#like maybe before the weekend if i can get into the flow

[gregmarriage]

not me just minding my own business, catching up on gmm and then i get a ad with mattmac in it, like um, hello tom wambs, how are you? imaooooooo

[5sospenguinqueen]

Forgetful Flirtation - Toto Wolff x Wife! Reader

Summary: A heavy celebration leads to a husband forgetting his wife. And a team who won't let him forget it.

Warnings: Fluff. Swearing. Slight age gap.

Requested: Yes by anon.

F1 Masterlist

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mercedesamgf1 just posted

liked by kimi.antonelli, valterribottas and others

mercedesamgf1 LEWIS HAMILTON WINS THE BRITISH GRAND PRIX 🇬🇧

13,331 comments

totowolff you did us proud. you deserved this, lewis. enjoy 

landonorris congrats mate

yn_wolff oh, lewis, what an amazing drive. well deserved. i’m so happy for you 

→ mercedesamgf1 we can confirm that she cried 

→ lewishamilton 🫶🏾

pierregasly congrats champ! 

roscoelovescoco well’s done’s dad’s 

→ yn_wolff it was the luck of roscoe in the garage. maybe we should have him every weekend

→ mercedesamgf1 we agree

georgerussell63 you deserve it, mate 🍾 i’ll buy you a round later

→ user1 are they going out together later?

→ user2 wouldn’t surprise me if the whole team celebrated this win

yn_wolff just posted

liked by iamrebeccad, carmenmmundt and others

yn_wolff team dinner to celebrate hubby’s, and especially lewis’, success 

3,644 comments 

totowolff meine schöne frau

→ yn_wolff i love you

francisca.cgomes oh okay so we’re dressing hot tonight?

→ yn_wolff i know you’re complimenting me but don’t make it sound like we didn’t compare outfits for tonight. you even know what kind of underwear i’m wearing! 

→ francisca.cgomes i enjoyed those pictures 

→ pierregasly pardon?

→ user3 yn is such a girl’s girl 

user4 that hand placement though 🤤

→ user5 she’s really not good for toto’s reputation

→ user6 she’s making it look like he’s groping her

→ user7 can you blame him? look at her. she’s hot liked by yn_wolff

user8 um, anyone else find it really unprofessional that she’s publicly admitting to sending images of her underwear to people?

→ francisca.cgomes one person, and i’m her friend?

→ user8 it just reflects badly on her husband who has an image to maintain 

→ totowolff no, it doesn’t. she is her own person

user9 unlike you crying bitches, i love that toto is married to someone slightly younger so that we get this content 

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Weaving through the throng of bodies, you scowled as you dodged another couple gyrating against each other near the entrance to the VIP section. Your glass was empty and your shoes kept sticking to the floor, tacky from a cocktail of spilled drinks. Scanning the crowd, you scowled as you made your way over to the bar. How was it possible to lose a 6’5 billionaire in a crowd of shorter drivers?

Gesturing wildly to a crowd of people, the man of the day caught your eye and you hurried over to him. 

“Lewis, have you seen Toto anywhere? I can’t find him.” You nibbled anxiously at your bottom lip. 

“Last I saw, he was with Bono asking the DJ to play 80s music,” laughed Lewis, recalling the image of his team principal and engineer swaying together, a feather boa draped across the pair of them. 

You thanked him before turning and continuing on your crusade. All around you, familiar faces were wrapped around their partner’s (or women they had just met), dancing to the music or whispering in their ears. Alcohol had been flowing freely for the past three hours and the majority of the people in the club were more than inebriated. The hours had passed and you were ready for a warm shower and for your husband to tuck you into bed. Yet, he had decided to elude you.

Toto’s dress shirt hung loosely off your frame, having been draped around you earlier whilst you stood outside for some fresh air. You had simply rubbed a hand down your arm, trying to dispel the goosebumps that appeared, and there he was, bundling you up. That had been an hour ago and you hadn’t seen him since. Inhaling deeply, his scent surrounded you. The only comfort you had as you began to wonder whether he’d left you here in his drunken state.

Lando was up on the platform flapping his arms in a dramatic manner and messing around with the decks, directing you to where you thought you’d spotted a tall figure shrouded in the shadows. 

“Yn!” Bono greeted, beaming at you through the pink feathers enveloping his face. 

“Having a good night, Bono?” You asked, smiling at the sight of him. “Toto, I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” 

“Well, hello there,” your husband drawled, peering down at you with a heated gaze. “Come here often?” 

“What?” You laughed, leaning closer to hear him over the music. Surely you had misheard. 

“I would’ve remembered seeing a woman as beautiful as you before.” 

Beside you, Bono was shaking with silent laughter, gesturing wildly at someone in the distance. Probably summoning more people to bear witness to the peculiarity happening before you. Sidling up to him, you wrapped a hand around his bicep under the guise of stabilising yourself. You felt the muscle under your hand flex.

“Careful, Mr Wolff. If you keep being nice to me, I might have to take you home.”

His arms wrapped around your lower back, pulling you close against him. A heart stopping smile filled his face. “I don’t think I’d object to that. I would, however, like your name first.” 

“Is he being serious?” Somebody whispered behind you, earning a wave of raucous laughter from the Mercedes team that had gathered. 

“You smell nice.” Toto continued, nose nuzzling into the ticklish spot under your ear. You arched against his touch. He may not remember your marriage certificate but he clearly knew where best to tease you. 

Running your fingers down his arm, you grabbed his left hand, tracing circles across the back of it. His wedding ring - part of a matching set - glistened in the strobe lighting. Fiddling with his fingers, you raised your hand up to your face, pulling it into his periphery. You twisted the band around his finger, letting it catch the light and his eye. 

“I’m sorry but I don’t date married men.”

You dropped your husband’s hand, sliding out from his hold. Turning away from him, you snaked through the crowd and away from him. Dazed, Toto looked at his left hand in bewilderment. He slid the band off his finger, looking at the date engraved inside. Opposite him, his team continued to cackle at his misfortune. He was in so much trouble tomorrow. 

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yn_wolff added to her story

liked by mercedesamgf1, francisca.cgomes and others

georgerussell63 replied to slide 2 at least he remembers you there → yn_wolff you keep teasing him about that and you might seriously find yourself without a seat next season → georgerussell63 don’t say that. i know you’d protect me  → yn_wolff don’t push your luck → i’ll see you for dinner on thursday though? → georgerussell63 wouldn’t miss it

francisca.cgomes replied to slide 3 how are you awake enough to do all that? → i feel like i’ve died. pierre keeps bringing me cups of tea but i can’t even lift my head to drink them  → yn_wolff tbf, kiks, you drank far more than i did 😂 → plus toto has been doing everything for me despite looking like death himself → i think he feels bad for forgetting i was his wife → francisca.cgomes at least you know even drunk you’re the only woman he wants? 

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mercedesamgf1 just posted

liked by georgerussell63, landonorris and others

mercedesamgf1 the silver arrows know how to party

4,463 comments

georgerussell63 yeah and our team principal knows how to forget his wife 

→ totowolff george, would you like to stay with mercedes next season?

→ yn_wolff don’t threaten your drivers online, dear

→ georgerussell63 i’m only speaking the truth

→ user10 george, you don’t look like you were in any state to remember things either

yn_wolff can somebody blow that photo up and print it off for me. i think i need it in my bedroom

→ user11 you get to go home with the real thing, leave the photo for us 

→ yn_wolff i almost didn’t

→ totowolff not you as well, liebling

→ user12 what does this mean? 

lewishamilton hell of a party 

pierregasly maybe don’t let your team principal join next time

alex_albon happy wife happy life probably isn’t working for toto right now 

maxverstappen1 i think we should get toto drunk before race weekends, maybe he’ll forget his strategies 

→ user13 what does this mean? let us innnnn

totowolff i’ll be speaking to all your team principals tomorrow about your behaviour 

→ charles_leclerc yes, dad 

→ landonorris oh, no. now we’ve done it 

→ georgerussell63 who do you talk to about mine?

yn_wolff you forgot your wife, mein herz, i don’t think your scary boss act is going to work today 

→ user14 he did what?!

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Requests open for smau's

Tag list

@peachiicherries @rosecentury @c-losur3 @heavy-vettel @evie-119 @raizelchrysanderoctavius

[xo100]

Airport - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary: Lando Norris offers a woman, who missed her flight, a ride on his private jet to Monaco. They bond over light conversation and flirting, leaving with the possibility of seeing each other again.

*:･ﾟ Word count: 1323

୨ৎ

The race weekend had been long, grueling, and filled with adrenaline. Lando Norris was ready to head back to Monaco, to the comfort of his own home where the sound of engines could be swapped for the quiet of the Mediterranean breeze. As he made his way through the airport, sunglasses perched on his nose and his cap pulled low, he weaved his way through the flow of people without drawing too much attention to himself.

It wasn’t until he neared the private terminal that he noticed something out of the ordinary: a young woman standing near the gate of a commercial flight to Monaco, her expression a mix of frustration and panic. Lando slowed his steps, curiosity piqued. She stood there, gazing hopelessly at the closed gate, gripping her passport tightly. Her bags were tossed haphazardly by her feet as though she’d raced through the airport only to fall seconds short of making it to her flight.

The sharpness of disappointment etched on her face was all too familiar. He’d been in similar situations before, dashing through airports, missing flights by mere moments. Only, she didn’t seem to have the luxury of a private jet waiting just down the hall like he did.

Lando hesitated. He didn’t know her story, but something about the way she stood there, looking so defeated, tugged at him. He glanced at his watch. His jet was leaving soon, but he still had time. And, well, maybe this wouldn’t be the worst idea. What was the harm in offering a bit of help?

He pulled his cap down a little further and crossed the distance between them, moving casually as though he were just another traveler making his way to his flight.

“Missed your flight?” he asked, his voice light but laced with concern.

She turned to look at him, startled at first, then quickly took him in—cap, sunglasses, and all. Recognition flickered in her eyes, but it wasn’t overwhelming. Just a flicker.

“Yeah,” she breathed out with a weak chuckle. “By about three minutes. They wouldn’t let me through even though the plane is still sitting there.”

“That’s tough,” Lando said, giving her a sympathetic smile. “Where you heading?”

“Monaco,” she said with a shrug, though it seemed like a more resigned gesture. “Guess I’ll have to wait for the next one.”

Lando nodded, glancing around the terminal. The airport was buzzing with the usual chaos, and he could see the stress rolling off her shoulders. He thought for a second, then made a split decision. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“I’m heading there too,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets. “I’ve got a private jet leaving soon. If you want, you can take the flight with me.”

Her eyebrows shot up, and her lips parted slightly, a mixture of surprise and hesitation crossing her features.

“A private jet?” she asked, a little skeptical. “Isn’t that...a bit much?”

Lando laughed softly. “Maybe, but I’ve got plenty of room. Plus, you look like you could use a break from airport stress. I promise it’s less chaotic than commercial flights.”

She blinked, clearly processing his offer. The idea of getting onto a private jet with a guy she just met—even if he was Lando Norris—probably wasn’t something she had expected when she woke up that morning.

“That’s...really kind of you,” she said after a moment, her voice soft. “But I couldn’t—“

“Sure you can,” he interrupted, his tone teasing but warm. “Think of it as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. You miss your flight, and instead of waiting around, you get to fly in style. How often does that happen?”

She laughed at that, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “When you put it like that…”

Lando grinned, taking her hesitation as a positive sign. “C’mon, what’s the worst that could happen? You get to Monaco an hour earlier, and we both get some company for the flight. No need to sit around waiting for the next one.”

She looked at him again, weighing her options. He could see the internal debate playing out in her eyes—logic versus the sheer spontaneity of his offer. Finally, she sighed, her lips curling into a tentative smile.

“Alright,” she said, running a hand through her hair. “Why not? But I’ll warn you, I might be a terrible conversationalist after the day I’ve had.”

“That’s okay,” Lando replied with a wink. “I’m known to talk enough for two.”

With that, he grabbed one of her bags effortlessly, motioning for her to follow him toward the private terminal. She trailed behind, still looking a little shell-shocked, but there was something about the ease of his manner that made her feel less anxious about the whole thing.

As they walked, Lando kept the conversation light, asking her about her trip and how she ended up almost missing her flight. She shared a story about how her taxi had gotten stuck in traffic, the minutes ticking away as she helplessly watched the airport get closer and closer. Lando laughed, offering a few of his own travel horror stories in return. By the time they reached the sleek jet waiting on the tarmac, the mood between them was light and comfortable.

-

“You weren’t kidding,” she muttered as they approached the aircraft, eyes wide as she took it all in. “This is...wow.”

Lando chuckled and waved a hand. “It’s not bad, right?”

They climbed aboard, and soon enough, they were airborne. The hum of the engines was soothing, and the view of the clouds stretching out below them was a peaceful contrast to the chaos of the airport they’d left behind.

“You know,” she said after a while, leaning back in her plush seat, “I still can’t believe I’m on a private jet with you. This feels surreal.”

Lando smirked, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. “Trust me, I’ve been in a lot of surreal situations lately. This one’s pretty tame.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “I guess that’s fair. Monaco, huh? Do you live there?”

“Yeah, for a while now,” he replied, glancing out the window. “It’s a nice place to unwind after the craziness of race weekends.”

“I’ve always wanted to visit,” she admitted. “I mean, I’ve been through a few times, but never really had a chance to stay.”

“Well, maybe this is your chance,” he said, eyes twinkling. “What’s your plan once we get there?”

“I was supposed to meet a friend,” she said with a sigh. “But it’s not set in stone. What about you?”

“Just heading home,” Lando said, then added with a teasing grin, “But if you need a tour guide while you’re there, I might be available.”

She raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at her lips. “Are you offering to show me around Monaco, Lando?”

“Maybe,” he said, his grin widening. “Depends if you’re up for it.”

She laughed softly, glancing out the window again. “I might take you up on that.”

For the rest of the flight, the conversation flowed easily, peppered with light flirtation and comfortable silences. There was something so natural about it—like they’d known each other for longer than just a chance meeting in an airport.

As the jet began its descent toward Monaco, Lando glanced over at her, feeling a strange sense of contentment.

“Guess we’re almost there,” he said.

��Yeah,” she replied, though her tone held a hint of reluctance. “Thanks again for this, Lando. You really saved my day.”

He flashed her a playful grin. “Anytime. Maybe I’ll see you around Monaco.”

“Maybe,” she said with a smirk of her own. “But next time, let’s hope it’s under more normal circumstances.”

“Deal,” he replied with a wink.

As they stepped off the jet and into the warm Monaco air, Lando couldn’t help but think that maybe missing her flight had been the best thing that could’ve happened to either of them that day.

୨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, I hope y’all enjoyed! Remember requests are open if you would like to request something. Also question for you guys, is there someone who can help me with the link of the requests so I could put it in my masterlist? I don’t know where to find that link, DM me if you know.

[lovebugism]

shy!reader goes to the pool with Eddie and is too afraid to wear her swimsuit in front of him? Maybe she’s wearing clothes over her bikini/one piece and doesn’t want to undress at first because of her nerves lol

hope u like it! — you still get a little nervous showing your body, but eddie takes it all in stride (shy!fem!r, established relationship, cw for mentions of body insecurity, 1.1k)

Eddie’s rubber flip-flops are much too big on your feet. You fight to keep them on and match his longer strides at the same time. He leads you down the scenic trail of the Harrington vacation home with one hand curled intently around your own. He doesn’t seem phased by the dirt clinging to his bare feet.

“Think Steve’s folks will get mad if we skinny dip?” he jokes over his shoulder, wild curls billowing in the late afternoon wind.

You shrug. “I don’t think they own the lake, so…”

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” he scoffs.

“Me neither,” you concur with a quiet laugh.

A set of wooden steps lead off the trail and towards the shore. They creak under your weight, ancient and half-eroded with time. Eddie stands beside you on the dock, lips curled into a pink, lopsided smile. “Well, what they don’t know won’t hurt ‘em,” he quips before reaching for the hem of his shirt.

You giggle when he lifts the fabric up and over his head. His milky white torso is left on display for you, sprinkled with sparse hair and a couple of faded tattoos. His body is lanky and lean — stomach soft with gentle pudge where his happy trail begins. You couldn’t hide your leering if you wanted to.

“You’re crazy,” you say, still laughing.

“Crazy for you,” the boy croons. 

You watch him reach for the buttons of his jeans, fumbling with them for a moment. Your chest swirls with a strange, hollow feeling. “Wait— Are you serious?” you wonder with wide, glimmering eyes. You’ve never felt totally comfortable swimming in a bathing suit, let alone naked.

Eddie shrugs his freckled shoulders and tugs his jeans down his scruffy thighs. “Yeah. Why not?”

He’s left in his thin, plaid boxers now. He doesn’t seem nearly as fazed by it as you do. Heart thrumming like an anxious hummingbird, your eyes dart over your shoulder and back to him. “What if the others see?!”

“Then let ‘em see,” he chuckles, golden like the early setting sun. “Who cares?”

I care, you almost say, ‘cause you’re too pretty, and I’m not pretty enough. 

You swallow your loathing and instead reply, “Steve would never let you live it down if he caught you out here. You know that.”

Eddie’s bare feet pad against the creaking wooden dock. The sound is mostly drowned out by the waves ebbing and flowing beneath you. Nothing could hide the heavenly sound of his laughter, though. “What? That I’m skinnydipping with the prettiest girl in Indiana?” the boy retorts with a boyish chuckle. “I wouldn’t want him to let me live it down.”

You swallow hard, not swayed by the compliment. Your unsure gaze flits to your feet and the black sandals Eddie lent you on the way down. You see his paler, bare ones come into view just before his calloused palms smooth over your waist — above the oversized t-shirt you wear, which also belongs to the boy in front of you.

“I’m just… I’m just kidding, you know? About the skinnydipping thing,” Eddie assures you, suddenly serious and much quieter with it. His head ducks down to catch your falling gaze. His chocolate eyes sparkle beneath the yellow sun. His lips curl into a lopsided smile. “We don’t have to do it if it makes you uncomfortable. We never have to do anything you don’t want, you know that.”

You purse your lips to the side and think for a moment. You’re not nearly as at ease swimming naked as he is, but you’d be silly to turn down the opportunity to be alone with him. You have spent the entire weekend babysitting, after all.

“Can I keep my bathing suit on?” you wonder sheepishly.

Eddie scoffs. “Of course you can! You can do whatever you want, doll. I’m followin’ your lead here.”

He smacks a kiss to your lips, mouth tasting of nicotine, soda, and strawberries — like nostalgia and springtime.

“Can you turn around?”

Eddie meets your coy look with a wider smile. “Yeah. Sure,” he hums and steps back from you to spin on his heel. You know he’ll see you in your bathing suit before you step foot in the water, but you’ve always felt distinctly smothered by his gaze. You don’t feel half deserving of the adoration always swimming in the deep brown of them.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, you know?” he quips without looking at you.

“It’s different,” you insist, pulling your t-shirt up and over your head. You fold it neatly before setting it gingerly on the dock. You’re left in the pretty one-piece you thrifted before the trip — a floral number that dips low at the chest and ties into a bow at the back.

Eddie doesn’t really understand, but he figures he doesn’t have to. He’ll do whatever makes you most comfortable, no questions asked. “Sure,” he nods. “Can I look now?”

You hesitate for a reason you can’t name. You feel more at ease with Eddie than anyone else in the whole wide world — and besides the fact that he’s seen you in much, much less — you shouldn’t be as nervous as you are now.

“Yeah…” you waver.

Eddie peeks at you over his shoulder for a moment before turning to face you fully. His pink lips purse and a low whistle sounds between them. “Damn,” he mumbles.

You fight back a smile and look away from him, wringing your anxious hands into a knot. “Hush…”

“You’re a total smokeshow, baby.”

“Eddie!”

“Don’t know why you wanna hide from me so bad…” he teases lowly, gravitating towards you without thinking. His hands are warm and wide as they smooth over your sides. His palms curl around your lower back and idle there, fingers lingering just above your ass. “All I wanna do is look at you, and you won’t even let me…” he jokes, mostly serious, but with a playful pout on his lips.

Your arms cross between your bodies. You glare up at him with pretty doe eyes that swim with all the love you have for him. You couldn’t pretend to be annoyed if you tried. “It’s ‘cause you’re so nice…”

His brows raise and disappear behind his fluffy bangs. “You’re shy because I think you’re hot?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “It’s weird.”

“Maybe,” Eddie laughs. He figures it’s on-brand enough for him, as the resident freak and all. But loving you has never felt unnatural or strange. It feels normal, like an instinct he’s always had, something he’s always been destined to do. So he just tilts his pretty head and smiles sweetly down at you. “Can’t help it, though.”

