST WOMAN TO WIN A GRAND PRIX!" someone shouted, and the cheers grew even louder.

You were so excited that you almost crashed driving to the P1 spot. "Woah, woah, take it easy! Save the celebrations for later; we don't want you crashing on national television!" your team cautioned amusedly.

After three victory laps, you finally drove up to the P1 spot. Standing on your car with the flag in your hand, the crowd erupted in the loudest cheers imaginable. "She's done it! She's made history! The first woman to win a Formula 1 race in history!" the commentators screamed.

Lando was the first to congratulate you, sweeping you up into a massive hug and lifting you off the ground. "You did it! That was amazing, I'm so proud of you!"

"Thanks, Lan," you replied, your heart full.

Next in line was your idol, Lewis Hamilton. When you saw him, you almost broke down into tears. He laughed and smiled, knowing what this moment meant to you. The moment went viral online as he pulled you into a hug.

"Congratulations, kiddo. You deserve it. That was an incredible drive, and you made history today. I'm so proud of you," Lewis said, wrapping his arms around you in a comforting hug.

You couldn't process any of his words, just squeezing him tighter.

He chuckled, understanding your emotions. "Take it all in, kid. This is a moment that will go down in history. You've done something incredible today."

The Silverstone Grand Prix had not just been a race. It had been a battle, a triumph, and a historic moment that would be remembered forever.

After the victory celebration, you found yourself back in the paddock with Lando. The adrenaline was slowly starting to wear off, leaving you both a bit exhausted but still elated from the excitement.

"Wow," Lando spoke, a tired smile on his face. "That was one hell of a race. You really did it, you know? You made history today."

"… Hey, Lan?" you said quietly.

He looked over at you, his tired eyes meeting yours. "Yeah? What's up?" he replied softly.

"You don’t have to pretend with me," you said, knowing he was devastated that he didn’t win. The moment made everything slow down, and it felt like it was just the two of you in the whole world. You were crossing a line you had both avoided until now.

His expression changed to surprise as you called him out on his emotions. He took a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours. "You caught me, huh? Well, yeah, I'm a bit disappointed that I didn't win. But seeing you get that victory? It's hard not to be happy for you." He let out a soft chuckle. "You deserve it."

"Lando..." you sighed, seeing the depth of his disappointment and struggle.

Lando sighed and scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, I know. I'm trying not to let it show, but deep down, I am disappointed. It sucks when you're so close to the finish line and then suddenly, bam, you're not the one crossing it. But hey, that's Formula 1 for you. Sometimes it goes your way, sometimes it doesn't."

"You don’t have to pretend. You don’t have to give me that media-trained PR answer either. We’re not in an interview."

Lando dropped his media-trained mask and let his guard down a bit, revealing his true emotions. "You're right," he admitted. "It sucks. I wanted that win. I wanted it so badly. I feel like I let my team down, let myself down. It stings."

"I’m sorry you feel that way. And it hurts knowing that I’m..." you stopped yourself, not saying what you wanted to, knowing it would change everything between you forever.

Lando looked at you, his exhaustion replaced by a mix of curiosity and concern. "What? What were you going to say? You can be honest, I can take it."

"You can fool everyone else, but not me," you said, knowing he understood. Suddenly, the world seemed to stop. You were both so deeply in love, but equally as in denial, refusing to show it. It felt like you were towing the line.

Lando felt his heart skip a beat as you saw through his façade. He knew exactly what you were insinuating. His mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions – the weight of his disappointment, his desire to win, and now, the overwhelming feelings of love for you. In that moment, it was undeniable. He looked at you, his eyes holding your gaze for a brief moment before looking downward with a mix of fear and vulnerability.

"I’m sorry you’re hurting and that no one else around you can see it," you said softly, your own pain evident in your voice. "But I can’t comfort you." You wanted to say "I love you," but the words stuck in your throat.

Instead you said, "I can’t make my moment about you."

Lando nodded, his expression softening with complete understanding. He appreciated your empathy and knew he couldn't expect you to shift the focus from your victory. “I know,” he responded gently. “And I don’t want you to. This is your moment, and I’m happy for you. You deserve all the celebration in the world right now.”

“Just...” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “Just because I might not show it, don’t think I don’t notice. I see everything you’re going through.” “Because I love you,", the words echoed in your mind.

Lando's eyes met yours, filled with unspoken understanding. “I know,” he whispered, his voice heavy with vulnerability. “I know you do. And I notice everything about you too. Maybe one day we won’t have to pretend anymore.”