[octoberautumnbox]

Orange-Tinted Sunset

Kiss of Life Belle & Male Reader

Categories/warnings: fluff, smut, angst, mentions of alcohol n bein drunk, technically not cheating but also sorta close enough idk u be the :jujj:

Word count: 2.6k

a/n: another prompt fic! based on kiof's Nothing i swear im on hiatus lmao but here it is! thanks to @mintwithchoco for prompt and hosting! as well as @sinswithpleasure for beta and @0cta9on for saying i was good at everything so i crode strove to prove em wrong lmao

~~~

The nightclub spun around you, the alcohol clouding your thinking and doubling your vision. A strange feeling set in–you really were a guppy in a small pond. Whatever roaring applause you got from the crowd after that impromptu karaoke bout was nothing compared to the girl that came next. You can’t even work up the energy to be mad; her voice is the single most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard, flowing through the air and filling up every silence in the world, and it doesn’t help one bit that everyone else thought so too.

Her name, just her name. You wouldn't mind going home with nothing to show for the whole weekend as long as you knew what she was called–you have to know. Against every single ounce of common sense you have left, you walk up to her, calling in every favor from the universe you’ve saved up until this point. “H-hey,” you stumble, clearly more nervous than you should be. 

She turns around, and as her hair settles onto her back, she replies, “Oh, hi. Can I help you?” Her smile lights up your world, and you gain confidence and lose it again just as quickly. She’s gorgeous too, and how could you live with yourself if you fucked up with a girl like this again? 

And you realize you’re staring. “Hi,” you start again, “sorry, I, uhh, you killed it up there. Best I've heard in a while.” Pardon yourself for the understatement; she was exceptional. Stop yourself from saying more; she’s probably already heard everything you want to tell her. 

All she does is giggle in response, and you swear you’re face-to-face with a goddess. You slip, so just fall deeper and remember to blame the alcohol later on, “I mean it. You’re like nothing I’ve heard before. Can I ask for your name?” 

Her face sours almost imperceptibly, but your nerves don’t let you miss it. She holds back a grimace, but ultimately, she replies, “It’s Belle. Sorry, is that all? I have to go soon.” She shifts in her chair, no doubt trying to escape the situation, and it dawns on you you might look worse than you feel. 

“Y-yeah, that’s all. I actually wanted to buy you a drink, maybe. One musician to another. You were amazing.” Your voice holds together for the most part, but it doesn’t change her demeanor. 

“Thank you, it’s just…” she hesitates, breathing deep, “whatever this is, I don’t want to get involved. You’re nice, but I just… I can’t handle anything else right now.” The discomfort leaves her features as a quiet sadness replaces it. You’re no expert, but even a dunce like you could tell she was tired more than anything else. 

“No worries, I respect it. I’ll leave you alone.” It’s strange how you feel the lightheadedness drifting away and your senses coming back, almost like you’ve saved up quite a bit of good karma to ground yourself like this. Debatable, but you still have enough sense in you to offer, “Here’s my number, no hard feelings if you throw it away. I at least wanna buy you some nachos tonight as thanks for that gorgeous song. Good night, Belle,” before paying for them and ultimately heading for the door, above all trying in vain to forget about her. 

~~~

It’s familiar in two ways, being hungover at noon, sitting in a restaurant too fancy for what you’d ever typically be found dead in. On one hand, it reminds you of one of the best days of your life–your beloved sat across from you in a simple floral sundress while you shared a brunch of French toast and orange juice. 

“Thanks for coming out,” Belle said in a tiny voice, “I'm sorry about last night. I want to get to know you better.” She offers you a pancake, and once you accept she deposits it onto your plate, followed by a just-right helping of maple syrup. 

You try to avoid sounding humble, but there’s no other way to put it. “There's not much to know, really. I just came here on a whim. Needed to get away from it all, broaden my horizons. Us singers just gotta, you know? If I didn't, I'd never have found you.” 

“I hear you. I'm here to take a step back too. Things became too much to handle recently,” she relates as she takes careful bites of her cereal. For the first time since last night, you see each other's eyes, and a kindred spirit in you pulls on your heartstrings. It's an unspoken pain that's anything but obvious, and yet you see it in each other as clear as day. 

“Fucking exes, right?” the pair of you say in unison. A hearty laugh escapes both of you, and afterwards the pancakes slide down a bit easier. 

Belle calms herself first, “So you get how I was last night. I'm sorry, none of it was your fault.” You offer her a napkin and pour her another cup of ginseng tea, which she sips with an ethereal sort of grace once she finishes talking.

“Of course. I'm sorry too,” you sigh, picking at your scrambled eggs, “but at least we're recovering. I'm actually itching to write a new song once my hangover clears.”

“Me too, it’s just so freeing to let my feelings out onto songs. Plus all it costs is a pen and paper–much cheaper than therapy,” she agrees.

On the other hand…

~~~

“Blue palm trees?” she giggles. “What does that mean?”

The waves lap idly at your feet, scattering sand over your toes and hers. The calming ocean breeze washes over the both of you and weakly ruffles the paper she easily holds.

“It's called a hook, Belle. It captures the audience's attention, you should know this shit” you jab, drawing out more of her laughter. “Just let me be, okay? I'm the one with the pencil.”

She settles again, “Okay, okay, fine,” and sits back up straight. Another wave washes the sand away from the tops of your feet, dragging them back to the depths of the sea. In a split-second of feeling the grains slide off your skin and away with the water, you feel deep inside that maybe it'll be easier to walk again. 

“You know,” she starts gently, “this isn't too bad. I came here determined to grow stronger, but I don't feel any different–just more of what I was before. And weirdly…” Belle pauses, taking a short glance at you, meeting your eyes.

You can't help it; she's just that beautiful. The orange-tinted sunset behind her offers her a halo of warmth and sincerity, and it captivates your whole being to be able to spend a moment like this again, when the world is just right, especially with her. The waterline reaches up to your soles once more, tickling the both of you and sprinkling new grains between your toes before drawing back and taking the old away. 

“... Weirdly,” you continue for her, “I'm okay with that.” Your eyes never leave hers, and she stays, too. It takes a moment of serenity for you to finally let yourself think that this might be something more, that maybe it wouldn’t be the end of the world to stay with a girl like her. 

It takes a moment of serenity for you, but it seems like forever in an instant. Memories rush back like the ocean soaks the shoreline, swapping old sand with new, but you could never, can never, tell the difference. It's the same grains washing your feet, slipping between your toes, embedding themselves in your life so well that random moments like this bring you to the past when you least expect it. It reminds you of a history you'd give anything to forget: walking on a beach like this with a girl you thought you'd spend the rest of your life with–to an extent, you still do. How could you fuck up with a girl like that?

~~~

It's the worst gamble the both of you could take, and deep inside you knew there was no winning this. You felt it in your bones, from the beach to the elevator up until before you burst through her door with her, but the feeling is gone now, and for sure it’s gone for her too.  

“Mmm, just like that,” she whispers straight into your ear. You swear you’ve never tasted anything as sweet as the sweat on her neck, so much so that you never want your lips to leave her. She pulls you closer as if she could, maybe only decreasingly aware that her back was up against the wall and that even grains of sand couldn’t breathe in the space between you two. 

It takes no time at all, and you find yourself laid back and vulnerable on her mattress. Belle towers over you, straddling to keep you in place, as if you’d go anywhere. In a flash her shirt leaves her, then her shorts, and finally her underwear haphazardly thrown to the floor. Your own clothes follow even less ceremoniously, letting nothing get in the way of the woman of your dreams. 

“Fuck, that’s good…” she says as she lowers herself onto your length. You relish in the feeling of sliding into her, pushing her walls apart all the while lewd confessions spill from her lips. Your hands find her hips and you grip her tight, guiding her up and down as she bounces on your cock, “You’re so fucking tight, Belle…” while she places her hands on your chest to support herself as she takes you inside her over and over again, “I can’t get enough of you… I need you so bad…” losing yourself in her love. 

It’s the simplest thing to grab her wrists like this, to throw her onto the bed and fuck her yourself. She hits the mattress with a quiet thud, and without even a moment of respite you force everything into her again. 

“Gnnhhh, shit, it’s so good, you’re so good…” she gasps and grunts with every thrust like it knocks the air out of her each time. The bed creaks under the two of you: she tries to pull you close again, so you indulge her and meet her where she is to kiss. Amidst your tongues dancing in each other’s mouths, she moans like her life depends on it, “Yes, yes, oh my god, yes–” 

It’s the easiest thing to get lost in a girl like her. She’s perfect in every way you can think of–a smile to die for, a heart to protect, a body to worship. Each moment you bottom out in her, a spark goes off between your lips and hers, and it only pulls you in deeper, pulls you away farther from where you are. There’s nothing else to think about when you’re with a girl like this except her name and the way her body feels on yours. It’s so dreadfully incessant, unceasing in your head, that you thank your lucky stars you’re able to hold back most of your moans: Yuna, Yuna, Yuna, “Yuna…”

~~~

The sun blazes through the window and straight onto your eyelids, jolting you awake. The bed creaks as you bounce slightly on the mattress, your mind rushing to find your bearings, when right beside you, Belle stirs but then promptly falls back asleep. 

A grave sense of guilt overtakes you, clawing from the pit of your stomach all the way up to the back of your throat. There's nothing to say to her, nothing to do, and you know it. How could you fuck up with a girl like this? 

Your phone's alarm rings on a far-off table. Rush over to it, careful but quick so Belle doesn't wake. You knock over an ottoman in the process, but you're able to turn it off in time. Then it hits you: your flight leaves in a couple hours. There's no more time to think–gather your clothes and rush back to your own hotel. 

“Hour and a half,” you think, “more than enough time to repack and go.” Your door crashes open and you heave your suitcase onto the bed, haphazardly throwing everything you own back into it. The zipper disagrees with you for a moment until you finally bend it to your will, albeit threatening its life in the process.

The cabbie drives as fast as he can legally go for you, apparently already knowing the protocol, and people and buildings whizz past in a giant blur. He drops you off soon enough, and with only minutes to spare and the gate calling you over the intercom, you board your plane. The cold of the seat comforts you and calms your nerves, and once the hurried energy leaves your body, all that's left is fatigue that demands to be addressed. 

You scarcely notice the window beside you beyond pulling it shut. The cushions aren't as comfy as your bedding from the night before, but you can't attempt to complain in a state like this. You don't even feel your train of thought slipping away…

~~~

You’ve put it off long enough, the anxiety rending the lining of your stomach. In between your own calls and texts to Yuna you find yourself on the receiving end of the restlessness of your endlessly repeating ringtone and text notifications. You wait another few seconds to make sure she’s done, even tossing your phone onto your old bed to fetch a glass of water, before picking it back up and seeing the same number of messages. It's time. 

hey, where'd you go? Belle, 8:46 AM

it's a nice song, I'll send it over in a bit. call me? Belle, 8:50 AM

I'm at the restaurant again lol come on over Belle, 9:02 AM

you're really gonna make me miss you huh? hahaha Belle, 9:33 AM

*2 missed calls*

this isn't funny. pick up Belle, 10:14 AM

*2 missed calls*

you're serious? so last night was nothing to you? Belle, 11:15 AM

*1 missed call*

wow, what a fucking piece of shit you are Belle, 11:17 AM

*4 missed calls*

is it something i said?  Belle, 2:46 PM

let's just talk Belle, 3:30 PM

*2 missed calls*

just tell me what I did wrong please, I told you I can't handle this Belle, 3:37 PM

*8 missed calls*

don't do this to me Belle, 5:47 PM

*1 missed call*

fine asshole i don’t need you and fuck your song. Belle, 7:15 PM

don’t ever call me. Belle, 8:40 PM

The screen dims under your command. Your phone flies off into the folds of your bed once more, granting you your last moment of control. Belle finally stopped, and Yuna never made herself heard. At least one of you moved on.

You stand in your cold, empty bedroom, in the same dingy apartment you tried leaving behind. The same torn-up pages are scattered across the floor, the same stains on the carpet are there to step around, the same picture framed flipped down to hide the old photograph inside like grains of sand getting swept back up to you no matter how hard you try washing them away.

“It's another bottle tonight,” you decide in no time at all. Pull a cold one from the fridge, ignore the other bottles strewn across the room, take a seat at your desk. The lamp buzzes to life, and another sheet finds itself under your pen. 

They never meet. 

~~~

[021894s]

— 10 the wedding [4.9k w]

MASTERLIST | PREV | NEXT

PAIRING: brothers bsf! sunghoon x f!reader

WARNINGS: cussing, unprotected sex, oral sex (f and m receiving) MDNI!!!!

AUTHORS NOTE: ITS FINALLY HEREEE, the turning point in the story hehe hope you all enjoy. likes and reblogs appreciated <3 HEAVY ON THE MDNI PLEASE

As you and Sunghoon step foot in Japan, excitement fills the air. You make your way to the hotel, the both of you in the back of a cab enjoying the scenic views of Osaka. light conversation flows between sunghoon and the cab driver while you lean your head against the window, trying your best not to fall asleep.

when you finally arrive at the hotel, you tiredly make your way to the back of the car to grab your suitcase, though sunghoon beats you to it, grabbing both yours and his, giving you a tired smile “i got it”. you reciprocate his smile and mutter a small thanks, admiring his gentlemanly gesture.

you both make your way to the check in at the lobby. “I only have one room available, double bed if that’s ok?” the receptionist tells you. you and sunghoon look at each other and he shrugs. “that’s fine, thank you” you take the room key and sunghoon leads the way, still pushing both of your suitcases towards your designated room.

sunghoon opens the door and as you both enter your eyes widen in realization. "maybe when she said double bed she meant one bed meant for two…” you state as you stare at the one bed. he looks at you “indeed there is one bed… i’ll take the couch” you look over to said couch, there was absolutely no way sunghoon’s large self was going to fit on the tiny little couch in the corner. hell you probably didn’t even fit.

“no we can share the bed it’s fine” you tell him, too tired to even think about the possible consequences of being so close in proximity to your “boyfriend” for the weekend. “are you sure? i’ll be fine on the couch” he furrows his brows, genuinely questioning whether you’re okay with it. “sunghoon im sorry but you do not fit on that tiny ass couch” he chuckles “ok, bed it is then”.

you both begin to settle in, going about your night routines. You shower first, doing your extensive skin care routine and changing into a more comfortable outfit. You have to admit your pajamas were a tiny bit skimpy and definitely not appropriate for your current situation but you didn’t think you’d be sharing a room, much less a bed.

when you’re done getting settled, you pull down the cover and climb in to the big white comfy bed. you hear the shower turn off, the bathroom door slightly ajar. curiosity takes over and you slightly peek through the door, catching sight in sunghoon in nothing but a white hotel towel wrapped around his waist. you stare at his large muscular form for a couple of seconds but look away once you feel the heat creeping up on your face. “get it together y/n” you mutter to yourself.

you place a pillow between you as a barrier. It's a cliché move, but it makes you feel more at ease. when sunghoon comes out of the bathroom dressed (thank god) he chuckles at the pillow in between your spots. he lifts the covers, pausing in his tracks once he sees what you’re wearing, a pink silky tank top and shorts that sends a shiver down his spine. he quickly pulls the covers over his body, shaking those not so innocent thoughts out of his head. you exchange a few words, wishing each other goodnight, before drifting off to sleep.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

The next morning, as the sunlight gently streams into the room, you stir awake. you feel an unusual weight around your waist. confusion fills your mind, slightly lifting the covers only to realize sunghoon had complete disregarded the barrier and inched as close to you as possible during his sleep.

you turn your head to face him, he looks so peaceful and you can’t help but admire his perfectly sculpted face. his perfect bushy eyebrows, his long lashes, and the tiny moles that were so gracefully scattered in the most precise places. you quickly catch yourself in your own thoughts, carefully slipping out of sunghoon's embrace.

you head toward the bathroom, deciding to get ready for the day. today was the you had been dreading. jeno’s wedding. in all honesty you were more nervous about your situation with sunghoon rather than being in attendance at your first loves wedding. there’s just so many things that can go wrong. you just wish luck was on your side.

you finish your makeup, opting for a more natural, pinky look when you hear Sunghoon yawn. you peak your head out the bathroom and see him stretching, clearly unaware of how he held you during the night. "Morning, how’d you sleep?" he asks, his eyes still filled with sleep.

“pretty good, you?” “this bed is so fucking comfortable” he answers throwing himself back down, staring at the ceiling. “and you wanted to sleep on that fuckass couch” you laugh. “listen I am a gentleman and there was no way I was sharing the bed if you felt uncomfortable” “well i appreciate it, I also thought the bed was pretty fucking comfortable” you both laugh and he begins to pull the covers off his body so he can join you in getting ready for the day.

“any plans before the wedding?” he approaches the sink, grabbing his toothbrush. “uh I was thinking of going to the beach… if you wanna tag along” you avoid contact, trying to avoid how domestic this all feels. “yeah maybe we can grab lunch at that little restaurant we saw yesterday” he asks still in the process of brushing his teeth. “sounds good to me”.

after your plans are set in place, he stares at you for what feels forever. it makes you nervous “w-what?”, “i kinda need to change, would you mind… getting out?” “OH YEAH sorry, i’ll be over there… waiting… take your time” you quickly leave the restroom and miss the way he smiles at your actions.

you take advantage of the little time you have alone and change into an outfit more suitable for the beach. you opt for a lovely two piece with a white top and matching skirt. you’re in the middle of pulling up your hair into a half up half down style when sunghoon comes out of the bathroom wearing a white button up, the sleeves rolled up showing off his impressive forearms, and black pants. Sunghoon was amongst the small population of men who actually had a sense of fashion.

you glance back at him through the mirror, quickly looking away when your eyes meet. he found the way you were so nervous around him so fucking cute. you had always been so outspoken and outgoing so seeing you slowly fall apart at his presence was something he liked a lot more than he should. “ready to go?” he asks once he shakes all those thoughts off. “yeah” you reply while gathering your stuff into your cute shoulder bag, and out the door you were.

•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

You both decide to take a walk along the beach, enjoying the sun and the sound of crashing waves. As you lay on your towel, soaking in the warmth, you couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment. Sunghoon sat next to you, his camera in hand, capturing the beauty of the ocean and the clear blue sky.

"can I take a picture of you?" Sunghoon asked, his eyes soft and warm.

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks as you nodded, feeling a strange mix of embarrassment and excitement. Sunghoon snapped a few shots, his gaze lingering on you a little longer than necessary. It all felt so domestic, so intimate, and you hated how much you liked it.

After spending some time at the beach, you and Sunghoon decided to grab lunch at a nearby restaurant. As you waited for your food, you engaged in light conversation, talking about anything and everything.

"Are you nervous about Jenos' wedding?" Sunghoon asked, his eyes searching yours.

You shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips. "Not really. I'm more nervous about our little scheme and it getting back to Heeseung somehow."

Sunghoon chuckled, his gaze never leaving yours. "don't worry, he won’t find out. And if it helps, I'm not nervous at all."

His words sent a flutter of warmth through your chest, and you couldn't help but feel a little giddy. Sunghoon was always so charming, so effortlessly smooth, and it made your head spin.

As you and Sunghoon were engrossed in your conversation, a waitress approached your table, checking in to see if everything was okay. She smiled warmly at the two of you before her eyes lingered a little longer than necessary, a knowing look in her gaze.

"You two make such a cute couple," the waitress commented, causing you to sputter in surprise.

"Oh, we're not together," you quickly clarified, feeling a rush of embarrassment wash over you.

The waitress raised an eyebrow, a playful smile on her lips. "Well, you should be. You both would look great together."

Sunghoon glanced at you with a small smirk before turning back to the waitress. "Well, thank you," he said, a hint of amusement in his tone.

You felt your cheeks flush with heat, a mix of embarrassment and flustered emotions swirling inside you. Sunghoon thought it was cute, and you couldn't help but feel a flutter of warmth in your chest at his reaction.

The rest of the meal passed in a haze of laughter and stolen glances, the memory of the waitress's comment lingering in the air between you and Sunghoon. And as you left the restaurant, you walked side by side back to the hotel in a comfortable silence, the both of you mentally preparing for the act you’ll have to put on later.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

back at the hotel, you stepped out of the bathroom, ready for Jenos' wedding, Sunghoon couldn't help but feel a pang of admiration at the sight of you. The black dress with a floral pattern hugged your curves in all the right places, the open back and off-the-shoulder design adding a touch of elegance to your ensemble. Your hair was styled beautifully, and your makeup was done to perfection, enhancing your natural beauty.

Sunghoon had seen the dress on you before, after all he’s the once who bought it for you when you went shopping for the occasion, but with your hair and makeup all done up, it was like seeing you in a whole new light. It was hard not to admire how the dress accentuated your body and how soft your skin looked. He had to remind himself that his best friend would not appreciate him ogling his little sister.

"You look stunning," Sunghoon complimented, his gaze lingering on you.

You blushed, a shy smile gracing your lips. "Thank you. You look pretty handsome yourself," you returned the compliment.

Sunghoon was dressed in a three-piece suit, but he had opted to leave the button-up shirt behind, wearing only a leather vest under his blazer, which showed off his chest and his fancy Tiffany necklace. He thanked you for the compliment, his eyes soft and warm.

As you both got ready to head out for the wedding, Sunghoon brought up the plan, wanting to make sure you were completely okay with it and didn't want to back out before it was too late. You reassured him that everything was fine and that you were comfortable with him by your side.

The car ride to the wedding was filled with a whirlwind of emotions and feelings for you. You tried to prepare yourself for what was to come, knowing that the night ahead would bring about a mix of nostalgia, longing, and perhaps even a hint of uncertainty. But with Sunghoon by your side, you felt a sense of calm and reassurance that helped ease your nerves.

you and sunghoon approached the wedding venue, the tension in the air was palpable. Sunghoon immediately sprang into action, going around the car to open the door for you. His hand extended to help you out of the car, and before you knew it, his arm was wrapped around your waist, pulling you close. You could feel the heat of his touch through your dress, and his lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, "Are you ready?"

The intimacy of the moment caught you off guard, and you couldn't help but be surprised by Sunghoon's commitment to the act. You replied with a soft, "More ready than I'll ever be," feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement building in the pit of your stomach.

As you entered the venue, you were greeted by the sight of beautiful decor and flowers adorning every inch of the room. Sunghoon's large hand remained firmly on your waist, guiding you through the crowd with ease. He seemed to be the most comfortable and relaxed, his confidence shining through in his actions.

When it came time to take your seats, you were unsure of where to sit, on the groom's side or the bride's side. Sunghoon made the decision, choosing to sit on the bride's side. You couldn't help but wonder if his choice was strategic, positioning you both in a way that Jeno could see you. whether that was the case or not, you didn't mind one bit.

As you settled into your seats, Sunghoon gave you a warm smile and took your hand in his, lacing your fingers together and placing them on his lap. His eyes locked with yours, and you felt a rush of heat spread through you. You tried to focus on the decor and the guests in their best attire, but Sunghoon's presence was impossible to ignore.

You couldn't help but wonder if Sunghoon had previous experience in fake dating or if he had been preparing diligently for this moment. His ease and confidence in the situation left you both impressed and slightly flustered.

Your attention was soon drawn to the end of the aisle, where Jeno, your first and only love, began to make his way down. He greeted the guests, his eyes finding yours and then narrowing slightly as he saw Sunghoon sitting next to you, hand in hand. He seemed a bit confused. he dated you for years and was no stranger to the fact that heeseung was very protective over you. he found it a little strange that he’d be ok with his best friend dating you out of all people, but he had more important things to focus on as he made his way to the altar to marry the love of his life.

The ceremony began, and Jeno stood at the altar, surrounded by a variety of beautiful flowers, waiting for his bride to walk down the aisle. The weight of the situation settled on you, and you reminisce on your past relationship. thinking about how this could’ve been your wedding and you would’ve been the one walking down the isle in a beautiful white dress, marrying the love of your life.

music filled the air, signaling the bride's entrance, all the guests stood up in anticipation. The bride looked radiant in her white gown, gracefully making her way down the aisle, her eyes locked on Jeno. He looked so in love, looking at his wife to be the way he once looked at you. a pang of nostalgia hit you square in the chest. Sunghoon noticed your reaction and lightly squeezed your hand, offering a silent comfort.

"Are you okay?" Sunghoon whispered, concern evident in his voice.

"Yeah, just a little caught off guard," you replied, trying to push aside the wave of emotions.

The ceremony proceeded swiftly, with the exchange of vows and rings, culminating in the couple sealing their marriage with a kiss. You felt genuinely happy for Jeno, despite the past that lay between you. You knew that one day, you would also experience the joy of finding true love and sharing your life with someone special.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

After the ceremony, the guests moved to the cocktail hour, where friends and family mingled and caught up. Jeno and his wife made their way over to you and Sunghoon, and Jeno greeted you warmly, thanking you for coming. Sunghoon instinctively wrapped his arm around your waist as you exchanged pleasantries.

"Y/N! Long time no see. Thanks for coming," Jeno said with a smile.

"Yeah, thanks for the invite, and congratulations," you replied, trying to keep your composure.

you turn to sunghoon, introducing him "this is Sunghoon, my boyfriend," you added, gesturing the tall man.

Jeno shook Sunghoon's hand firmly. "Of course, how could I forget, Heeseung's best friend right?" Jeno said.

Sunghoon forced a smile. "that’s right. thanks for inviting us. congratulations”

“this is Karina, my wife” jeno introduces, “hi!! thank you so much for coming!” her bubbly personality and happiness doesn’t fail to radiate from her.

“so when did you two get together?” jeno asks, his tone full of curiosity. “um we-“ perhaps you should discussed this with sunghoon ahead of time. “-about six months ago, we always knew we had feelings for each other but of course heeseung was the reason we couldn’t act on it, but we’ve been happy, right, baby?” he presses his lips against your cheek and pulls away with a smile.

the pet name and the kiss, it was all too much and the shiver you felt down your spine at his words was one you wanted to feel over and over again. “yeah, it was hard in the beginning but i wouldn’t change anything about it” you reply looking over at sunghoon who’s gaze was already fixed on you.

“you two are such a cute couple! i expect an invite to your wedding too” karina says to both of you, effortlessly joining the conversation.

"Of course, whenever the day comes," you replied, feeling slightly flustered.

your conversation was short lived as the couple was whisked away by the photographer. you let out a deep breath that you didn’t even know you had been holding in. you turn to sunghoon once again, "Do you think they bought it?" you whispered.

"Yeah, but loosen up a bit. You're too nervous," Sunghoon advised, giving you a reassuring smile.

Taking his advice, you both took a sip of the champagne being served, letting the tension of the evening melt away as you embraced the role you were playing.

｡ ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

As the night progressed, you and Sunghoon mingled with the other guests, engaging in light conversations and enjoying the festivities. At one point, you excused yourself to touch up your lip gloss in the bathroom. When you emerged, you caught sight of one of the bridesmaids practically throwing herself at Sunghoon. jealousy surged through you, even though you knew he wasn't your real boyfriend. Blaming it on the alcohol coursing through your veins, you mustered up a boldness you didn't know you had and walked over to them.

"I'm back, baby," you said, pressing your lips to his in a light peck. Sunghoon was clearly caught off guard by your sudden display of affection.

"Who's this?" you asked, taking Sunghoon's arm and throwing it over your shoulder.

"I'm Winter," the bridesmaid responded with a hint of annoyance in her voice.

"Well, Winter, thanks for keeping my boyfriend company, but I'm back now. You can leave," you said, your tone direct and firm.

Winter rolled her eyes at you, turning to Sunghoon and giving him a flirty smile as she handed him a tiny piece of paper. "Call me if you get bored," she said with a wink before striding away.

You were clearly pissed off, snatching the paper from Sunghoon and crumpling it in your hand. "Fucking bitch," you muttered under your breath.

"What was that all about?" Sunghoon asked, confusion evident in his expression.

"Sorry, I think I'm a little drunk," you replied, trying to brush off the incident.

Sunghoon teased you about being jealous and playing into the role a little too well. However, in the back of his mind, he couldn't shake the feeling of the tingling sensation on his lips from the unexpected kiss. He grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing server, gulping it down in one sip, trying to distract himself from the swirling emotions that had been stirred up by the encounter. Sunghoon realized he was in trouble, and the evening was far from over.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

when you both had enough, you made your way back to the hotel, you and Sunghoon both lost count of how many drinks you had. The alcohol had blurred your senses, making everything feel a bit hazy and carefree.

"You look so sexy tonight," you whispered to Sunghoon, your inhibitions loosened by the effects of the drinks. "I'd be lying if you calling me 'baby' didn't turn me on."

Sunghoon's moral compass tried to reason with him, warning him that giving in to your advances might lead to regret in the morning. But the fog of alcohol clouded his judgment, and his desires began to outweigh his reservations.

"Yeah?" Sunghoon replied, his voice laced with a hint of desire.

“mhm” You scooted closer to him, cradling his face in your hands, the tension between you palpable. The atmosphere crackled with anticipation until finally, you both leaned in and shared a kiss. The moment was filled with a mix of longing and intoxication, the chemistry between you undeniable.

As the car pulled up to the hotel, you both hurriedly exited, continuing your intimate moment as you made your way to the elevator. The air between you was charged with electricity, your hearts racing with anticipation.

Once inside the elevator, the confined space only heightened the intensity of the moment. You and Sunghoon couldn't resist each other, and your make-out session continued, growing more heated with each passing moment.

When you finally reached your room, Sunghoon wraps his arms around your waist from behind, pressing kisses against your neck as you fumbled with the door, his growing length pressing against your backside. The desire between you was undeniable, and the night held the promise of passion and forbidden desires that neither of you could resist.

when you finally manage to get the door open, sunghoon eagerly urges you inside, closeing the door behind him as you turn around, pressing your lips to his once again, in a sloppy kiss.

sunghoon wasted no time in taking control of your body. He kissed you hungrily running his hands over your curves as he explored every inch of you. you moaned with pleasure as sunghoon’s fingers found their way to the zipper on the back of your dress. he pauses in his actions, looking at you through your hooded eyes, silently asking for permission to take off your dress, you nod and you could feel yourself getting wetter by the second.

"Fuck," sunghoon muttered under his breath, clearly enjoying himself. "You're so fucking hot." he lets out praises as he gently throws you on the bed, climbing on top.

you couldn't believe what was happening. you’d always been attracted to sunghoon, but you never thought it’d get to the point where the two of you were so desperate and needy for each others touch.

you push off his blazer, your fingers beginning to fumble with the buttons on the leather vest he had underneath. he grew impatient taking matters into his own hands and taking it off in record time. you pull him back down by his neck, pressing your lips to his once again.

his lips continue to trail down the valley of your breasts, soft moans coming out of you involuntarily. he uncalsps your bra expertly, engulfing your tit in his big hand, taking the other the other into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hardened bud. tiny gasps escape your lips, his attention diverting to you other breast.

he begins peppering kisses all the way down your body, feeling that heat pooling in your lower tummy as he gets closer and closer to where you need him most.

he teases you, leaving wet kisses on your thighs and right above the seam of your cute black lace panties. “h-hoonie don’t tease p-please” you manage to get out and fuck does that nickname make him even harder. “tell me what you want baby” he tells you in a whisper, looking up to find your eyes. “want your tongue” you tell him in response, eyes fill with lust and desire.

“yeah? my baby wants me to eat her pretty pussy?” his words make you let out a moan “fuck yes hoonie, n-ned your tongue”. without another word his fingers loop under the band of your panties, tugging them off in one smooth motion.

“fuck pretty you’re so wet for me” his tongue darted out, like a stripe up your slit, making you moan with pleasure, he savors the taste “knew you’d taste so fucking good” and with another lick, he’s plunging his tongue in your wet hole. your back arches and your fingers thread through his hair, lightly tugging, “yes hoonie, right there, keep going”.

his lips work their way up to the little bundle of nerves, sucking on your clit. he inserts his long finger, and then another, the combination make you see stars. “s-shit hoon im close” you moan out. at your words, he adds a third finger, stretching you open getting rougher with the way he was plunging his digits inside your wet cunt.

“cum for me pretty, let me hear you”.

a couple more pumps and you were coming undone on his fingers, letting out a pornographic moan. despite your orgasm washing over you, sunghoon continues to lick at your cunt, beginning to overstimulate you. as much as you love his tongue, you need to have his cock in your mouth.

you pull him by his shoulders, signaling for him to come up. he hovers over your body, pulling his lips to yours, you taste yourself on his tongue, his chin messy with your juices.

you use all your weight to flip him over, taking him by surprise as you straddle him. you kiss his lips once again, trailing down his neck and his muscular toned body. he’d been hiding these abs this whole time??? you quickly work on getting his pants off, pushing both his pants and boxers down in one go.

his thick, long cock springs out, slapping against his abdomen. you take it in your hand, wrapping it around his length while holding eye contact. he lets out a shuddery breath “s-shit baby, you don’t have to”. already knowing what you were planning to do.

you giving him an innocent look that drives him crazy, “it’s ok, i want to”. you stroke him a couple times before leaning down to lick his pink mushroom tip. a glob of salvia leaves your lips, mixing with his pre cum, coating his thick shaft.

he lets out a groan, his eyes fluttering shut and his arm going behind his head, meanwhile his other hand tangles through your hair, his grip somehow making you even hornier.

without warning, you take him into your warm mouth. swallowing his length and stroking what didn’t fit with your hand.

the sight was one he never thought he’d ever be seeing. the pleasure was all too much for him.

“fuck baby, you’re doing so good f’me”

you sucked and stroked sunghoon’s cock, your mouth and hand working in tandem to bring him to the brink of orgasm. sunghoon’s breathing grew shallow and quick, his hips thrusting forward as he fucked your mouth.

Just as sunghoon was about to cum, you pulled back, a smile on your face. you stood up, pressing your body against his, grinding your hips against his.

"not yet," you whispered in his ear. "I want you to come while i ride you”

climbing onto his lap, he almost came insistently at your words and lustful voice. “i need you inside me”

sunghoon grunted with pleasure as you grabbed him, aligning him with your entrance. you slid down his cock, your pussy tightening around him. He couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement at the feeling of your wet heat against his erection.

"Fuck, you feel good," he moaned, his hands gripping your hips as he thrust upward.

you gasped with each stroke, your body trembling with pleasure. you had never felt anything like this before, and you were loving every minute of it. “you’re s-so big”

"keep riding me like that baby," Sunghoon groaned, gripping you ass "I don't want to cum yet."

you followed his instructions, bouncing up and down on his cock as he continued to thrust upward. you could feel his cock growing thicker with each stroke, and you couldn't wait for him cum

"shit, you’re so fucking tight" Sunghoon grunted, losing control. “i’m so close baby, cum with me”

“i’m cumming” you shuddered with pleasure. “where do you want me to cum pretty?” “inside hoonie, n-need you inside, m’on the pill” within seconds you felt the warm liquid coating your walls.

"Fuck, you're amazing," Sunghoon breathed as he leaned up to kiss you.

you reciprocate his kiss, pulling his softening cock out of you as you collapse onto the bed next to him.

his arms instinctively wrap around you, his lips showering you in small neck kisses. the both of you too tired and in a haze to do any after care, the exhaustion kicks in and you both drift off to sleep, a mess of tangled limbs under the white covers.

you both didn’t know what you were in for the next morning, too caught up in the pleasure to realize that you’ve just made the biggest mistake.

｡ ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