Your breath caught, and you stared at him, the weight of your unspoken emotions hanging in the air. It was a moment that felt almost cinematic, full of intensity and unvoiced feelings. You cleared your throat, trying to shift the focus. “About the race, right! Yeah, um. One day we won’t have to pretend to be happy when we’re upset about losing a race.”

Your heart ached. You wondered if he meant one day you wouldn’t have to pretend that you didn’t love each other. If only you knew you were right. The double meaning of your words felt heavy.

Lando nodded, sensing the depth of your hidden conversation. The tension between you was palpable, but you both knew you couldn’t act on it now. There were too many eyes watching, too many expectations. “Right,” he echoed, his voice tinged with vulnerability. “One day. But for now, we have to focus on the present. And right now, that means celebrating your incredible win.”

“...Or, not celebrating, if you don’t want to. I get it.”

Lando shook his head, a bittersweet smile forming on his lips. “No, no. I want to celebrate. I may be disappointed, but I’m also genuinely happy for you. You worked your ass off for this, and you absolutely deserve it. I’ll be there, cheering as loud and as proud as anyone else.”

The moment faded away, another one locked in a vault that you would probably never have the bravery to reopen. Lando quickly composed himself, returning to his usual self, though a hint of your emotional connection still lingered in the air. “Alright, then it’s settled. You go out there, and we’ll enjoy the celebration. You’ve earned it. We’ll talk more later, yeah?”

"Lan-" you stopped him, all of your love on full display in your eyes.

Lando stopped in his tracks as you called his name, turning to face you. The look in your eyes was undeniable, filled with unspoken emotions. His heart clenched as he met your gaze, the unspoken love and understanding between you stronger than ever. It was as if the world had frozen for a moment, leaving you standing in a private bubble of your intense connection.

“Yes?” he whispered, his voice filled with anticipation and vulnerability. He knew what you were trying to say without speaking aloud. He felt it too. But he couldn’t be the one to break the boundaries you had set. It had to be you.

"I love you," you said in your mind. Instead, you uttered, "Um, enjoy your... evening?"

Lando felt a pang in his heart as you hesitated to say what you both knew was true. He could read the words in your eyes, even if you didn’t say them. But he understood why you couldn’t. Not yet. He knew in his heart that he loved you just as fiercely, but you were both scared of the ramifications. Instead, he gave you a bittersweet smile. “Thanks. You too. Enjoy the party. You deserve all the celebration.”

Your heart broke.

Lando reached out, his hand briefly resting on your arm in a silent gesture of connection. But words were pointless. You both knew how deep your feelings ran. It was something you’d have to address another time. “We’ll talk more soon, okay?” he said softly, his eyes full of emotion.

"About what?" you let your helplessness about your feelings slip out and instantly regretted it.

Lando’s breath hitched as you let your frustration slip out. He knew exactly what you were referring to, but you both knew now wasn’t the time to discuss it. You were surrounded by people, cameras, and the pressure of your careers. “You know what,” he said softly, his voice tinged with regret. “Just… just be careful, yeah? Make sure you’re taking care of yourself amidst all this chaos.”

Your heart hurt.

Lando could feel your pain in his chest. He longed to hold you, to comfort you, but you were trapped in your own cage of circumstances. You both knew the power of your feelings for each other and how risky it would be to give in. “Look… I know it’s tough,” he said quietly. “But we have to be smart about this.”

Your breath hitched, and your heart raced. He wasn’t pretending right now. "Can we just-" you stopped yourself, your heart so heavy it might give out. "Just for one day? Can we pretend the world doesn’t exist?" you whispered. Your heart physically hurt from how much you needed but couldn’t have him.

Lando’s heart leapt in his chest at your hushed words, a flicker of hope igniting within him. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like if you could cast aside all your worries and fears and simply be together in the way you both longed for. But as quickly as the hope flared, the weight of your reality crashed back down around you. He sighed, his voice filled with sadness.

“We can’t, love.”

Your heart broke. Shattered. It wasn’t elegant. He could see the shards and blood and pain in your expression, and he hated that he caused it. There was no hiding it; your eyes always told him what he needed to know.

You nodded as you walked away.

Lando stood there, his heart throbbing with anguish. He watched you walk away, the pain in his chest growing with each step you took. The weight of your unspoken emotions hung heavily in the air, creating an almost suffocating atmosphere. He felt frozen in place, wishing he could take back the words that had broken both your hearts.

lmk if you want a part 2!! (it’s already written and super fluffy, but i cant decide if i should post it. spoiler alert: they get their happy ending)

reblogs are appreciated as i just made this blog! <3

491 notes · View notes