taglist: @cornenhapovs @myjaeyuns @magssu @leeknowsgfsblog @luminouskalopsia @jentlecoeur @heeslut4life @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @jaeyungxrl @rapmonie2047 @anormieee @nishislcve @leesura @en-happiness @kimsunoops @heelariously @rikiwaify-blog @ihrtgyuuu @purennn @hoonharem @g0niki @hearts4itoshi @yongbokified @shuichi-sama @xiaoderrrr @hongshuaknow @skylaly @yzzyhee @jwnghyuns @seokseokjinkim @syzavxy @xrvrqs @soulvrs @velvetkisscs @ak-aa-li @eneiyri @starlvcieszsq @meowmeowjang @hanhaeji @moonlighthoon @gaylilseokie @seunghancore @heelovesmeknot @nyfwyeonjun @kookify

[munsster]

rockstar standards

A/N: PLS PLS PLS DROP SUGGESTIONS FOR HOCKEY STEVE/EDDIE im having a total brainfart but i need to break into the hockey au game bc i love it 😻 (gif creds: @cuntyarmand)

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader, 90s AU

Summary: Corroded Coffin starts to gain some traction, and you can't help feeling stranded. 1.5k words

Warnings: minor angst/hurt comfort, fluff, pining, pet names (bug, sweetheart, sweets, baby), jealousy, undressed cuddling,

You watch him parade around the stage every Friday night. Sometimes he's playing the home stage, other times he books random amphitheaters and dive bars. But today, he's drenched in purple light on the outskirts of Chicago. It's by far the biggest venue Corroded Coffin has played. You sit by the pop up bar, but bodies are packed like sardines in this place. It's hot and loud, but it's worth it to see him so elated.

Even through his streaky eyeliner, you can tell he's adoring the attention of the pit. You can see their red fingernails and shiny tank tops and free flowing hair. You never thought Eddie would be the kinda thing you were attracted to. You also know he's not the kinda guy to be attracted to something like you. You know guys like Eddie usually go for the Pam Andersons and Courtney Loves. The Party girls. Not the ones who have nothing better to do on a Saturday night than watch a romcom alone.

That Sunday, Eddie pulls onto your street. It's late and he has a ringing headache. He couldn't think of anything better to do after touching down in Hawkins again. You'd headed home the night before, and it made his gut wrench knowing he wouldn't get to see you the rest of the weekend.

Your door creaks open, and he's smiling on the other side. He's already leaning against your doorway with the bouquet he bought earlier from the woman selling them on the corner.

"Missed you, bug," he huffs, "Can I come in?"

You step aside without another word, and he hangs his leather jacket on the coat rack like always. Something feels off when he sits on the couch to find you're on the complete opposite side from him. Usually, you're not shy about cuddling up beside him to watch a movie or share snacks or just talk.

He frowns and scoots closer, leaning in to grab at your ankle playfully. You kick his hand away, brow set hard above your lethal glare.

"Sweetheart," he huffs, tilting his head in confusion, "What's going on? Where's my cuddlebug?"

"I dunno, somewhere in Hollywood?"

His eyes nearly pop out of his head at that. You're his favorite girl and you know that. So why're you grilling him now.

"Tell me what's goin' on. What did I miss?"

And you look serious, too. This isn't some running joke he missed out on while he was away. He's not sure who bruised your confidence, but he's sure he'd like to have a few words with them. He hates the way your lip wobbles and your eyes avoid him cause it gives you away. That's how he knows you're heartbroken.

"Eddie," you whine, swiping a hasty tear from your cheek. "I just don't know why you keep me around when you could have any of those girls at your bon vivant gigs."

"Fuck is that supposed to mean, bug?" He barks it out on accident, sitting back on his haunches with a scowl. "I'm sorry, but there's no way I'm gettin’ rid of you."

"Eddie, please... you're gonna make it big and get shipped off to Tinseltown, and I'll still be here, teddy. Probably being someone's lonely, suburban housewife. It's what I'm made for, and that's not what you want."

"You're wrong."

"And maybe you should go," you whisper, choking back a sob and standing from the couch.

"No, sweets, you're wrong," he says, standing and striding over to you, "You've got me wrong, and you've got you wrong."

You cross your arms over your chest and finally look him in the eye.

"'S that so?"

"Yeah," he tuts. And he has the most charming, most dastardly smile you've ever seen, flashing his canines like a gentle killer. "'Cause I'm gonna take you with me."

"Teddy."

"Nope, I'm takin' you with me wherever I go, and there's nothin' you can say to change my mind. Even if you hate my music forever, fine, I'll fix you up in a nice five star anywhere we go. You can sit and watch all the movies you like. You'll be nobody's housewife, baby, 'cause I'm keepin' you."

You roll your eyes, batting away tears when he grabs your hand to pull you back to the couch.

"And what if I said that's not what I want?" you suggest, testing his rockstar resolve with your big, wet eyes and stubborn quips.

"Then I'll give you somethin' else. Anything else. But you're mine no matter what." If only you knew how proud it made him to call you his girl. To know you support him even if you don't love his genre.  "Now, would you come closer? You're killin' me."

You obey with a frigid pout, letting him drape your thighs over his and brush his ring clad paws over your cheeks, down your neck.

"But what about your groupies and the pretty girls at the bars or in the front row?"

"What about 'em?" he says, just barely shaking his head, "I'll have somethin' way better waiting for me."

You chuckle. "You're crazy."

He cocks a brow. "Old news."

When he notices how close you've gotten, he smiles. Your manicured nails graze over his chest with the only light washing over you from the dimly lit kitchen. He can't resist his palm curling behind your neck, pulling you close for a sweet kiss.

"Where d'you keep your vases?" he mumbles, remembering the tulips resting on the little table.

"Kitchen. Above the fridge," you say with your fingers already slotting between his to pull him towards the warm light. He loves you like this: sickly sweet and tender, holding him all gentle in your hot pulse. You go to reach for a painted ceramic vase, but he wraps his arm around you and turns you away.

"Ah ah ah, drop it, sweetheart. That’s my job," he says against your temple, holding the lip of the vase and patting your ass. He takes the bouquet from your grasp and sets both on the counter by the sink. You hand him a pair of scissors and he carefully snips the stems jagged, filling the vase with water.

His stomach flips when you wrap your arms around his waist and clasp your hands at his belt. He sets the prepared arrangement aside and turns in your embrace.

"All done," he says wickedly, palming your face with his wet hands. You jump back with a squeal, pelting a dish rag at this chest.

"Use a towel, you slob!"

He chuckles and wipes his hands on his shirt, tossing the towel over his shoulder and leering at you like he's starved.

"Come here," he mumbles. You go a little shy under his gaze, dropping your head and shuffling towards his presence. He catches you by the hips, dipping down to catch your mouth in a prying kiss. You grin against him and he groans, tugging you tight against his body.

"Always love how soft you are, baby. Surprises me every time." He shakes his wild mane and purses his lips for you to kiss this time.

"Where d'you want the flowers?" he says.

"Bedroom?"

His eyes light up involuntarily, and he grabs the vase, bounding off towards your room gleefully. You jog to catch up with him, and when you enter the threshold, he's expertly positioning the vase next to a stack of books on your dresser.

"Much cleaner than mine," he says, gesturing around the room, "You keep it nice in here."

You shrug. "Could be cleaner."

"You can never see mine," he teases, knowing full well you already have. He slings his arms low on your hips, adoring you in the blue light of dusk. "Can I undress you?"

You bow your head and whisper, "teddy..."

"Not like that. Just wanna hold you."

You kiss his slanted mouth sweetly, nodding.

He reaches for the edge of your soft cotton dress, pulling it up and over your head. He whistles low upon seeing your undergarments, whipping his shirt off and onto the floor somwhere. You giggle, helping him with his belt buckle. He traces your temple with his lips leaving kisses along the way. He steps out of his jeans and lets you lead him around the bed.

His curls sprawl out against your pillows, and he welcomes you into his side with a lazy smile. Your reach to touch his waist and softly feel over the scar below his ribs.

"Little tender, bug," he hisses. You bat your eyes up at him scared, pulling your hand away.

"I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. "No, please," he whispers, cradling your wrist, his eyes locked with yours. He draws the hair away from your neck, replacing it with his fingers to dance down along your spine. You’re warmer than he’s ever felt before and thankful for it. His hands are cold, but he doesn’t have to worry about it for very long when you bring each fingertip to your lips for a kiss.

“You’re my girl, alright? Always,” he whispers and you nod, “always.”

masterlist

[misspygmypie]

The Promise

Part of the "Meet & Greet... and more?" Universe Pairing: Lando Norris x Noah, Lando Norris x reader Words: 1910 Request: Hello. Lando and Reader having a fight and Lando leaves for a race weekend but reader actually thinks he's going to leave them and tries to hide her crying from Noah but he sees and calls Lando scared he's leaving them making him fly straight back after the race to reassure that he is at leaving his family. Masterlist

Please do not repost, thank you, and leave some feedback :)

Lando and Y/N had always been known for their supportive relationship but as the current Formula 1 season ramped up the pressure started to show. 

The days leading up to the next race weekend had been some of the busiest for Lando. With meetings, media obligations and endless preparations he barely had time to catch his breath. 

Y/N had been supportive but clearly feeling the strain, especially with a six month old that needed all of her attention she was in desperate need of support. But instead their evenings together were now filled with quiet tension rather than shared moments of joy.

One evening when Lando was scheduled to leave for the next Grand Prix soon Y/N brought up the plans for their last few hours together. “I was hoping we could spend some time with each other before you leave,” she said softly as they sat in their living room. “Maybe a quiet dinner or just a night in? We could get a babysitter for Noah and Maebry.”

Lando, his mind still swirling with the demands of the upcoming race, responded with a distracted sigh. “I really can’t, Y/N. There’s so much to do. The team is depending on me and I need to be focused. This race is crucial.”

“Every weekend is crucial, Lando,” Y/N’s eyes flashed with frustration. “It feels like we’re just drifting apart. We barely see each other and now you’re going to be gone again.”

“You know how important this is! I’ve got a job to do and it’s not like I can just skip race preparations because you’re feeling left out!”

The argument escalated quickly. Emotions flared as Lando accused Y/N of not understanding the demands of his career, while Y/N felt neglected and undervalued. Their emotions got more tense by the minute and soon harsh words were exchanged.

In the heat of the moment Lando decided he needed space. “I can’t deal with this right now,” he said tensly. He packed his bags, his mind racing with the pressures of the upcoming Grand Prix and the unresolved tension with his wife.

Y/N watched him, feeling both sad and angry. “Is this really how you want to handle this? Just walking away?”

Lando paused for a moment, his hand resting on his suitcase. He looked back at her, his expression exhausted. “I don’t know how else to handle it right now. I can’t stay here and argue. I need to focus on the race. Maybe it’s better if we talk when I get back.”

With that Lando finished packing and headed out. Y/N, feeling powerless and desolate, stood by the door, her heart heavy while she watched him drive away. 

Y/N paced the living room, her heart racing with a fear that felt all too familiar. The memories of the argument with Lando replayed in her mind. She couldn’t shake the nagging worry that he might not come back, just like Noah’s biological father had done after their last fight. The way he had walked out on them when Noah was just two months old without looking back. 

She wasn’t just scared for herself but for Noah too, fearing that the stability and love they had come to rely on might disappear, leaving them both alone once more.

After bringing the kids to bed Y/N retreated to her own bedroom, shutting the door behind her as tears began to flow uncontrollably. She sank onto the bed, her shoulders shaking with the weight of her fears. The thought of Lando not returning gnawed at her, past betrayals and broken promises fueling her anxiety.

Unbeknownst to her Noah, unable to sleep, had wandered down the hallway and stood quietly by the door, listening to his mother’s muffled sobs. His small frame tensed as he heard her crying, his young heart aching with a growing sadness, sensing that something was terribly wrong.

The weekend dragged on for Y/N and Noah. Despite Y/N’s best efforts to keep things normal Lando’s absence was deeply felt. Y/N was preoccupied with her own emotions and the recent argument with Lando, making it challenging to fully address Noah’s growing distress.

The next day, while Y/N was busy in the kitchen, Noah quietly went into his room a few minutes after he had watched his dad on the TV finish practice for the day. Having secretly grabbed his mom's phone, he dialed Lando’s number, his small fingers shaking as he pressed each digit, just how his parents had shown him for emergencies. The phone rang several times before Lando answered.

“Hello?” Lando’s voice came through, busy with the race weekend’s chaos and the exhaustion after the practice session he had just finished.

“Daddy?” Noah’s voice was small and choked with emotion.

“Noah! What’s wrong?” Lando asked, his concern immediate as he recognized his son's voice instead of Y/N’s as expected and he listened to the trembling voice on the other end.

Noah’s tears began to flow freely. “I’m scared, daddy. What if you don’t come back? What if you leave us like… like the other daddy did?”

Lando’s heart instantly ached hearing the raw fear in Noah’s voice. He quickly moved into a private area and sat down, focusing entirely on his son. “Oh, Noah, I’m so sorry you’re feeling this way. I promise I’m not going anywhere. I love you, mommy and Mae very much and I’m coming home soon.”

Noah’s crying intensified. “But what if you don’t come back? I heard mommy crying last night! What if you just stay there forever?!”

Lando felt a sharp pang of guilt and sadness. “Noah, listen to me. I’m finishing up here and then I’m coming home. I’m always thinking about you and mommy and your sister. I would never leave you! I promise I’ll be back soon and we’re going to have so much fun together.”

Noah’s sobs were interrupted by hiccups. “Really? You promise you won’t leave us?”

“I promise,” Lando said firmly. “I love you so much. Just remember, even when I’m not there, I’m always with you in my heart.”

Noah took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “Okay, daddy. I love you!”

“I love you too, Noah. Be good for mommy and I’ll see you soon,” Lando said softly.

The call ended and Lando sat quietly, overwhelmed by the emotional weight of Noah’s fears and his own guilt. The pre-race tension seemed insignificant compared to the worry he felt for his family.

Unaware of the conversation that had just taken place Y/N continued her evening routine. When Noah rejoined her in the kitchen he was quieter but seemed somewhat reassured. Y/N noticed the change but was unsure of the source of his sudden calmness.

After dinner she put Maebry and then Noah to bed, her mind still occupied with the issues between her and Lando. When she turned to leave the room Noah’s voice called out softly.

“Mommy, can I tell you something?”

Y/N sat down on the edge of his bed. “Of course, sweetie. What’s up?”

Noah looked up at her, his small face still a bit flushed from his tears. “I talked to daddy. He said he’s coming home soon. And, mommy… I heard you and daddy talking and you crying last night. I was scared.”

Y/N’s heart sank. She reached out to hold Noah’s hand and took a deep breath, struggling to maintain her composure. “I’m so sorry you heard me, Noah. I was just having a hard time. But Daddy and I love you very much and we’re going to be okay. We’re all going to work things out.”

Noah nodded, seeming comforted by her words. “Okay, mommy. I love you.”

“I love you too, Noah,” Y/N said softly, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. She stayed with him a little longer until he fell asleep, the weight of the most recent events still heavy on her shoulders.

As Y/N left Noah’s room she felt relieved but also sad. The phone call had provided some comfort for Noah but it also highlighted the emotional distance that had grown between her and Lando. Y/N knew they had some work to do when Lando returned. For now she focused on holding her family together, hoping that soon they would rebuild their connection. 

________

After the race, despite the adrenaline and excitement of the weekend, Lando’s mind was consumed by worry. He couldn’t shake the image of Noah’s fearful face and the distress in his voice. The thought of his family struggling while he was miles away drove him to a resolute decision.

When the final checkered flag fell and the race weekend concluded, Lando made a swift choice. He bypassed the traditional post-race interviews and celebrations, driven by a singular focus: getting home as quickly as possible. His team understood his urgency after he briefly explained the situation and provided the necessary support.

Lando rushed to the airport and managed to catch the earliest available flight home, the hours stretching endlessly as he anxiously waited to be back home l with his family. The flight was a blur, his mind fixed on being with Y/N, Noah and Maebry.

It was late into the night when he finally arrived at home. Y/N was in the living room, feeling the weight of the past few days and the tension of the argument with Lando. The apartment was quiet except for the soft sounds of the city outside.

The front door creaked open and Y/N looked up, startled. Her eyes widened as she saw Lando standing in the doorway, looking both exhausted and determined.

“Lando?” she asked, relieved.

Lando stepped inside, his expression earnest. “I’m sorry I didn’t call ahead. I just needed to come back as soon as I could.”

Y/N rushed to him, her eyes filling with tears. “You’re here. You really came back!”

Lando enveloped her in a tight embrace. “I’m so sorry for everything. I heard how upset Noah was and he told me how he heard you crying and I couldn’t stand being away any longer. I needed to be here to make things right.”

Y/N clung to him, her tears falling freely. “It’s been so hard! We missed you so much.”

As they held each other they heard a small, hesitant voice from the hallway. Noah had woken up from the commotion, his eyes puffy from sleep. He peeked around the corner, looking at Lando with a mix of apprehension and hope.

“Daddy?” Noah’s voice was barely a whisper.

Lando dropped to his knees, opening his arms wide. “Hey, buddy. I’m home. I’m really sorry for scaring you. I love you so much and I’m not going anywhere.”

Noah ran into Lando’s arms, relieved as he hugged his father tightly. “Daddy, you came back!"

“I did,” Lando said, holding Noah close. “I’m here now. We’re all going to be okay.”

The tension and worry of the past days began to lift, Lando’s presence providing the comfort and reassurance they all needed.

After Noah was back in bed Lando and Y/N settled in the living room. They spoke quietly, sharing their feelings and discussing the issues that had come up. While the road to resolving their issues would take time, the commitment to being present and supportive was a crucial step forward. 

________

AN: Anon, I hope you like it and if not let me know and I can rewrite 😊🫶

Taglist: @eloriis @pacifierbby @landossainz @littlegrapejuice @barcelonaloverf1life @poppyflower-22 @itsjustfranzi @vickykazuya

[lvnleah]

000 | The Beginning.

The very first part to my series, The Williamson’s, this chapter takes places over four years at four different times!

find the series masterlist here!

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January 4th 2019 - 21 years old.

The past few days between you and your best friend, Leah, had been weird. It started on New Year’s Eve when you and her were both drunk.

All night long you’d been exchanging glances across the room and before you knew it you were kissing in the middle of the dance floor. The next morning you woke up in her bed, it wasn’t unusual for that to happen but this time it was different.

You’d never taken notice of your feelings for Leah, you’d known her since you were sixteen so there was absolutely no way on this planet that you were in love with your best friend.

Or at least that’s what you tried to convince yourself.

Leah was openly gay with the people around her and always had been. When you were eighteen you confided in her about your sexuality, you were confused and she was there for you. It wasn’t until a year ago that you finally came out as bisexual and Leah was one of the first people you told.

New Year’s Eve was a blur in your mind. You remember getting drunk, dancing with Leah and then kissing her as the clock struck midnight.

You and Leah had crossed a line, and now you were both tiptoeing around it. The tension hung in the air like a thick fog, making every interaction awkward.

You were slouched on your sofa, scrolling through social media when the doorbell rang. Your heart skipped a beat as you walked over to the door and opened it. Leah stood there, her cheeks flushed from the cold. She was bundled up in a coat and a beanie, her eyes wide and nervous.

"Hey," she said, her voice barely audible. "Can I come in?"

You stepped aside, allowing her to enter. She kicked off her boots and hung up her coat, glancing around the room as she avoided eye contact. The silence stretched between you, heavy and uncomfortable.

Finally, she blurted out, "Look, about New Year's Eve... I don't want things to be weird between us."

You chuckled, relieved that she had addressed the elephant in the room. "Yeah, it's been a bit...awkward."

Leah fidgeted with the hem of her jumper. "I like you, okay? And not just as a friend. I've liked you for a while now, but I didn't know how to say it."

Your heart raced. Leah, your best friend, was confessing her feelings. You hadn't expected this. You thought it was just you.

"Leah," you began, "I—"

She interrupted you. "Wait, let me finish." She took a deep breath. "I know you've never thought of me that way. But maybe...maybe we could give it a shot? A date, just to see?"

You stared at her, your mind racing. Could you risk your friendship for something more? But then you remembered the way her lips had felt against yours on New Year's Eve.

Maybe it was worth exploring.

"Okay," you said, surprising yourself. "Let's go on that date."

Leah's face lit up, and she stepped closer, pulling you into a hug. "Really?"

"Yeah," you replied, smiling. "But no more awkwardness, okay? We'll figure this out together."

The following days were spent planning a date for that weekend. You and Leah were inseparable once again, this time you shared kisses and sweet moments together.

There wasn’t a lot you and Leah didn’t know about each other or had done together so you decided to go to a fancy restaurant together, something Leah deemed as a ‘fancy’ date.

Leah picked up that Friday evening, you were wearing an elegant navy blue shirt that you’d paired with a black skirt. Leah was wearing a white shirt and a pair of beige trousers, an outfit that you couldn’t tear your eyes from.

The fancy restaurant was everything you'd imagined. A dimly lit space with crystal chandeliers, and soft piano music playing in the background. Leah sat across from you, focused as she studied the menu. You both ordered dishes you couldn't pronounce, laughing at your attempts.

The conversation flowed effortlessly. You talked about different things. One thing that popped up was if you wanted kids, you’d talked about it before but not about having them together. You both decided you wanted either two or three kids, a large age gap between the first two like Leah had with her brother. Leah's hand brushed yours, sending a jolt of electricity up your arm.

After dessert, you left the restaurant and decided to take a walk. The restaurant was conveniently located near an old arcade, its neon sign glowed from across the street.

Leah grinned, tugging you along. "An arcade, c’mon,"

Inside, the air smelled of popcorn. You played basketball, competing fiercely for the highest score. Leah's laughter echoed through the room as she aimed for the bullseye on the darts. She won, of course, and claimed her prize which was a tiny dinosaur teddy that she insisted was a T. rex.

As you wandered from game to game, you forgot about everything else. The awkwardness, the uncertainty. It was just you and Leah, lost in a world you’d created together with love and laughter.

Finally, you stood in front of the photo booth. Leah hesitated, then pulled you inside. The curtain closed, and the camera flashed. You both squeezed into the tiny seat, your knees touching. Leah's cheeks were flushed, and you wondered if she felt the same way you did.

"Can I kiss you?" she whispered, her breath warm against your lips.

You nodded, heart pounding and then her mouth was on yours. The photo booth captured the moment of the two of you, tangled together, hearts racing.

When the curtain opened, you stepped out, hand in hand and took your strip of photos. The neon lights outside seemed brighter, the world more vivid.

Leah leaned against you, her head on your shoulder. "Best first date ever," she murmured.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

February 14th 2019 - 21 years old.

It’d been just over a month since your first date with Leah and things were perfect between the pair of you despite still being unofficial.

You’d been on so many dates that you’d lost count, it seemed like you were doing something different every day together. Those dates ranged from little things such as movie nights on your sofa and cooking together to going to fancy restaurants on the weekend.

Valentine’s Day arrived, and the air was thick with romance. You’d been expecting a quiet evening at home with Leah, maybe binge-watching your favourite TV show. But Leah had other plans.

She showed up at your door, holding a bouquet of red roses. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes sparkled.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she said, her voice a little breathless.

You blinked, surprised by the roses. “Leah, these are gorgeous! Thank you.” You smiled, taking the roses from Leah before pulling her into a hug and kissing her lips.

She ran her hand down your hip, “Only the best for the prettiest girl.”

You spent that evening cooking pasta together before eating it on the sofa while watching Notting Hill, your favourite movie that you begged Leah to watch with you.

A few hours later, she took you to the rooftop of your apartment building, where fairy lights decorated the railing.

Leah stood there, her eyes looking into yours as she held you close. Her hands rested once again on your hips. "I've been thinking," she began, her voice soft. "About us."

Your heart raced. You'd been thinking about this moment for weeks. The stolen kisses and the late-night conversations replayed in your mind. Now, everything felt real.

"I don't want to be just friends or whatever we are anymore," Leah said, her fingers brushing against your hips. "I want more."

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. "More?"

She nodded. "I want to be with you, officially. No more tiptoeing around. What do you say? Will you be my girlfriend, pretty girl?”

"Yeah," you smiled stupidly before kissing Leah’s lips, "Of course, I’ll be your girlfriend."

Her lips brushing against yours once again. Your heartbeats synced, and you knew that this was the beginning of something.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

February 14th 2021 - 23 years old.

Anxiety had been bubbling up inside of you all day. It was your two year anniversary with Leah and you'd never felt anxious like this before.

Somehow you’d convinced yourself that Leah was proposing after your best friend, Beth, had slipped up a few weeks ago. You were round at her house, trying to make plans, when the blonde slipped up.

——

two weeks ago…

“What about next weekend?” Beth asked, scrolling through her calendar, “Wait no, Leah’s taking you to that place.”

You looked up from your phone, raising an eyebrow as Beth’s face turned red, “What place?”

“Shit,” Beth mumbled, “It was supposed to be a surprise!”

“What place, Beth?” You questioned, setting your phone down beside you. Beth ignored your question and continued scrolling on her phone, “Bethany Mead you better tell me!”

Beth groaned, “It’s a surprise Leah told me about! You weren’t supposed to know, I’m not saying anymore you can ask her when she comes back from getting food with Viv.”

The next fifteen minutes were torture for both you and Beth. You interrogated her, trying to get answers while Beth tried her hardest to not spill anything.

Beth had been your best friend since you were thirteen and she was fifteen so it was hard for her not to spill any secrets to you. It wasn’t long before Viv and Leah were arriving back with the takeaway you and Beth had sent them out for.

“You alright, pretty girl?” Leah asked as you and Beth walked into the kitchen.

“Don’t be mad but…” You trailed off, looking at Beth. “Beth slipped up about the weekend away you’re taking me on when we were trying to plan out girls’ evening..” you started to anxiously play with your rings on your fingers.

“Oh for god sake, Beth!” Leah groaned, “it was a surprise!”

Viv laughed, grabbing four plates from the cupboard, “told you that you shouldn’t have told Beth.”

“I’m sorry!” Beth sighed, “it was an accident, it just slipped out. I was thinking about other things and I accidentally told her!”

“It’s fine,” Leah sighs, “What else did you tell her?”

——

In that moment, you never questioned what Leah meant by “what else did you tell her” but when you got home later that evening you couldn’t stop thinking about it. You laid awake that night and that’s when the thought of Leah proposing sprung to mind.

You questioned Leah all week on where you were going, something that she wouldn’t reveal. However, you did get her to tell you what to pack.

The thought of Leah proposing never left your mind all week, that’s what led to you being so anxious about today.

When you woke up this morning, your anxiety was still present. You weren’t feeling a scared-anxious about Leah proposing, you were a happy-anxious, something that you couldn’t figure out.

You and Leah had exchanged gifts this morning, you’d bought Leah a golden watch that was engraved on the bottom with sweet words you’d gotten customised. Leah had bought you a love heart necklace, something dainty but it meant a lot to you.

You’d then spent the day on the beach, sunbathing and playing around in the water like teenagers before heading back to the hotel for a fancy dinner.

Leah had picked your outfit and you’d picked hers. She’d chosen a cream floral mini dress that fell halfway down your thighs and you’d chosen a striped shirt and short set with a white top underneath.

Once dinner was over, Leah had convinced you to take a walk on the beach. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over the sandy beach. Leah held your hand as you both strolled along the water's edge, the gentle waves lapping at your feet.

“Someday I wanna marry you, you know.” Leah smiled, swinging your hands back and forth.

You laughed nervously, “Yeah, yeah, someday in about six years!”

“No I’m serious,” Leah smiled, she dragged you down the beach a bit more and your mouth dropped open in shock when you saw what was in front of you.

A white blanket was spread out on the sand, and a bunch of red roses were placed on the blanket. A constellation of glass holders held flickering candles, their flames casting shadows on the beach. Single red roses were placed between the candles. The letters ‘marry me’ were set up behind the blanket.

Leah stopped, turning to face you. Her expression was a mix of nervousness and excitement. "You know," she began, "when we first started dating, I never imagined you’d complete me in every way. But here we are, two years later."

Leah dropped to one knee, pulling a small velvet box from her pocket. The world seemed to hold its breath.

"I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone." Leah laughed, tears welling in her eyes.

You laughed, wiping your own tears, “Did you just quote lord of fucking the rings? You’re such a nerd!”

"I’m your nerd though,” Leah smiled, “Will you marry me?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Tears welled up in your eyes. "Yes," you whispered. "Of course I’ll marry you, you idiot!”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

August 16th 2022 - 25 years old.

“Who knew that wedding planning was so fucking stressful!” You mumbled as you and Leah cuddled on the sofa in your shared apartment.

You and Leah were currently trying to plan your wedding but you didn’t realise how much legal stuff there was and the difficulties it wouldn’t give you.

You’d been engaged for just over a year now and you were both eager to get married. Although it wasn’t a massive thing for you both, you just wanted things to be official and for you to be Mrs Williamson.

Leah sat up, resting her hand on your thigh, “Why don’t we just go an elope? Who says we need a big white wedding?”

You laughed thinking Leah was joking, “Yeah as if, we’re not going to elope. What about your family?”

Leah shrugged, “We’d need witnesses so what if we took my family? Then we could have a big white wedding when we’re ready for it for all of our other family and friends.”

You gasped, throwing your phone down beside you, “Wait your not fucking with me? You’re actually serious?!”

The blonde nodded as a laugh escaped her lips, “Yes I’m being serious, pretty girl. It’d take all the stress out of it.”

“You’d seriously want that?” You asked, “I know how much these things matter to you. I’d love to elope.”

Leah nodded and leaned in, placing a kiss on your lips, “I would love to elope with you. We can have a big white wedding later on.”

You nodded eagerly, “Let’s do it then!”

The decision was made. You and Leah would elope, surrounded by her family as witnesses. It felt like a secret moment just for the two of you.

The next few days were spent arranging a time where all of Leah’s closest family could be there as well as getting your dress and Leah’s suit. You arranged to get married at the courthouse and have Leah’s parents, brother, grandma and cousins there.

The legalities were sorted out, and you found yourselves standing in a quaint little courthouse, nerves fluttering like butterflies in your stomachs.

Leah wore a simple beige suit, her blonde hair pulled back. Her eyes sparkled with excitement, and you couldn’t tear your gaze away from her. You had picked out a plain white dress that fell halfway down your things. Your hair was in a half up half down type of hairstyle with a bowed vail in it.

You and Leah walked down the aisle together, Leah’s family spread down both sides of the aisle. The officiant did all of the boring wedding stuff before you and Leah were finally able to say your vows. You went first.

You took a deep breath before looking at Leah, feeling a sense of calmness wash over me as she squeezed your hands. "Leah, my best friend, my first love, I can't believe we're actually standing here. After everything this took, I can't believe at the end of the day I'll be able to call you my wife. Growing up, I never thought i'd be lucky enough to meet, let alone fall in love, with someone like you. I never thought someone would be able to love me the way you do unconditionally. I wish I could put into words how truly amazing you are but there aren't enough words.”

You take your hand out of Leah’s and quickly wipe your tears as she takes her chance to wipe her own fallen tears, “I won't forget the day I met you on that England camp, I was the shy girl and hadn't spoken a word to anyone and you came over with Keira and both made me feel welcome. Ever since then, you've been my absolute rock. We've gone from friends, to lovers, to fiancés and now we finally get to be wives. You are so loving and patient and even in the times I don't feel lovable, you still love me. I promise to love you forever and through everything. I can't wait to do life with you. I love you, Le.”

Leah’s teary eyes widened as you finished, she squeezed your hands again. She laughed a little, “Oh my god I’m getting emotional, right my turn!”

You laughed out loud, as you brought a hand up to wipe the tears under your eyes. “When aren’t you emotional!”

Leah squeezed your hands once again before talking, . "I've been thinking about this day for the last three years, planning everything I wanted to say to you, to promise you. I'm convinced that I know you better than I know myself, and I love that little fact about me. At this point, my heart is so full of you, I feel like I can hardly call it my own. Every time I've looked at you since the day that I met you i've found something new to love and obsess over.

"I promise to protect you from everything bad in the world and shower you with all of the good. I promise to show you the best parts of yourself while allowing you to be your own person. I promise to be the best wife and future mother that I can be for you and our future kids. I promise to cherish and love you endlessly."

Leah smiles through tears before continuing. "Thank you for standing by me through everything and following me around half the country and world with my football. I truly wouldn’t be able to do it without you, when I’m playing I know that afterwards I get to see your face and that’s something that I will always love. When you need help, I will be there for you. When you need care, I will care for you. When you want to try something new, I will encourage you. And when you do the same for me, I will love you. I will love you forever, pretty girl.”

You sunk your teeth into your bottom lip to avoid a full-fledged sob from escaping your mouth from her words. Jacob handed the rings to Leah, he was the trusted ring bearer although Leah joked about him losing them.

Before you knew it, you and Leah were pronounced wife and wife and were having your first kiss before walking out of the courthouse. You were given a few minutes before Leah’s family joined you.

Leah pulled you in for a kiss, her hand resting at the small of your back, “I love you so much. I can’t wait to do life with you, pretty girl.”

“I love you more,” you mumbled against her lips, “I love you so much more.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Liked by Leah Williamson and 112,000 others

y/n.williamson officially Mrs Williamson 💐💍

—

leahwilliamsonn oh my that’s my wifey 😍

view 26 replies liked by 178 others

bethmead_ so happy for you both! absolutely stunning!

view 15 replies liked by 120 others

lionesses congrats! 🙌🏻

view 2 replies liked by 78 others

liawaelti congrats, so much love for you both 💗

view 4 replies liked by 98 others

keirawalsh erm where’s my invite? happy for you both 🫶🏻

view 26 replies liked by 90 others

kyracooneyx parents, took you long enough 🙄

view 16 replies liked by 125 others

mbaker1971 would say welcome to the family but you’ve been apart of it for many years!

view 24 replies liked by 160 others

viviannemiedema 💍🫶🏻💗

view 14 replies liked by 145 others

comments limited…

[thevirtualvalentine]

TAPE THREE : PASSENGER PRINCESS !

Starring … ‘Red Hair’ Shanks 📸

SET SCRIPT : “Hey Babbyyyy congrats on 100! For your lovely followers event could I request afab reader with Dads best friend Shanks n some sprinkles of corruption :3 I love youuu bae mwah 😮‍💨🤍”

MATURE WARNING(S) : smut, unprotected vaginal sex, AGE GAP, use of the title “daddy”, corruption kink, underlying breeding kink (if you squint), Shanks mysteriously has 2 arms, forced orgasm, you’re Mihawks daughter, afab!femme reader.

DIRECTORS CUT : For one of my favorite people on this app @stargirldelight <33 so sorry this took me forever to get to. Apologies, Shanks brings out an unprecedented daddy kink in me I didn’t know I had …

Moving is already stressful enough, add the fact that your dad can’t seem to help you out this weekend and voila; you’re in a pinch. He’s typically off on some sort of exploit around the world anyways, a stoic mystery of sorts. But, your dad did suggest that he come help you move into your new apartment.

Which is fine and all, but you’re not sure how you’re gonna last the already tumultuous move in with Shanks around. He’s your dads best friend, or enemy, you’re honestly not quite sure.

Ever since you were a teen you admired shanks, his warm fuzzy smile, how stern he got when he was mad, and that damn signature red hair of his that you can always pick out from a crowd. You expected to grow out of it as you got older, but you could never quite kick the habit. His voice smooth like honey when he’d stumble in with your father drunk, or when he said bye after helping you move in for college. He’s really your fantasy come true, a handsome man with unmistakable charm that makes you smile even on days you don’t have reason to.

You’re older now, you should be able to handle this. But a man like him ages akin to fine wine, only becoming more and more attractive as the years gain on him. Granted, there was an age gap between you; which is what typically kept your lewd thoughts of him in check.

He’d drive this red dodge charger every time he picked you up when your dad couldn’t, like now. Red hair flowing in his face as you coasted down the highway. He smiles and asks if the boys your age were treating you right while his fingers dance along your shoulders. “Pft, I wish,” you aimlessly laughed, noting that exactly what you desired in a man was right next to you.

“Whaaaat? Cmon’ a pretty girl like you? Really?” He sounded genuinely disturbed by this confession of yours. “You deserve better sweetheart.” His eyes flickering back to the road as you’re a few hours out from your new town.

“I really don’t go out much y’know, and it’s not like I have anything to offer them,” your heard turns as you mumble into your fist. Embarrassed to let the older gentleman know just how little play you get. The compliment he gave you flies right over your head as you try to mask the growing ache for Shanks in your heart (and pussy). He’s always been sweet like this to you, patient and gentle as he places a reassuring hand on your knee. You think nothing of it.

“I don’t believe it, they don’t know what they’re missing. I woulda been all ov-” clearing his throat before continuing, “maybe they’re just not what you need.” He turns the music down as the conversation begins to flow more naturally, tension sparking like electricity in the air as he pushes further and further.

“Oh? And what do I need.” You flash him that look of mischief, one that was saved for when you’d ask him to bail you out of punishment with your dad.

“Someone who could treat you how you deserve, a real man and not some boy.” He can’t control the possessive tone that exits his mouth, it’s just unbelievable to him. After all these years and all those meaningless break ups you’d go through, it was him whose arms you’d cry into. Too drunk off cheap liquor with the sweet but sickly scent of vodka hanging off your breath. But of course, he’d listen. Always the patient type.

“And do I know a man like that? Sounds like you wanna be that guy Shanks,” it was only a joke. Your voice airy as you moved your hair out of your lipgloss. Highway wind was never kind to you.

“Don’t play with me,” and he’s back to serious. The coolness of his words sends a shiver up your spine.

“What if I meant it, hm? What if I wanted you to show me?” Your eyes now burning holes in the sides of his face, his jaw clenches as he battles with his own morality.

“You don’t think I’m a little too old for you?” He sends a glance your way, one that trails from your low cut tank top to the supple skin of your thighs before he’s back to gripping the gear shift.

“Said it yourself, I need a real man,” your knees turn to face him as you let your voice purrr. Mihawk would kill him if he found out about this, but he’s never truly been afraid of the man anyways. Especially not when his daughter is as pretty as you, there’s just so much you don’t know, so much he could show you. It drives him wild.

“You don’t even know what you’re asking for.” Eyes straight on the road, but the unmistaken waiver in his voice let’s you know he just needs one final shove before he tumbles down like dominos.

“I’m asking for you Shanks,” you plant a sweet kiss to his cheek; just how you used to when he’d leave town for months on end and you didn’t know when you’d see him again.

For once it’s his turn to be flustered, if he wasn’t so concerned about keeping both eyes on the road he’d grab you himself. “Behave little girl, you don’t know what you’re getting into.”

You squirm in your seat, the problem is you know exactly what you’re getting into. It’s finally what you’ve wanted for years. For the object of desire in his mind to be aimed at you, for your affections to be reciprocated, to be with him instead of being viewed as his best friends daughter.

You’ve driven to your new town before so you’re aware that wherever he’s driving isn’t the right way, “Shanks?”

“What? Thought I was supposed to show you.” A light chuckle leaves him as you’re parked in the back corner of a parking lot, headlights turned off.

“Come here hun,” he pushes his seat back urging you to crawl over to him. It feels so right to be held by him, yet so wrong at the same time it makes butterflies swirl around in your stomach. The lack of space pushing you closer to him as his steady breathing makes you feel safer.

“Be gentle Shanks, I’ve only done it one time before.” At that his jaw clenches. A cute thing like you only getting fucked once? It almost makes his blood boil, yet it turns sick when he realizes all he can teach you right here and now. How tight your cunt will grip him as he makes you bounce up and down on him. Oh, Mihawk will kill him indeed; that is if he ever finds out about how he’s stretching out your pussy.

His hands feel so warm on you, rubbing and groping at your skin while you get comfortable. All the attention from him at once makes your head spin, growing needier to get on with it already. “You don’t want it like that though, do you?” It’s barely above a whisper, a nasty vile secret that he somehow knows. All you can do is whimper as he ravages your neck in rough kisses, lips lingering over your pulse points. His years of experience showing as he makes you writhe.

“You want it rough don’t you, t’s ok doll you can tell daddy the truth.” He grins at your hardy whine, swallowing it down in a kiss that devours you from the inside out. His tongue invades your mouth, overpowering yours.

He’s perfect, exactly how you imagined he’d be. Strong arms guiding you further up his lap, helping you wrap your arms around the base of his neck. “Shanks .. more please—” your face hot as you plead for more of him. Feeling how stiff he is makes pride swell within you, was that really your doing? All you’ve done is kiss him, but he groans each time you lean further into his touch.

He leaves pepper kisses on your face and eyelashes, pulling back to look for any doubt on your complexion. “You’re so beautiful,” he tells you, tugging on one of your curls before wrapping it around his finger. Too intimate, far too intimate for the debauchery he’s about to lay on you.

“Spread those pretty legs wider f’me, there you go,” his phrasing patient as his knees open wider beneath you. Your hands grip his shoulders for balance while you wait in anticipation for anything… “where do you want me to touch you baby,” his eyes meet yours, “here?” His middle and index finger graze the thin cloth of your shorts.

You nod your head profusely, looking down at the space between you with your teeth sinking into your bottom lip. Shanks snakes his fingers within your walls, teasing the entrance lightly while using your slick to slide in and out slowly. “Remember, breathe,” the slight sting keeps your hold on him firm as you try to adjust. In and out, rhythmically, the pads of his fingers glide along your plush walls.

Your airy chants of his name fill the darkening small space of his cramped car. Hips beginning to bounce on his hand, desperation creeping in with each drag of his fingertips inside you. “Look at you, suckin my fingers in. Almost like you don’t wanna let them go,” he marvels at you, moving your shorts out of the way so he has a clearer view of your insatiable pussy.

“S’creamy, you been thinking about me?” Bold for him to say, he acts like he’s not knuckle deep inside you with reckless abandon for his position in all this. You’re oozing down his wrist as his fingers begin to scissor back n forth.

“Kiss me Shanks,” you ask.

“Of course baby,” he replies.

It’s always him who spoils you, giving you what you ask for. How could he deny you of such a sweet request? The squelch of your wetness grows while a tight knot tries to unravel itself within you.

“Not yet, can you wait for daddy just a lil more?” He can feel that too? Embarrassment hot on your face while your hips grind against his palm.

It’s indecent how sexy he is, toned chest peaking through his shirt, tongue slightly sticking out as he preps you for his fat length, and his deep even voice that praises every movement of your body.

His entry inside you is smooth, almost like he was meant to fit you perfectly. “Oh my god Shanks f-fuck wait—” Your head is spinning, you can feel his dick twitch with each convulse of your own walls.

He doesn’t mind that you’re clutching onto him hard enough to draw blood, no not at all, honestly it’s making him want to burry himself deeper. “Shhh baby, I got you. I got you, just breathe.” Not yet though, he can’t hurt you (too bad). Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes but he’s quick to wipe them with his thumb. Kissing your collarbones as if to apologize for the molding his cock does to your needy warmth.

The pain subdues, giving way to a hunger you can’t quite describe; but quiet mouths don’t get fed. “Gimmie more Daddy, please,” truthfully the name slipped out, but the damage was done as it left a shiver to creep up the red heads spine.

Well, how could he say no to that? His hands move from your waist down, molding the skin of your ass as he pleases while his hips experimentally shift up and down. When he hears you sigh in pleasure he knows he’s found the right angle. “Better hold on, gonna give it to you just how you want it love.” It’s in how he reassures you that he’ll take care of you that allows you to let go, letting this be your reality instead of some sick sex dream.

His strength is unreal, he’s lifting you with no problem and then pushing you down again and again. It feels like he’s impaling you, knocking your breath out with each rise and fall of your oozing cunt. “Mhm, fuckkk. Been thinking about this for a long time.” The space between you both lessens as the heat rises, giving way to an erotic composition of pleasure.

Any composure you had flies out the window as you’re left dumb and drooling as the only thing that can leave your mouth is praises of his name. Incoherent babbling about how you never want it to stop, losing yourself in the heat of his body. “So slutty baby, what would your dad think, huh?” He lets his palm rest against your stomach as you continue to bounce. Eyeing where his own outline is visible within you.

“Nasty girl, felt the way you got tighter around me. You want him to know? Know that it’s me fuckin’ his pretty daughter in my car.” His words alone are enough to make that tight band snap instantly with little buildup, robbing you of your ability to think as you cry out meek thank you’s to Shanks. He pulls you back by the hair, watching the way your face contorts as you cream around him; squeezing his cock like a vice.

The flutter of your walls spurs him on, picking up an animalistic pace as you’re used to bring him his own high. Sweat making his hair stick to his forehead as your vision focuses back in. “Think you can do it again? I know you can love.”

You’re unsure what he means but when you feel his thumb start to circle at your clit you’re a goner. The intensity of your last climax causes you to squirm as he tries to rip another out of you. “Stop fuckin running.” When Shanks wants something, he always gets it. That’s the rule. You are no exception.

He can feel his balls tensing at the obscene squelch each thrust into your cunt provides him, he knows he’ll have to wash these seats later; but for now he’s gonna dump his load in his best friends hot daughter.

“Let go.” A harsh drag of his thumb has you coming undone yet again, spurring Shank’s own orgasm where he drags you down flush against him. No where to run as his hot seed fills you to the brim. “Fuck yeah, that’s the stuff baby.”

You’re left convulsing as you try to catch your breath, slumping against his chest like a noodle. “Di.. dirty old bastard,” you weakly protest, slamming your fist into his chest.

“And yet you still wanna fuck this dirty old bastard,” he says with a laugh, peeling you off his chest to kiss you with nothing but teeth. He suckles on your tongue, making you whimper as he’s still inside you. “That’s what I thought,” he says satisfied.

Maybe he’ll have to be like Mihawk, taking out of town trips. However, he knows exactly where he’ll be going. Right where you are.

Enjoy? Reblog & click 2 see event masterlist!

[gardenschedule]

What Happened In India?

(or around that time...)

Before

Shortly before we were due to leave for India John spent the weekend with Derek Taylor, a former journalist who had become the Beatles' press spokesman and a good friend to us all. He, his wife Joan and their five children lived in a big country house where they seemed incredibly contented. When he came home after that weekend John put his arms around me and said, 'Let's have loads more kids, Cyn, and be really happy' Despite my increasingly strong feeling that John was slipping away from me, it seemed at moments like that as though nothing had changed. John was off drugs and seemed almost like his old self. 'We can make it work, Cyn,' he said. 'When we're in India we'll have time for us and everything will be fine.' I hoped he was right.

John (Cynthia Lennon)

Cyn hoped that Rishikesh would afford seclusion, privacy and an opportunity for her and John to rediscover each other and to revive their marriage. ‘Impossible hopes,’ she said sadly. ‘John said to me just before we went to India that he wanted us to have more children. Well that came out of the blue, I can tell you. I was really surprised, as he’d never said a word about that before.

Lesley-Ann Jones - The Search for John Lennon

Cynthia: “It was a time for us all to drop out for a while. The years of fame and fortune had taken their toll on our nerves and minds. John and I both felt closer. There seemed to be a greater possibility of our finding a solution to personal difficulties. If our trip to India wasn’t going to solve our emotional problems, then nothing would.”

The Beatles Off the Record (Keith Badman)

That letter made it crystal clear that they [John and Yoko] had been in contact. How well had they got to know one another? I tackled John, who told me she'd written many times, both letters and cards, but said, 'She's crackers, just a weirdo artist who wants me to sponsor her. Another nutter wanting money for all that avant-garde bullshit. It's not important.' I had no way of knowing whether he was telling me the truth. He sounded genuine, but a sixth sense told me there was more to this than he was admitting. I tried to put it to the back of my mind. We were going to India, and I wanted that to be a special time for us.

John (Cynthia Lennon)

John panicked at the accumulating threats from the Princess of Darkness. That was when he decided to go to India with Cynthia to put some distance between himself and Yoko. If he stayed away long enough, he could hope Yoko would just go away. Maybe she’d go back to America, or vanish in a puff of smoke. Her scissors act might go horribly wrong, or while she was bagged up one day the Royal Mail might frank the bag and deliver it to anywhere but India. Yes, a long trip to the ashram, where he could meditate and learn how to be calm and in control, give up drugs and spend romantic moments with Cynthia and glue his crumbling marriage back together, seemed opportune.

Magical Mystery Tours My Life with The Beatles by Tony Bramwell

“I don’t like the unhappiness she [Yoko] caused. She was horrible. John wanted to avoid her at first. He said, ‘Get rid of the bloody woman!’ But after India, he saw her differently — perhaps filtered through an exotic mindset.”

Tony Bramwell - the band’s ex-road manager

During

“The pressure of being the Beatles had driven a wedge between them individually and that had all percolated in the months leading up to their visit to Rishikesh,” he said. “Once they got there, and they unburdened themselves from all of that, they reconnected with their songwriting and their creativity. It just flowed forth.”

Bob Spitz to the New York Times

 “I was in a room for five days meditating,” said Lennon in The Beatles Anthology. “I wrote hundreds of songs. I couldn’t sleep and I was hallucinating like crazy, having dreams where you could smell. I’d do a few hours and they you’d trip off, three- or four-hour stretches. It was just a way of getting there, and you could go on amazing trips.” Cynthia Lennon said in Bob Spitz’s book The Beatles that for John, nothing else mattered when it came to mediation, adding “John and George were [finally] in their element [at the ashram]. They threw themselves totally into the Maharishi’s teachings, were happy, relaxed and above all found a piece of mind that had been denied them for so long.”

The Beatles in India: 16 Things You Didn’t Know

I was right in the Maharishi’s camp writing “I wanna die” you know. I’m So Tired and Yer Blues where they were pretty sort of realistic, you know, they were about me

Lennon Remembers

Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da was born on the steps of one of the low slung cottages where the entourage lived. One day, remembers Saltzman, he was passing by the cottage when he saw Lennon and McCartney sitting on the front steps and strumming the tune on their acoustic guitars. He ran back, picked up the camera and took pictures of the two with a pensive-looking Starr sitting on the side, from outside a wicket gate. Saltzman remembers the two were singing the first two lines of the song "over and over again, going fast and slow, having fun". "That's the riff we have," McCartney told Saltzman, "but no words yet".

filmmaker Paul Saltzman

Jenny Boyd, Patti’s sister “I sat with John a lot, since he didn’t feel well, either from terrible jet lag, and insomnia. He would stay up late; unable to sleep, and write the songs that would later appear on The Beatles’ White Album. When I was at my lowest, he made a drawing of a turbaned Sikh genie holding a big snake and intoning, ‘By the power within, and the power without, I cast your tonsil lighthouse out!’ Sometimes, late at night, I can still hear John singing those sad songs he wrote during those evenings, like ‘I’m So Tired.’”

The Beatles Off the Record (Keith Badman)

John “I went to the Maharishi and, regardless of what I was supposed to be doing, I did write some of my best songs while I was there. It was a nice scene. Nice and secure and everybody was always smiling. The experience was worth it if only for the songs that came out. It could have been the desert or Ben Nevis. The funny thing about the Maharishi camp was that, although it was very beautiful and I was meditating about eight hours a day, I was writing the most miserable songs on earth, like ‘I’m So Tired’ and ‘Yer Blues.’”

The Beatles Off the Record (Keith Badman)

Meanwhile, I was not having the second honeymoon I'd hoped for. John was becoming increasingly cold and aloof towards me. He would get up early and leave our room. He spoke to me very little, and after a week or two he announced that he wanted to move into a separate room to give himself more space. From then on he virtually ignored me, both in private and in public. If the others noticed they didn't say so. I did my best to understand, begging him to explain what was wrong. He fobbed me off, telling me that it was just the effect of the meditation. 'I can't feel normal doing all this stuff,' He said. 'I'm trying to get myself together. It's nothing to do with you. Give me a break.' What I didn't know was that each morning he rushed down to the post office to see if he had a letter from Yoko. She was writing to him almost daily. When I learnt this later I felt very hurt.

John (Cynthia Lennon)

And because the Beatles didn’t know anything about ashrams and they haven’t seen anything before because they went for Maharishi, not for the ashram. Maharishi didn’t allow men to stay with their wives. John was delighted with the idea. He loved it, actually. I think it made Cynthia very unhappy. She wanted to stay with John, everybody had his own problems. My great interest was with John. I was very happy because I found John much healthier. The color in his face was different and he was happier and he took the whole thing very seriously, and he was trying hard and he was so excited when I arrived because perhaps I was part of the reason he was there.

Magic Alex in All You Need Is Love – Peter Brown & Steven Gaines

We all went through a depression after Maharishi and Brian died; it wasn’t really to do with Maharishi, it was just that period. I was really going through the “What’s it all about?” type thing – this songwriting is nothing, it’s pointless, and I’m no good, I’m not talented, and I’m shitty, and I couldn’t do anything but be a Beatle. What am I going to do about it? It lasted nearly two years and I was still in it during Pepper. I know Paul wasn’t at the time; he was feeling full of confidence, and I was going through murder during those periods. I was just about coming out of it around Maharishi, even though Brian had died – that knocked us back again. Well, it knocked me back.

John Lennon, interview w/ Barry Miles, (partially) unpublished. (September 23rd, 1969)

By spending two months in deep meditation in India, John brought his deepest problems to the surface but he was unable to resolve them: the contradiction between his family life and his life as a rock star with all the drugs and groupies was too great. Had he stayed with the Maharishi until the end of the course, he might have avoided some of the pain, but by terminating the instruction abruptly, he was left hanging in thin air. During the weeks at the camp, he had been receiving daily letters from Yoko, though nothing sexual had yet happened between them. He was very attracted by her but he felt tremendous guilt about breaking up his marriage: doing to Julian what his own parents had done to him, repeating the pattern.

Many Years From Now - Barry Miles

He [Mick Jagger] told me with amusement that the real reason why the Beatles left the Maharishi was that he made a pass at one of them: “They’re simple north-country lads; they’re terribly uptight about all that.” Am still not sure if I believe this story.

“The Sixties,” the second volume of Christopher Isherwood’s diaries

After

And I was slowly putting myself together after Maharishi, bit by bit over a two year period. I destroyed me ego and I didn’t believe I could do anything. I let Paul do what he want and say, them all of them do what they want, I was just nothing, I was shit. And then Derek tripped me out at his house after he got back from LA, and he sort of said you’re all right and pointed out which songs I’d written, and ‘you wrote this and you said this, you are intelligent, don’t be frightened’. And then next week I went down with Yoko and tripped out again and she filled me completely to realize I was me and it was alright.

Lennon Remembers

So much had changed since I’d last seen the Beatles just a few months previously. They had come back from their trip to India completely different people. They had once been fastidious and fashionable; now they were scruffy and unkempt. They had once been witty and full of humor; now they were solemn and prickly. They had once been bonded together as lifelong friends; now they resented one another’s company. They had once been lighthearted and fun to be around. Now they were angry.

Here, There and Everywhere - Geoff Emerick, Howard Massey

The rage that was bubbling inside John was the most obvious sign that something was seriously wrong. There was new tension between John and Paul, and even between John and Ringo, in addition to the often strained relationship that Paul had with George and the resentment that Ringo sometimes exhibited when Paul coached him too much on drum parts. In fact, the only two Beatles who seemed to get along during the White Album sessions were John and George. Perhaps that came from the experience they had shared at the ashram—after all, they were the two who had stuck it out, staying on long after Ringo and Paul had gone back home. Maybe they felt deserted by their bandmates, or betrayed. The undercurrents between the four Beatles were so complex at that point, it gave me a headache just thinking about it.

Here, There and Everywhere - Geoff Emerick, Howard Massey

Our first night back in the studio began, as usual, with small talk and catching up. “So how was India?” I asked. “India was okay, I guess… apart from that nasty little Maharishi,” John replied, venomously. Harrison looked deflated, as if it were a conversation they’d had many times before. With a deep sigh, he tried to calm his agitated bandmate. “Oh come on, he wasn’t that bad,” he interjected, earning a withering glance. Lennon’s bitterness and anger seemed almost palpable. Ringo tried deflecting things with a little humor. “It reminded me of a Butlins holiday camp, only the bloody food wasn’t as good,” he said with a wink. I glanced in Paul’s direction. He was staring straight ahead, expressionless and weary. He didn’t have much to say about India that day, or any other. I sensed at that moment that something fundamental in them had changed. They were searching for something, but they didn’t know quite what it was; they had journeyed to India looking for answers, and they were disappointed that they hadn’t found them there… but it seemed to me that they didn’t even know the questions.

Here, There and Everywhere - Geoff Emerick, Howard Massey

“By all accounts, John had hit an all-time low [after India]. “John was in a rage because God had forsaken him,” George recalled. “Then he went and completely reversed himself. He turned from being positive to being totally negative.” According to Pete Shotton, who was spending time with John at Weybridge, there was an overriding feeling of humiliation—from the Maharishi, from the Apple Boutique shambles, from his deteriorating marriage, from what he felt was his shrinking position in the Beatles. “He was more fucked up than I’d even seen him,” Shotton remembers. “It seemed like everything was going to the dogs. He’d been desperately grasping [at] straws, as far as I was concerned, and there wasn’t even a straw there.”

the beatles: the biography, bob spitz

JOHN: How can two women split up four strong men? It’s impossible. You know, The Beatles were disintegrating slowly after Brian Epstein died, it was a slow death, and it was happening. It was evident in Let It Be – uh, although Linda and Yoko were evident then, but they weren’t when it started, I don’t think. It was evident in – in India, when George and I stayed there and Paul and Ringo left.

October, 1971 (St Regis Hotel, New York)

There was little need for me to repeat my instructions. As soon as we got there, it was obvious that things were not hunky-dory with the Beatles. Their recent month-long meditation retreat with the Maharishi didn’t seem to have helped their relationships very much, and the estrangement was definitely having an effect on their work. I don’t think any actual recording got done that night. Paul, George and Ringo were rehearsing some new songs, trying different ways of playing and singing them. Meanwhile, John spent most of his time sitting on the floor next to Yoko, chatting privately with her as she stroked his hair. He seemed no more involved in the proceedings than me and Lawrence, who watched the uncomfortable tension building from the other side of the studio. “Hey John.” Paul turned around to face him at one point. “Are you in this band or what?”

Leslie Cavendish, The Cutting Edge: The Story of the Beatles’ Hairdresser Who Defined an Era

Back at Kenwood John continued to be distant towards me. Now that we were away from the others and the charms of India, I felt increasingly afraid and depressed. John and I were back in the same bed, but the warmth and passion we had shared for so long were absent. John seemed barely to notice me. He was little better with Julian and was more likely to snap at him than give him a hug. There was just one moment of real warmth between us and that was, ironically, when John confessed to me that he had been unfaithful. We were in the kitchen when he said, out of the blue, 'There have been other women, you know, Cyn.'

John (Cynthia Lennon)

On the flight back from India, he had gotten very drunk and, for some reason, decided to confess all his affairs to Cynthia. Brutally, he ticked off a very long list, which included groupies, models, prostitutes, the wives and girlfriends of his and Cynthia’s friends and, possibly cruelest of all, Cynthia’s own girlfriends. Cynthia felt totally betrayed.

Magical Mystery Tours My Life with The Beatles by Tony Bramwell

The shattering of his faith in the Maharishi, meanwhile, had left John spiritually adrift once more; his instinctive response was to return with a vengeance to his former drug habits. (Like the other Beatles, John had totally abstained from alcohol and drugs while in India.) In retrospect, it's easy to see how wide open John was, at this particular juncture, to anything—or anybody—that might conceivably lift him out of his rut.

The Beatles, Lennon, and me - Pete Shotton

PAUL: I gave myself a set period, and then if it was gonna be something we really had to go back for, I was thinking of going back. But at the end of my month I was quite happy and I thought… this’ll do me. This is fine. If I want to get into it heavy, I can do it anywhere. That’s one of the nice things about it, you don’t have to go to church to do it, you can do it in your own room. So I was quite happy.

RINGO: I left just a little disillusioned, and John was a little disillusioned when he came back, and Paul was. [pause] George just loved it.

1993 rough cut of the Anthology series

Although Paul was the first to leave [India] disillusioned, John left in the mind of, ‘OK, well, we tried, we surrendered to God but it wasn’t God, it was Maharishi and this God thing is proving itself to be a total fallacy’ - and then went back to being The Beatles.

I left Rishikesh with John. Alex [Madras] had been the naughty boy who’d stirred everything up. John went in a rage because God had forsaken him (although it was nothing to do with God, really). Then he went and completely reversed himself. He turned from being positive to being totally negative.

I went to South India […] and everything that happened to me went wrong to the point that I felt, like John and Alex, that the Maharishi had put the heeby-jeebies in me.

George Harrison, c/o Derek Taylor, Fifty Years Adrift. (1984)

JOHN: I’ve got no regrets at all, ‘cause it was a groove and I had some great experiences meditating eight hours a day—some amazing things, some amazing trips— it was great. And I still meditate off and on. George is doing it regularly. And I believe implicitly in the whole bit. It’s just that it’s difficult to continue it. I lost the rosy glasses. And I’m like that. I’m very idealistic. So I can’t really manage my exercises when I’ve lost that. I mean, I don’t want to be a boxer so much. It’s just that a few things happened, or didn’t happen. I don’t know, but something happened. It was sort of like a click and we just left and I don’t know what went on. It’s too near—I don’t really know what happened.

John Lennon, interview w/ Jonathan Cott for Rolling Stone: The first Rolling Stone interview. (November 23rd, 1968)

Cynthia Lennon “John had taken acid once more and enthused, ‘Cyn, it was great. Christ Cyn, we’ve got to have lots more children. We’ve got to have a big family around us.’ At this point, I burst into tears … All I could blurt out was that, in no way, could I see us as he did. I was so disturbed by John’s outburst, that I even suggested that Yoko Ono was the woman for him. John protested at my crazy suggestion and suggested that I was being ridiculous. Although life went on as usual, my fears grew and I felt nervous and depressed. John was aware of my depression and suggested that, as he had to work for long hours in the recording studios for a few weeks, I should accompany Jenny, Donovan, Gyspy and Alexis on a holiday to Greece. The very thought of sun and sea really brightened my outlook.”

The Beatles Off the Record (Keith Badman)

During the spring of 1968, John was as confused, lonely, and unhappy as I'd seen him in years. Though his relationship with the other Beatles was still free of serious strain, he was seeing increasingly less of Paul and George, both of whom were now pursuing independent lives and interests of their own.

In My Life, Pete Shotton

The resentment might have been coming from a different place. With his marital problems still unsettled and Cynthia gallivanting around Greece, drugs continued to govern John’s fitful moods. He dosed himself continuously with LSD, tweaking its random effect with any spare pills he happened to find lying around the house. In the right company, it plunged John into a deep, unfathomable trance that altered between indecipherable rambling and deadpan silences. At Weybridge, into which Pete Shotton had moved in order to keep his friend company, he stayed up nights, tripping and battling wave after wave of incendiary rage. One night, after the usual snack of hallucinogens, Shotton says he noticed John moving his arms around very slowly in a circle. “I said, ‘What are you doing?’ ” recalls Pete, “but John couldn’t explain it. He said, ‘I can’t stop. There’s something making me do this. I can’t help myself.’ ” Tears followed, uncontrollable rivers of tears, intermingled with hideous laughter. When Shotton tried to comfort him, John resisted. “I’m not crying,” he insisted peevishly, wiping his eyes with the back of a hand. Suddenly John declared that he was Jesus Christ, back from the grave. “He was convinced of it,” Pete recalls, “saying… ‘This is it, at last—I know who I am.’ ” The next day the Messiah convened an emergency meeting at Apple to announce his identity to the other Beatles. Unimpressed, they said: “Yeah, all right then. What shall we do now?” After someone suggested lunch, the matter was dropped.

That night at Weybridge, in the middle of another drug-induced reverie, the TV flickered off, whereupon John, already chastened and in a self-abasing mood, asked Pete if it was okay if he invited a woman to the house. Shotton, who had no intention of staying up another night with his friend, was relieved. “Well, I think I’ll call up Yoko,” John said.

The Beatles – Bob Spitz

What happened that night can only be left to the imagination, but since it patently wasn’t the coming together of two virgins for the very first time, did Yoko do her hypnotism thing, as some of John’s friends thought she had, or did she have a powerful new drug in her arsenal? Nobody really believed that John fell in love overnight, because why hadn’t he done so before? He’d been kicking Yoko in and out of his life for over a year. Mostly, he had given the impression that he resented and despised her. So it must have been something pretty potent that made John fall headlong out of his casual affair with her into a mad obsession. Perhaps it was that he really was mentally ill and like many schizoid personalities, got religious mania. If he really did believe that he was Jesus, Yoko would probably have convinced him she was the Virgin Mary. A virgin at any rate. John was shortly to tell the world that they spent the night at the top of the house in his bloodred music room, recording the Two Virgins tape. They say that a moose in heat can waken the dead and achieve the impossible with his bellows. John and Yoko spent the night screaming.

Magical Mystery Tours My Life with The Beatles by Tony Bramwell

Whatever her reasoning, Cynthia remained determined to see the marriage through [after finding John and Yoko together]. Convinced that John still needed her, she returned to Kenwood, mollified by his apparent denial that anything improper had occurred. “For a while, everything was wonderful,” she recalled. “We could speak more openly and honestly with each other, and there really was a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel.”

But the tunnel was short, and the light soon faded. Within weeks their life together had disintegrated into a revolving state of solicitude and withdrawal, resignation and despondence. Following a stretch when John became disturbingly incommunicative, Cynthia packed once again, escaping on still another vacation to Pesaro, Italy, with her mother, Julian, and a favorite aunt and uncle.

The Beatles – Bob Spitz

No sooner were they back from India, than Jane returned to her work at the Bristol Old Vic, and Paul launched into what was probably the most relaxed time of his life. He opened wide the doors of Cavendish Avenue and the groupies, who had camped as faithfully outside as they had in Wimpole Street during the years that Paul had lived there with the Asher family, were astonished to find they were now invited in. Not only were they invited into the house, but also into Paul’s bed. Whenever I went up to see Paul, the house was filled with giggling, half-naked girls, cooking meals, walking Martha, or glued to the phone for hours on end, calling the world.

Magical Mystery Tours My Life with The Beatles by Tony Bramwell

It came as a welcome relief that John and Paul, along with Neil Aspinall, planned a quick trip to New York on May 11, where several press events had been scheduled to announce Apple Records in the States. Friends agreed that getting John away might do him a world of good; being alone, with just Paul to steady him, might have a calming influence. But Paul was grappling with his own set of anxieties. “We wanted a grand launch,” Paul said, “but I had a strange feeling and was very nervous.” Drugs, he later admitted, may have been at the root of his problem; there was a lot of dope-smoking before takeoff and even during the transatlantic flight. But Jane Asher also helped spike Paul’s mood. The grudging engagement between Beatle and actress had been ticklish at best. But since traveling together in India and a subsequent ten-day trip to Scotland, Jane’s eccentricities rankled. Paul was having serious second thoughts about the relationship, which had reached a kind of critical, now-or-never stage.

Between John’s attitude and Paul’s paranoia, the Beatles were a PR nightmare. “It was a mad, bad week in New York,” recalled Derek Taylor, who met the two Beatles there to chaperone a round of press conferences, followed by interviews. Taylor had fashioned himself into a debonair drug aficionado since the Beatles first dosed him at Brian Epstein’s housewarming party, and now he and John gorged themselves on speed and a “mild and extremely benign hallucinogen” called Purple Holiday, courtesy of their New York chauffeur. The effect of it came through in the interviews. John was gallingly withdrawn and dismissive, Paul unusually distracted—which made them come off as two rich, snooty rock stars peddling another product.

The Beatles – Bob Spitz

+ a couple of extra things

A quick timeline

December 25 Paul and Jane announced that they were engaged to be married.

February 15 George, Patti, John and Cynthia flew from London Airport to India.

February 19 Paul, Jane, Ringo and Maureen flew from London Airport to India.

March 26 Paul, Jane and Neil Aspinall flew back to England from Rishikesh, leaving George and Patti, John and Cynthia and “Magic” Alex who had come out to join them.

April 12 John and Cynthia, George and Patti and “Magic” Alex left in a hurry from Rishikesh, India, after “Magic” Alex convinced John and George that the Maharishi was using his position to gain sexual favours from at least one of the female meditators.

May 11 John and Paul, accompanied by “Magic” Alex, Neil Aspinall, Mal Evans, Ron Kass and Derek Taylor, flew to New York to launch Apple in the US.

May 15 Accompanied by Linda, Nat Weiss drove John, Paul and “Magic” Alex to the airport for their flight back to London.

May 19 With Cynthia taking a short holiday, John called Yoko Ono and invited her out to Kenwood. They made a random sound tape, which was later issued as Two Virgins with the notorious sleeve showing them both naked.

May 26 Cynthia returned home from a brief holiday in Greece, to discover Yoko Ono in residence with John.

May 31 Abbey Road. The White Album sessions. Work continued on ‘Revolution 1’ and the last six minutes was removed to form the basis of the chaotic ‘Revolution 9’. Yoko screamed on the track, her first appearance on a Beatles recording.

June 4 Paul began seeing Francie Schwartz.

June 22-23 On this day Paul McCartney addressed a sales conference attended by executives from Capitol Records, where he announced that all future Beatles records would be released through the group’s Apple Records label. The day after they fell in love in Los Angeles, Paul McCartney and Linda Eastman spent much of the day together at the Beverly Hills Hotel, where he was staying as part of an Apple promotional trip.

July 20 Jane Asher, appearing on Simon Dee’s BBC Television show Dee Time, said that her engagement to Paul was off – but that it was not she that had broken it. She told Dee that they had been engaged for seven months, after knowing each other for five years. (She had arrived back at Cavendish Avenue one day to find Paul in bed with a girl named Francie Schwartz.)

The Beatles Diary Volume 1 The Beatles Years (Barry Miles) & https://www.beatlesbible.com/

A comment from Heydullblog, which I find interesting and think sums up how insufficient & unsatisfying most explanations are for how John changed during this period:

Michael Gerber November 25, 2021 at 4:31 pm

What, in all that, makes you HATE Cyn, and divorce her in the most abrupt and vicious way, even attempting to get her to commit adultery so you can give her (and your own son) as little as possible? Why not a quick and amiable divorce from a woman who, let’s be honest, knew she was getting cheated on pretty constantly since 1961.

What, in all that, makes you HATE Paul McCartney, who has been your closest professional collaborator since 1957, and engage in a five-year campaign to smear and demean him in the press? Why do you insist your millions of fans choose you or him? Why not simply pause the group, and everybody goes solo and remains friends, as was predicted at the end of touring?

What makes you DETERMINED to bust up your rock group, the most popular group in the world, the source of all your fame, money, and power?

What makes you pick Yoko Ono IN PARTICULAR out of all the groupies, hangers-on, and even sensible appropriate partners within your current circle? Eighteen months ago you were attracted to Maureen Cleave, Sonny Freeman, Alma Cogan, etc — pretty much the type of women you always picked — but now, you pick a conceptual artist offering total submersion into someone else’s ego?

And what makes you spend the rest of your life pretending all this was the greatest thing ever, the fullest flowering of your genius?

It’s not that John Lennon looked around at his life in early 1968 and thought, “I don’t want this anymore. This isn’t for me.” It’s that he lashed out incredibly fiercely, in every direction, made no distinction between friend and foe, demonstrated a huge amount of resentment and bitterness towards the very people who it would seem had helped him the most, and spent literally the rest of his short life at least arguably LESS happy than he’d been before. He didn’t dump his wife for the nanny and live happily ever after; he started a process of picking things up and throwing them away with great force that, if he’d been that way in 1957, would’ve kept any of his genius from ever emerging.

He changed, fundamentally, in a short time. Why?

Midlife crises happen, they are to be expected, but this one gets more singular the more you look at it. And the thing about post-India Lennon is how he’s no more happy, no more productive, no more self-aware, no more comfortable in his own skin, than pre-India Lennon. What does the guy in August 1980 have to be angry about? Really? It was only after I reached middle-age and went through my own version of crisis (crises) that I thought, “How strange.”

[futureplayboibunnie]

a little geto oneshot just to get back into the swing of writing again <3

cult leader! geto. pillowtalk. fuckbuddies to…parents? geto getting horny over you being domestic and taking care of the twins lol. a lil angsty and fluffy x

Suguru's mind was wandering as he stared out into the horizon on the balcony, he was feeling troubled in a way that didn't alarm him but irks him. He was quietly brooding as he watched the sky darken alongside his mood. Geto had just finished fucking you, hard. His cigarette was burning out on his fingertips, he chucked it away when he felt the graininess of your fingertips smooth against his bare back, you swiped your hand against his forearm and sighed as you stood next to him, feeling the breeze flow over you.

He felt different from the Geto that you once met, the one you found about to curse an entire village to death. You made it your mission to find these young kids with powers they didn't have control over and take them under your wing, the twins that you tracked from their cursed residuals, and lo and behold, Geto was there. Circumstantial events ended up in you becoming his concubine, his little secret, but then again, you did care for the kids that you protected. It reminded him of the whole point of Jujutsu High

“Let me guess, you want the world to disappear.” He said lowly with a soft smirk, glancing at you in his button-up shirt and nothing else, the way he liked you.

You pursed your lips. “You can stay. Mimiko and Nanako too. Miguel and the others can maybe visit on the weekends, I guess.” You answered plainly, but with a hint of warmth in your voice that was enough to make your lips curl into a soft smile. Suguru chuckled, his eyes creasing slightly when he clocked your breathing. He knew something was weighing on your mind and before he could even ask, your lips twisted as you sighed. "I betrayed a lot of people over the years Geto. I told myself I was doing it to protect people.. you know, kids like the girls, hated and abused by people who don't understand them. I killed sorcerers that followed the girl's cursed residuals to keep them safe.” Your words were dampened by concern and worry.

“I was ruthless.” You tisked, reminding yourself of the brutal violence your protection provided, Geto admired that most about you. He liked it, he didn't expect anything less from you.

“You're a curse user. You did what you had to do.” He replied flatly. His expectations of you were always high, it took someone with steel in their spine to be a curse user and you had exactly that. You let out a soft breath as you spoke hesitantly.

“Truth is, I'd do it again. I told myself a thousand times that it would be for kids like Mimiko and Nanako, for them to grow up with some kind of control over their cursed energy. But maybe I did it for selfish reasons too.” Your voice was soft as you admitted your inner workings. “When I'm not killing, all I can think about is you.” Your eyes met his, nervous as the words just fell from your lips, the little flutter of your lashes caused his heart to stir, and a wave of possessiveness washed over him. Geto intertwines his hand with yours and kisses your skin.

“I won't let anything happen to you. I'll protect you.” He stated confidently and not a single part of you doubted that. He watched you sigh as you averted your gaze, your teeth caught onto your lip. Geto knew you were still hiding something.

“I should be happy right now.” You murmured. Your mind was on the girls, they'd been in Suguru's compound for months and they'd barely left it, you knew it was to keep them safe but you noticed how uninterested and unhappy they were as the days went by. They were only 8, they needed to have fun like other kids would.

“What is it ?” He holds onto your hand tighter as he glares at you intently.

“The girls are cooped up, miserable and bored. They deserve to have some freedom. We can't hide them away forever.” You breathed out, your eyebrows knitted in anticipation as you awaited Geto's response. For some reason, at this moment, he couldn't find it within himself to disagree with you. Not when you were being so...domestic. His chest tightened at the thought for a reason he couldn't put his finger on. You anticipated a long, awkward silence but that wasn't the case.

"Take them out..” He said almost instantly, that made you turn your head and look at him with surprise.

Geto didn't like taking his girls outside, Mimiko and Nanako were sensitive kids and he didn't want to jeopardize their safety for such trivial things, he needed to keep them safe in an environment that he created. But he had noticed a change in the girls, they were unhappy. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea...you taking them to the park...letting them have fun like normal kids. He wouldn't trust anyone else other than you with his girls. You were a little shocked to say the least

“If Gojo finds you...” You muttered.

“You can't keep doing this forever. You wanted to save them for a reason, let them live like children for once.”

-

Suguru kept thinking about it as he saw you leave to go play with the girls. He had to admit, he fucking loved seeing you like this, so caring and nurturing. It caused his stomach to do backflips, the idea of you taking care of his girls, like you were a doting mother. Geto loved the idea of fucking you full of his kids, as his concubine it should have been your job to carry an heir for him in the first place, but no...he wanted you all to himself first.

“Are the girls asleep?” He fixed you both a drink.

“With their muddy shoes on.” You gave him a tired half smile as you threw your coat down. You hadn’t see the girls this happy, especially by something as simple as playing in the park.

“Who else do I know that does that?” Geto glanced over at you with a smirk obviously referring to you, his chuckle was wam and so sexy. He passed you your glass and you clinked it against his, he took a swig and stared hard at you, but there was a certain tightness to him that made you question if something was weighing on his mind or not.

"You okay?'

“I was reminded of something, the way you talked about the girls. Satoru...asked me if I longed for something more, if I had any other desires if I wasn't a Jujutsu sorcerer, well, curse user now.” His voice sounded stained and unsure. “I do recall yearning for something more and I thought that my plan to create a non-sorcerer world would help me reach it. But now I feel like I've lost that feeling beyond the blood and the chaos-“ Geto was irked and a part of him was left unfulfilled for reasons he couldn’t control.

"Hey.” You grab his face with your palm, stroking away the little tufts of hair angling his face. “You're acting as if you don't have a reason for your motives. You can still have more.” Geto's eyes burned into yours, like whatever you said could affirm him or break him right now. “You've been through hell and I know you.. You can't let the bad things you did in your past define you. I know you're good. You are good.”

Geto knew that he was once good, but after all the things he's done, there's no way he could atone for it. Geto was not a good man, nor was he holy. But for you to say that he deserved to believe he was, was the closest thing to godliness he had ever felt, even being the worst curse user with the power of heaven and hell incarnate.

“No, you're good.” He said quickly as he glanced away. It felt like averting his gaze away from you made him feel like more of a man, not bendy and breakable within your hold. He sighed after a long sile moment. “What I said earlier, about you being a curse user,” He breathed out hesitantly. “You're not a curse user, you don't have a curse user's heart. There's just...too much good in you.” Geto's hand went to your face and palmed it perfectly, he caressed your hair and let his hand slip down to your jaw, and his thumb cradled your chin. “It's why I love you.” His eyes narrowed down to your lips, pulling it down with the pad of his thumb. He loved the sound of you breathing, the way your body moved, the way you knew exactly what you wanted.

Your lashes fluttered as you gave him a lazy smile, one filled with relief at the words he just uttered, but your heart was racing. You were getting shy on him now, it was cute. “I love you too.” Your voice was just above a whisper, sweet nothing's whirling around your head turned into a reality. Get pulled you into his chest and he gave you a chaste kiss on your temple, and then you leaned into his lips, his mouth was like sustenance. His mouth became greedier and hungrier, he wanted to claim what was his. Hell, maybe he wanted to watch you swell with his kid. Every king needs an heir.

[formulaforza]

—everywhere, everything

keep my hand in yours ('til our fingers decompose) pairing: daniel ricciardo x female reader warnings: parent death, angst, language, driving under the influence, underage smoking/drinking love, mackie... 6.6k. part two of this guy (but I think can be read stand-alone). I hope I make u all sad enough that you never ask me for a part two ever again <3

I hear you’re snooping around the old stomping grounds. I’d love to be there when you do it. Bring your dad if he’s free. It’ll be a good night, lots of strawberry wine—the real shit this time. All love, (always your) Danny.

— —

Danny is notably absent from your mom’s funeral. Granted, he is in Budapest at the time, and he had two races this weekend. You know this because you still keep tabs on him, even if he’s not yours to keep tabs on anymore, even if there’s nobody to blame for that but yourself. 

If you didn’t know better, hadn’t spotted Grace, Joe and Michelle a dozen or so people back in line to greet you and your dad, you would have been able to convince yourself Danny didn’t have a clue your mom was even sick. She went quick, less than eight months from her death sentence to… well. From death sentence to death. 

Two hundred and thirty-one days since her diagnosis means two-hundred and twenty-eight days since you broke things off with Danny. So even if he was in town, you probably wouldn’t have seen him. You wish you would have though, that he would have appeared in the plethora of grieving faces. Not for you, but for her. She always loved him, even before you did. 

Grace’s arms feel like the light at the end of a dark tunnel when she finally gets to the front of the line. She squeezes you tight, the only way a mother knows how to, and you cry in her arms. Grace doesn’t tell you how sorry she is, or that your mom loved you so much, or that she’s in a better place now. She just hugs you and wipes away your tears. 

“Danny wishes he could be here,” she tells you, but you don’t want to think about him and you don’t want to believe her. 

“Tell him I said ‘thank you?’” you say, a forced smile on your face. It’s got to be the hundredth of the afternoon. If there’s one thing your mom is—was. If there’s one thing she was, it’s loved. Tell him I hate him, is what you wish you could say to Grace. Or maybe tell him I love him. 

A million and two hugs later and you find yourself missing his arms more than you should. He was always a good hugger, and you could use a good hug right now. 

— —

You showed up at the property fifteen minutes after the event started. You’d hoped to slip in and out, to at least be able to say you went, that you tried. You had no intention of trying to find Daniel, and you figured it would be easy to avoid him, especially if you showed up after everyone else did—it’s his show, he’s the man of the hour, everyone will be fighting for his attention. 

You don’t even know why you came, really. Maybe it’s to figure out how the hell Daniel even got your address to send the invite in the first place. You’d moved half a dozen times since he last knew you. Or maybe it’s that you don’t believe, even after seeing it with your own eyes, that somebody actually had success with growing berries in the heat. It could be that you just… It could be simple, that you miss your Mom, and that everything about that place reminds you of her. 

Whatever the reason, you put on a long, flowing sundress, tied your hair back, and slipped on a pair of comfortable sneakers and a denim jacket. You didn’t even bother to tell your Dad—knew he’d want to catch up with Daniel, or maybe want to strangle Daniel. You didn’t want to give him the chance to do either. You park on the dirt road that leads to the vineyard, because the parking lot is overflowing, a pattern you’re beginning to notice since he’d taken over. 

The place looks the same as it did last time you were here. DR3 Wines still adorn the fleet of ATVs out front, and the wooden letters on the perfectly red barn are still perfectly white. You give your name to the woman working the door, regret it as soon as you catch her announcing your presence over the radio-headset she wears. 

Momentarily, you consider turning around and walking right back to your car. But, you aren’t one to waste a good outfit, not if you’d gotten all dolled up like this, so you walk into the Barn with your head down. 

It smells the same inside; wood, lavender, citronella and alcohol. There’s candles burning to make it feel cozy, but they do a poor job at changing the aroma in the air. The walls are still hung with photos, and the counter is still that slab of wood. It’s exactly the same as it was a few months ago, and manages to remind you of the place you grew up without wearing your childhood memories like a costume. 

Daniel has always been easy to find in a room. He’s loud, his voice and his laugh vibrate off the walls of whatever room he’s in. He’s loud and he’s confident and sometimes it feels like he’s the only person in a room that’s really alive. That’s how it felt then, at least. 

It’s been thirteen years since you last shared a space with him, but the fact you can hear his laugh on the other side of the crowded room assures you that while everything has changed, some things have stayed exactly the same. 

You can’t see him, but man can you hear him. 

You sign the guest book—proof, in case anybody asks. Proof that you did show up. It’s the top of a wine barrel, DR3 2023 branded into the oak—two tops, because so many people are here. It’s covered in signatures and messages from people he loves. You feel guilty even signing it, but you do. 

Congrats Dan—your marker pauses. You scoff at yourself. Congrats Daniel. Time flies, 13 years! The place looks beautiful. Wishing you continued success, you write, finishing it off with your signature. 

He still wears the same cologne, you realize, when you look up and he’s leaning against the table watching you write. He wears the same cologne, and the same smile, even if less crooked. Everything else about him is different. His hair is shorter, eyes older. His arms are covered in art, face is all together thinner, and his five o’clock shadow is less of a pipe dream and more of a full-fledged beard. He’s taller, maybe. Or you’re shorter. It doesn’t really matter, you suppose. 

You purse your lips into a curt smile. He matches—you didn’t even know he could smile like that. “Hi, honey,” he says, leaning over to read your message. 

“Hi.” “Who’s Daniel?” He teases, the smile on his face growing into one you’re much more familiar with. You look back at your writing, but you don’t laugh. If anything, you’re sure you look a little scared. “I’m teasing.”

“I know,” you nod.

“Okay,” he nods right back, slow, apprehensive over your apprehension. 

“Sorry,” you force out a chuckle. “I’m being so weird,” and you adjust the strap on your dress. He shoves his hands in his pocket, rocks back and forth on the sole of his shoes. Do you know how weird it is to be face to face with someone you were head over feet in love with? It’s really fucking weird. You put your best smile on your face, “Hi, sorry,” you continue, opening your arms for what you think might be the most awkward hug you’ve ever given. 

He’s quick to pull his hands back out of his pocket, like he’s worried if he doesn’t act fast enough you’re going to rescind the offer. 

His touch is uncanny; familiar and comforting and unsettling. It melts the years away and you feel just like you did some twelve years ago when you wished so desperately for one of his hugs. You’re nineteen again, and he’s twenty, and everything feels like it’s going to be okay. 

“How are you,” he asks quietly, his arms tight around you. “You look great.”

“I’m okay,” you say over his shoulder, and then again, as if you’re trying to convince yourself: “I’m okay. How are you?”

“Oh, y’know,” he shrugs, pulling away from the hug, gesturing your question away. “Same old, same old.”

“Yeah,” you nod, even though you don’t know. Even though it’s been eleven years since you forced yourself to ignore his existence, since you last kept any sort of tab on him. You can’t get over how different he looks. How you’d still recognize him without a second glance. “You look different.”

He laughs, looks down at himself. At his arms, his hands. He can’t look at his face, but it’s different, too. “Yeah, I guess so, huh?” He keeps looking back at you every time he laughs. He makes sure you’re laughing, or smiling at least, before he lets his slip. “Is your Dad here?”

“No. He uh, he wasn’t feeling well.”

Once upon a time, Daniel could spot your lies from the other side of the vineyard. You get stiff and stuttery, he told you, it’s easy when you know what you��re looking for. That was once upon a time, though, and this is now. Now, you don’t know if Daniel remembers any of those little things about you. 

His eyes go momentarily soft, worried, almost. “Just a cold, yeah?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, can I get you a drink? Give you a tour?”

You look around the place—not much to tour. Not when it used to be yours, not when one of his teenaged employees gave you a tour a few months back. He seems so excited about the idea, though, so you go along with it. “Sure. Yeah, that’d be nice.”

“Nice, awesome,” he says, looking around the place like he forgot where everything is. He claps his hands together, pulls them apart into a snap, and points at you with both hands. “Stay here? I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” you chuckle, and it’s genuine. “Staying here.”

“I know you, Bee,” he says, walking backwards away from you. B. He totally knows you’re full of shit about your Dad having a cold. “Don’t try to sneak out while I’m gone.”

“I won’t.”

“You promise?”

You nod. “I promise.”

— —

You, Daniel, and your Mom worked the closing shift that night. When he was around, that’s almost always how it went, because the two of you were the only ones who’d worked there long enough to know how to properly close up without a babysitter. 

Your Mom worked tediously in the office counting all the money—she was the slower counter of your parents, but it wasn’t like anyone was ever sitting around waiting on her. There was always something to be done, and Daniel was always good at making sure those closing tasks took up more than a chunk of the evening. 

You’d cleaned inside, swept the floors and vacuumed the rugs and cleaned the tables and the counters. You washed glasses behind the bar and restocked displays. The landline on the counter rang while you were writing up the day’s inventory, and you almost didn’t answer it, but your parents had told you to improve on your customer-service skills, even when you or the customer weren’t on site. 

To your surprise, the voice on the other end was Daniel’s. He was calling from the cellar, is too lazy to come over there to get shot down. “Is your Mom finished counting?” He asked, and you pulled the phone away from your ear to try and listen past the office door. 

“I think so,” you say, bringing the phone back to your ear. “We should be heading out soon.”

Sometimes you feel like you can hear Danny’s smile. “You wanna do the lock check with me?”

You slot the phone between your shoulder and your ear, returning your hands to the task of finishing up your paperwork for the night. You needed to be done when he got here, or there was no chance your Mom let you go with him. “How do you know I’m done with my shit?”

You can hear the lull of the old beat up golf-cart engine in the background, can almost feel the vibrations, can see clear as day Danny sitting there, lounging on the leather seat—tanned skin, unruly hair, toothy grin. “You always finish fast so you can daydream about your boyfriend,” he says, turning the last word into his own little sing-songy ballad. 

Your pen pauses on the paper, and you roll your eyes. “Jake isn’t my boyfriend.”

Danny laughs, and you roll your eyes again, pretend like you aren’t smiling. “Oh? But you knew who I was talking about!”

“Because you never shut up about him being into me.”

“Because he is!”

You set the pen down for good, now, grab the phone again because you want to make sure your next words come across loud and clear, even if it is the millionth time you’ve told him. “He’s my friend, Danny!”

“Oh, come on!” His laugh intensifies. “I don’t think a guy has ever been just friends with you.”

“You’re my friend, aren’t you?”

His laughter quells, and you’re sure he’s picking on the plastic of the steering wheel. There are so many scrapes on it from the same thing. He’s always picking at it, ever since you told him to give his poor nails a rest. He has to destroy something, you suppose—teenage boy and all—but you prefer a destroyed golf cart steering wheel to a destroyed Danny, so you let it slide. He sighs, and then he clears his throat, and the memory of your question dies in the silence. “Are you coming with me or not?”

“Are you coming to get me?”

— —

The air is chilly—nippy almost, especially with the sun dipping below the horizon like it is. You’re walking stride for stride with Daniel over the gravel path to the cellar, glass of sweet pink wine in your hand. He’s taking you to the strawberry field, per your request, because even after tasting it, even after telling you which field it’s in, you still don’t believe him.

“So,” he asks, one hand deep in his pocket, the other hanging in the space between your bodies. He’s very hesitant with you today, you’ve noticed. It’s nothing like the brash boy you called your first love. He’s gentle, softer, like he’s scared of his next words. “Who finally put that ring on your finger?” The threat of a smile is weak, but the idea of it alone is charming. 

You look at your free hand, carefully decorated with several different rings. “Which one?”

He drops his head to his shoulder, gives you a pathetic smile and a matching chuckle. “The only one an ex-boyfriend would ask you about, Bee.”

The sunlight—the little bit that’s left of it—catches the diamond on your ring finger. “Oh,” you shrug, dropping it back to your side. “It’s Mom’s.”

“I know,” he nods solemnly, and your head shoots over to look at him. You don’t know why he would remember that. “Who put it there, though?”

A smile pulls on your lips, and you bury it in the lip of your wine glass. “I’m not engaged, if that’s what you’re asking,” you laugh. “I just wear it… I don’t know, it makes me feel close to her.”

Sunsets at the property have always been gorgeous. When you were younger, you thought that maybe it was the most beautiful place in the entire world. The blues and the pinks and the yellows all mix together into some grand watercolor and tonight is no exception. 

The silence that lingers in the air should be awkward, but it’s not. It should be harder to be here, to watch the sunset, to walk the paths you have memorized, to stand next to Daniel after all these years. It’s not hard, though. It’s comfortable, like it was when you were sixteen and seventeen and eighteen and barely nineteen. Like it was all the time you knew him, even before you loved him. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally speaks. “She was really cool.”

You chuckle softly. It’s a familiar routine, consoling those attempting to console you about her death. “That’s what everyone says,” you say, even though Daniel might be the first person to posthumously describe your mom as cool. Lovely, you’d gotten more times than you could count. Beautiful and kind and oh honey, she loved you so much, you knew already. She was really cool, that’s a Danny-original if you’ve ever heard one. 

“I should have been at the funeral.”

“It’s okay,” you nod, because his presence wouldn’t have changed that your Mom was lovely and beautiful and kind and that she wasn’t around to be any of those things anymore. There wasn’t anything Daniel could have done to remedy that reality. “You were busy. We weren’t together,” and before he can come back with something, insists that it’s a bigger deal some decade later than it was, you change the subject. “What about you, though? Putting rings on anyone’s fingers these days?”

He laughs. A person can only get poetic about Daniel’s laugh so many times before it’s easier to just leave it at that. He laughs, everyone around him lights up, and he laughs some more. “Believe it or not, my work-life balance isn’t super great at fostering long-term relationships.”

You don’t exactly know what Daniel’s work-life balance looks like. The last time you paid any attention, he was racing with Toro Rosso. Every update you’d heard since had been one you weren’t looking for—commercials and posters and billboards and word-of-mouth; more than a couple ex-boyfriends and a few stray friends. 

You never cared much about racing. It was Daniel you cared about. 

There aren't a lot of specifics you remember about Daniel’s schedule, but you remember that he was almost always coming or going. There wasn’t much staying, and that was before he’d even made it to the big show. “You mean, women like it when their partners are around for most of the year?”

“They do, yeah,” he nods, dimples digging into his cheeks. “Crazy, right?”

“Crazy.”

— — 

Danny didn’t go down without a fight. He caught what had to have been the first flight home—home, you’re not sure that he can call Perth home now that he doesn’t live here. He caught the first flight to you, threw wood chips at your window at three-in-the morning. He didn’t need to wake you up, it’s been two weeks since you had any kind of meaningful sleep. You spend the majority of your time in bed looking at the ceiling fan spin or staining the sheets with your tears. 

You let him throw mulch for twenty minutes though, hoping that maybe he’ll give up and leave so you don’t have to face him. 

You’d done the breaking up over the phone for a reason. It wasn’t that you couldn’t wait until whenever he was home next. You could. It was that you couldn’t break up with him while looking him in the eyes, and you knew it. 

Eventually, though, you pull your pajama-clad frame out from under the warm covers, drag your feet the entire way to the window, pulling the curtains open just enough to confirm what you already knew—that it was him in the driveway. His entire face relaxes when he sees you there, forcing the window open. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“What the fuck am I doing?” He scoffs. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You cross your arms over your chest. The night air is cold and your pajamas are scarce. “I’m trying to sleep.”

He rolls his eyes, always dramatic, always over-the-top. “Come down here, honey.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

You stand there in silence, shivering in your bedroom window. He stands there in silence, thick jacket on and a handful of wood chips from the garden in your driveway. It’s a stalemate, and you don’t know which of you is more exhausted. Appearance points to him, but you dread that fact that you’re standing, that you’re tired enough to give up the fight this quick. 

“Fine,” you relent, and it’s less than two minutes before you’re running into him on the back porch, slowly closing the sliding patio door behind you so as to not alert anyone else in the house of his presence. “What do you want?”

“Where are your clothes?” He asks, and is already taking his coat off to wrap around your frame. You huff and puff the entire time he’s doing it, because your lack of clothing was a choice—you were hopeful that he wouldn’t keep you long if you were shivering. 

“What do you want, D?”

“I want you to talk to me,” he says. “Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it.”

Your lip trembles, and you bite down on it to try and stop it, chew on the skin until you taste copper and then it still trembles. You don’t look at him, you can’t. “You can’t fix it.”

“No, no,” he argues, grabbing your elbow in a plea, stepping closer to you, speaking hardly above a whisper. “Just tell me, baby.”

You yank your arm away, tone a direct contrast to his when you insist: “You can’t fix it this time, okay!? Nobody can fix it.” You point an accusatory finger, like there’s actually something he’s done to deserve this. There isn’t, there never will be. “You can’t fucking fix everything just because you want to.”

He matches, points his finger at you, presses it into the middle of your chest. Your heart races. “You can’t just fucking break up with me because you want to.”

You swat his hand away, offended by the accusation that you wanted this, that any part of you is enjoying this, finding relief in this. You hate this. Fucking loathe it, but it doesn’t change any of the facts. “I don’t want to,” your lips downturn into a frown, all pathetic and trembled, and your voice cracks and shakes half as much as your lips. The tears that burn in your eyes are reflected back in his, tired and bloodshot and wet. 

“Then don’t do it,” he pleads. 

You gulp around the lump in your throat, voice leaving your body meekly through tears. “I have to.”

“No, you don’t,” he assures you quickly, his hands slotting on either side of your face, the pads of his thumbs wiping your tears, his fingers locking into the hair at the nape of your neck. He shakes his head before he speaks, brown eyes searching yours, begging you to change your mind. “You don’t.”

His hands on your face are what push you over the edge, turn you from poised and sniffly to half-wrecked—choking on sobs and swallowing snot. It all hits you at once, all the weeks of testing, the days of trying to come to terms with a diagnosis, the hours spent grappling with the fact that nothing will ever be the same about you. You’re changed, now, and you’re only going to continue to change. It’s not Daniel’s responsibility to see you through any of this fucking shit.  “I do, I do,” you sob. “I have to, I’m so sorry, I have to.”

He presses his forehead against yours, your tears mixing with his every time your noses bump. It calms you, if only slightly, and your eyes close, mind focused on remembering this, on remembering what it feels like to have his skin on yours, to feel his voice in your bones, to breathe in the same air, the same space, the same atoms. 

Your breath is shaky, but the pattern is steady. In, out. In, out. Your nose is so stuffed you can’t breathe through it. Your lips are all but touching his, a stray tremble holding the power to force them together. You don’t know if you want to kiss him or not, if it would make things better or so much worse. 

He swallows hard, pulling your faces apart. “I love you,” he mutters softly, like a wounded animal, and then he presses a long, hard kiss into your forehead. 

You sniffle, your hands holding onto his wrists. “I’m sorry.”

He nods, drops his arms, your hands falling into his. “Yeah.”

He lets your hands go, lets you go. You feel like you might be sick watching him walk down the steps of the patio, along the path of pavers to the gate. A shiver runs up your spine, and you pull his jacket closed over your chest. His jacket. 

You wipe a new set of tears from your cheek with the back of your hand. “Your jacket,” you sniffle, “hold on.”

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even turn back to face you. “Keep it,” he says, unlatching the gate and slipping through to the other side. You sigh, and then you cough, and then you cry some more before finally finding the ability to move again, to go back inside and up to your bedroom, and that was that. That was the last time you saw Danny. The last moment that he was yours. 

— —

You’re walking back from the unbelievable strawberry field, quickly approaching the still lively barn, people and smiles and conversations pouring out into the adjacent spaces. Someone appears in front of you with a camera, with two cameras—one professional, and one a cheap polaroid. Smile, they said, and you laughed, your cheeks burning red. 

Daniel slinks his arm over your shoulder, and you step closer to his side. He flashes a toothy grin and a shaka sign to the camera. You hear the shutter of the camera take a dozen photos, and then the photographer holds up the polaroid—one for the road, she says, and Daniel pulls you that little bit closer, you blush that little bit harder. 

There’s a flash, and then you both relax, the photo printing out of the bottom of the camera. She holds it out Daniel, but he nudges you with his elbow to take it. You do, even though you aren’t sure you want it. 

You shake the polaroid while the two of you make your way into the barn. “What do I do with this?” You ask, looking carefully at the developed print. 

Daniel shrugs, leaning over. You flip the photo in his direction so he doesn’t have to lean as far, but he still does. “It’s cute,” he says. “You don’t want it?”

“I mean, I’ll take it, but…” But. But I’m going to throw it away when I get home. But it only reminds me of you. But it only represents what won’t be. 

He looks to the wall of photos behind the counter, eyeing the display carefully. You follow his sight line, your eyes going to the exact place you remember the photos of you being. You don’t know why you’re surprised that they’re still there, like you knowing they exist means they’d vanish. “Hang it up,” he says. 

You laugh. “Where?”

Daniel shrugs. “Anywhere you want.”

— —

The best part about only being able to afford cheap workers, was that you spent every day at the property with a new teenager looking to have just as much fun as you were. Between that, and the plethora of college kids that were constantly leaving to go back to school, to get a grown-up job, to get any job that paid more than your family could offer—there was always an opportunity for going away parties. And party, you did. 

You and your coworkers turned friends had slept down by the river more summer nights than you could count, hiding six-packs in the staff locker-room and hiding ziploc bags of joints behind the six-packs. 

Tonight, the going-away party is to honor someone whose face you won’t remember in a year, much less thirteen. He’d worked there for the holidays and not much more, and there wasn’t much memorable about him. 

The bonfire on the back of the property snaps and crackles, sparking off into the night and lights everyone in flickers of orange and yellow. The breeze has picked up after dark, and the tank-top and shorts you’d donned earlier in the day aren’t appropriate any more, one of Danny’s hoodies—a purple one that sits in his locker just for you to steal and smells like weed and wood from all the past nights just like this one—takes the chill out of the night and keeps the goosebumps off your exposed legs. 

The sky is clear and cloudless, a big moon staring back at you and a million shining stars fill the night sky. It’s times like these you think there’s no prettier place on Earth, nights like these where you feel completely rich. 

Two joints are being passed around the circle lazily, laughter and conversation filling the air. The first one comes your way from the left, from Daniel. He takes a long hit, the embers at the end of the paper burning orange with his inhale. He holds it in, nodding his way through someone else’s joke, and exhaling into a laugh. 

He looks at you, hesitates to hand it over. “I really don’t want a lecture from your parents tomorrow morning,” he teases, playful smile pulling on his lips, mischievous glint in his eye. 

You roll your eyes. “They won’t know,” you insist, to no avail. Daniel chuckles, but holds his resolve and passes the joint around you to the next person. 

Undeterred, you keep your eyes on the joint that moves clockwise, that comes to you from the other direction, a path with no Danny-sized roadblock. With practiced ease, you take a hit, exhaling slowly, savoring the warmth in your chest. You meet Danny’s eyes on exhale, find them half-amused and half-concerned, brows raised and smile drawn. 

“Whatcha got there?” He laughs, gently taking the joint from her. “I told you not to,” he continues, taking a hit himself before passing it along again. You grin, a wave of giddiness washing over you. It always goes like that when he laughs—makes you all warm and fuzzy and silly. 

“It’ll be okay, Danny-boy,” you laugh, leaning against him. Lazily, without hesitation, he tosses his arm over your shoulder and pulls you that much closer. You like being closer, can feel his laugh instead of just hearing it. You like the way his arm rests on your shoulder, the way his fingers trace patterns over the fabric of his sweatshirt, every touch echoing on your skin for minutes. You like being close, even if it makes your palms a little sweatier and your heartbeat a little faster. You could get used to being closer, you think. 

The fire is starting to die out now, and the air gets colder. You wonder how long your parents waited up for you to get home. The original excuse was that Daniel had forgotten the lock-check, that you wanted to come along and really, it’s no problem to drive her home. After about fifteen minutes, you’d snuck away from the newly-built fire to make a phone call, to let them know you were grabbing food on the way home and don’t wait up for me. You’re sure they did, though, even if only for a while longer. 

Anyway, the air is colder and the joints have been smoked through and the beers have been drunk—not by you, you’re too messy when you’re crossed. And not by Daniel, either, who refuses to drive drunk but insists on driving high. 

You yawn under Daniel’s arm, find a way to somehow lean in closer. “Sleepy?” he asks, and you nod. Carefully, like he’s done it a million times before, he presses a kiss into the crown of your head. It’s not the millionth time, it’s not even the second time he’s kissed any part of you. It’s the first time you've felt the press of his lips and you think that you’ll feel it there forever. “You wanna go?”

“No,” you say. “I’ll stay, make sure the fire gets out and everything.”

It’s not much longer, anyway, until the fire is being doused with water bottles and beer and everyone is taking turns spraying the same perfumes and colognes over their clothes in a poor attempt to mask the smell of smoke and weed. 

Daniel drives you home. It’s not the first time you’ve been the passenger in his old Ford Bronco. It’s not even the first time you’ve been in the truck while he was high. Usually, car rides with Danny consist of cranked down windows and loud music, of louder conversations and excessive laughter. This drive is quiet, though. 

His hands are steady on the wheel, eyes focused on the road ahead. There’s no music, the windows are up, and he doesn’t talk. You watch him carefully from the passenger seat, study him in your paranoia. You haven’t done anything, you don’t think. There’s no reason for him to be mad at you. Unless there is. 

“Did you have a good time?” You ask. Danny nods. “That’s good.”

He turns to face you at a stop sign. “Sorry,” he laughs. “I’m trying to focus.”

“It’s okay,” you nod. 

“It’s harder,” he explains. “It’s hard with you here.”

— — 

The evening you’d anticipated is far from the evening that unfolds. Fifteen minutes, maximum, in and out. That was the plan. But then Daniel—Daniel, and all the far-fetched dreams of him making himself at home in your life, all the passing thoughts you’d had over the years about the what-ifs; the grocery bills and the taxes and the white wine and the rusty barn doors. He glues you to his side for hours that feel like minutes. 

The event is winding down, people keep coming up to him, firm pats on the back and handshakes and hugs goodbye. They tell him how great the place is, how great the wine is, how great he is, and you move around like his shadow, smiling awkwardly whenever someone catches your eye and waiting for the next joke Daniel has to crack quietly, just to you.

You stand at a high-table next to him, elbows on the tabletop, shoulders bumping everytime one of you moves. There were people around the table, a reason—an excuse—for the proximity, but they’re long gone now.  “You know,” Daniel says quietly, dropping his head against his hands, speaking to nobody in the room but you. “I’ve missed you a lot.”

“Yeah,” you nod, speak just as softly. “Me too.”

He takes a long drink from the wine glass in front of him. Liquid courage, you know now, for what he was going to do next. The glass returns to the tablecloth with a soft pat, and he lets out a heavy exhale. “I heard there’s a new coffee place opening in Northbridge?” He asks, and you assume it’s because he knows your neighborhood, wants to know more about it. The wine has made you naive, or maybe you’d just pushed the reality of his implication so far from your mind that it’s an impossible thought. 

“Yeah,” you nod. The new coffee shop in Northbridge is a seven minute walk from your apartment, and is on your way to work. You’ve been eyeing the place since the empty building went up for lease. “It’s got this super cute bakery right next door,” you add. “I think they opened last week.”

Daniel nods. “I’d love to try it out.”

“Yeah,” you continue, still genuine and naive and oh-so silly. “You should. I’ve heard good things.”

He laughs, then. Laughs this specific kind of Daniel laugh that you used to get so excited to hear. It meant he was going to do something for—or to—you. He’d laughed like that before he kissed you for the first time, and he’d laughed like that while orange juice ran down his arm and he asked you out for the hundredth time. He’d laughed like that on every anniversary, every birthday, every holiday. It’s Danny’s you laugh. “I’d need someone to go with, though,” he says. And the laugh and the words and the whole thing clicks. Daniel is trying to ask you out. “I don’t really know my way around Northbridge.”

A lie, objectively. One that confirms the assumption you’d just jumped to. Daniel’s first apartment was in Northbridge. He lived eleven minutes from where you live now. He knows the place like the back of his own hand, knows the streets like he used to know you. 

You nod into the bottom of your wine glass, watching the liquid spin around the clear glass. “You don’t?”

He purses his lips, looks all deep in thought. “No,” he shakes his head. “No, I don’t think I do.”

“Oh,” you frown, your eyes meeting his. It’s really hard to mess with him when he looks at you like that. Hard, but not impossible. “My dad’s usually around.”

He chuckles. “Your dad, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you nod, a smile pulling impossibly hard on your lips. “Retirement and all, you know.”

“Oh, sure.”

“I guess…” you shrug, stop spinning your glass and set it down altogether. You push it slowly across the tablecloth towards the center. “I could always show you around, too.”

He leans back, stands up straight and scratches his beard, makes a piss-poor attempt at wiping the dimpled smile off his face when he cocks his head to the side and says, “As much as I like your dad…”

“As much as you like my dad.”

And, because Daniel was never really Daniel, because he’s always going to be your Danny, no matter the time or the distance or anything else that should get in the way, he says: “You’ve always been my honeybee.”

— —

“Don’t call me that, Mom,” you shouted from the office, gathering your morning gear. You were working tours with Danny, today, and the two of you had spent all morning bickering over who gets to be lead and who has to be secondary guide. While you shoved the batteries into the walkie-talkies, you could overhear Danny successfully pleading with your Mom. Honeybee, she’d called out to you. Let Danny take Lead today, won’t you? 

She laughs. You roll your eyes, slipping behind the counter where she leans, where Danny lounges on a stool. You toss Danny’s walkie at his chest, and he catches it before it hits him. She raises her brows pointedly, meets Danny’s eyes in some shared language, a shared silent remark about you. “Why not?”

“Because. It sounds like something Grandma would say.”

Your mom smiles, twirls the end of your ponytail around her finger. “But you’re so sweet”

Danny chokes on his laugh, shooting up straight in his seat to clear his throat, to cough into his elbow. “She is NOT sweet.”

You scowl, shove his shoulder gently. It only makes him, and your mom, laugh harder. “Hey!”

“You make my life sweet, baby girl,” she hums. 

Danny nods, falling back into his comfortable spot, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re kinda like a bee,” he says, leaning back even further. Your entire day would be made by him losing his balance and falling flat on his ass. “You make her life sweet but for me…” he pauses. “You’re just this annoying little buzzing I can’t shoo away.”

Silently, you hold up both middle fingers to him, walking backwards out from behind the counter, towards the back door. Your mom only laughs at you, always laughs at you and Danny. “Love you, Bee,” she calls to you, and winks at Danny. 

“Yeah,” he calls, the stool creaking underneath him as he properly stands up. “Love ya, Bee!”

[e-m-ma-lmfao]

"We're gonna get out of here, I promise"

pairing : mike munroe x (fem) reader

cw : mike has a gun, talk of death, and blood, and maybe like one swear I don't know. reader is referred to as mike’s girlfriend, but other than that i don’t believe any female pronouns are used.

a/n : i know this is kind of late since the until dawn remake has been out for a while but i kept procrastinating this after I started it. anyways #needthat.

The wind pulls at you from every angle, hair clinging to your sweaty, frostbitten cheeks. Adrenaline kept your body moving through the never-ending maze of trees and snow; you didn’t think it would last much longer. You were sure if you continued in this direction, eventually, you would reach the sanatorium. 

It was marked on the map in the cable car station, the same map you had seen before you made your way up to the lodge with Sam and Chris. That was hours ago, and you wish you could go back and warn yourself to go back down the mountain. Or even better, ignore Josh’s email altogether and stay home. Play sick. You’d say anything not to be where you are, right now. 

But that’s not possible, is it? 

Your clothes are sticky with blood. Not your own, you think. You hope. This night was not turning out the way you had expected it to. And the choices you had made leading up to this point were beginning to make your stomach turn the longer you thought about them. 

Why did you leave the lodge? You could’ve stayed on the kitchen floor after that psycho knocked you out; you could’ve pretended not to hear Chris’s attempts to wake you up. You could’ve looked for a phone instead of rushing into the snow to find Ashley. Speaking of them, why had you left Chris and Ashley? You could’ve returned to the lodge with them to find Sam after witnessing your friend be sawed in half, but no. You needed to know that Mike was okay considering you hadn’t seen him since you both arrived. 

Why did you start that argument with Mike before the two of you had left for the lodge? 

“C’mon, don’t be like that.”

“Like what?”

“You're getting jealous over nothing. We’ve talked about this, there is nothing between me and Em. I’m with you. I’m in love with you. Why does this keep being brought up?”

“Maybe because she texts your phone like you're still close? ‘Text when you and the new gf get here, can’t wait to see you, winky face’,” you push his phone towards him. “She knows who I am, why does she feel the need to refer to me as the ‘new girlfriend’ as if we’ve never met? And why is she sending you winky faces? Why exactly is Em so excited to see you, Mike?” You make a point of emphasizing her nickname which seems to flow off his tongue so easily. 

“You’re looking into this way too much. This is crazy, I mean come on, that’s how she texts everyone, baby.” He gently takes his phone from you, throwing it onto the bed and reaching back for your hand which hovers in the air. You let him, but you make no effort to hold his hand back, fingers only resting in his hold. A soft sigh leaves your lips. 

“Yeah well, I’m not loving that she texts you that way and I’m also not loving the fact that you’ve said nothing to her about how weird it is. You have no problem defending her when you talk to me, so why can’t you say something to her about how I feel?”

“If I said something it would just cause a fight between me and her, or you and her, and the last thing that anyone needs up there, especially Josh, is for all of us to be fighting. Can you pretend to like her, only for the weekend, and then you never have to again.”

“You say that every time she’s involved, ‘just pretend to like her for tonight, and then you never have to ever again.’ But I will, because for some reason she is always around. I figured when Matt and she started dating we would see her less but I guess I was wrong.”

“Please, let’s just go and get it over with. We’re doing this for Josh, remember?”

“I don’t know, Michael, something about spending an entire weekend with your ex-girlfriend isn’t really appealing to me anymore. Call me crazy.” His eyebrows soften as you use his full name, especially in that tone. He is enjoying this conversation less than you are. 

“Don’t be this way, we’re already packed and ready to go. Just come downstairs and get in the truck. She won’t bother us, baby, I promise. Come on..” He attempts to pull you, gently bringing your hand closer to him. But your fingers slip from his hand, dropping to your side. From the bed, his phone buzzes, the screen lights up, and you don’t have to look to know who’s messaging him. 

“Sam told me she's taking the bus up there, I think,” you look back to him, “I’ll just head up with her so she doesn't have to go alone.”

“But then I have to go alone. And the bus leaves in like an hour, that's barely enough time to get ready and get to the stop. You're being ridiculous, just come with me. And if you want to, we can talk about this on the way up.” 

 You look away from him, missing the way his face falls as you turn your back to him. “I’ll see you up there, Mike.”

If you had just let it go, believed him, and gone with him instead of taking the bus with Sam, you would’ve never been angry with each other at the lodge. Or rather, you wouldn’t have been so furious with him because you would’ve talked things out in the truck, kissed, and made up instead of stewing in your thoughts on the bus. You wouldn’t be worrying about whether or not he was alive right now. But you were stubborn and foolish, and now you are trudging through the snow, improperly dressed, and praying the person you love is still breathing on this stupid mountain. 

You cross your arms over your chest, preserving what little warmth you have left, and with every step you lose another piece of hope. All you can think of is him. And how, if he is dead, he would’ve died thinking that you were mad at him. You weren’t even angry, annoyed for sure but not angry, you were just being stubborn and taking your frustration out on him. Now you might never get to apologize. The thought makes your stomach churn and your steps falter as a wave of nausea overtakes you. 

But, finally, in the distance you see the outline of a large building surrounded by a brick fence that appears to be falling apart. You allow yourself to be comforted, just for a moment, by the sanatorium's existence. The nausea in your stomach ceases as your steps quicken, arms uncrossing to move through the air. You reach the gate, blocked by the large pile of snow blocking both sides, not that you think you could’ve pushed it open in your current state; blocked from snow or not. 

You let your hand trace across the gate's bars as you walk towards the side of the fence. The pads of your fingers sting from the cold metal but you keep them where they are. As you move, they follow, moving from metal to brick. The only way into the sanatorium courtyard, you realize, is to climb over the stone fencing. 

A tired sigh leaves your body. You place your hands on the wall, palms stinging from the snow-covered surface. You lift your body, throwing your leg over simultaneously, climbing on top to straddle the snowy stone. The action uses more energy than you realistically have left so instead of gracefully landing on the other side of the wall you fall, directly onto your back. At least the pile of snow beneath you cushions your fall a tiny bit, but it still takes you a few minutes to recover your breath. 

Using the wall, you find your footing again. The snow falls from your clothes as you stumble towards the sanatorium. You don’t even know what you were expecting to discover here. You figured there might be people here. Maybe a construction crew, getting ready to tear the old building down. A custodian, forced to stay and take care of an abandoned building. Or on the slimmer side of chance, a large group of stable nurses and doctors that would offer you and your friends shelter and much-needed medical attention. However, the closer you get, the more you realize how fucked you are. Nobody is out here. And it was stupid to believe there would be. 

But you’ve come this far, and the chill that runs through your body borders on hypothermic potential. You reach the front doors, using your body to push the door open, shoulder first. It opens far easier than expected, and you fall to your hands and knees as it flies inwards. “Fuck.. me.” 

You don’t move from the floor, the opposite actually, you get closer to it, falling onto your back. You don’t even want to get up. No one is here. All your friends are probably dead back down by the lodge. What’s the point? At least this way you’ll have time to think over every choice that led you here, it’ll take a while for the cold to kill you since your feet are the only part of you still lying outside the building. From farther within the entry hall you hear a door open, the sound of steps echoing through the empty building. And though your heart rate picks up speed, you don’t move. Instead, you pray that whatever it is, will kill you quickly so you can be with your friends again. So you can be with Mike. 

“Who’s there? Whoever it is, just know I am armed and I am not afraid to shoot you. I have had one hell of a night and I am so not in the mood for.. whatever it is that you want.” Even with your heartbeat drumming against your ear canals, you still pick up the voice. A man's voice. Almost recognizable. You let your eyes close, murmuring the only thing you can think of like a mantra. Mike. Mike. Mike. Mike. 

“Holy shit. Y/n?” Mike? You turn your neck enough to see the man approaching. A sudden second surge of energy fills you, and you lift yourself into a sitting position to fully face the figure walking towards you. 

“M..mike?” 

“Holy- Oh my god, how are you- Are you okay?” He falls to his knees in front of you, dropping the gun and the lantern in his hands on the floor. His hands hover around you, scared to touch you. You notice that two of the fingers on his left hand are missing, replaced by a bandage soaked in blood.  Your hands are the first to make contact, landing on both sides of his dirty face.

“Are you real?” He nods, pulling you into a too-tight embrace. A stark contrast to his previous concern and reluctance to touch you. 

“Yes. Yes, I’m real. I’m so glad to see you. You’re alive.. holy shit I can’t believe you’re alive.”

“You look terrible” You wipe away some dirt from his face. Eyes wide as you try to convince yourself that he is actually in front of you. You had convinced yourself that he was dead, and now to see him in front of you alive and well - okay maybe not well but he’s not dead - it has your brain moving a mile a minute. There is so much you have to say. So much you have to explain to him. How do you explain to someone that his friend was sawed in half on the anniversary of his sister's death? Or how do you explain that the rest of his friends might ALSO be dead? And without sounding insane, how do you explain that you truly believe something is up on the mountain with you and that it might’ve followed you the entire way to the sanatorium? You can’t.  

“Well, I’m happy to see you too, baby.” He laughs breathily, unsteady. A laugh of disbelief. His way of coping has always been humor, even at the most inappropriate of times. Your features are probably the exact opposite of his uncertain smile. You pull him close again, practically pushing him to the ground, but his arms wrap around you and he straightens his back to keep the two of you upright. “Woah, I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.”

You push your face into his shoulder, saturating the filthy, green jacket that he wears with tears. It stinks like cigar smoke, years of sweat buildup, and dirt. 

“Mike- Oh Mike,” your voice is muffled in his skin, pausing in between sobs to catch your breath. His arm wraps tighter around your waist, the other arm reaching up so his hand can rest in your tangled hair. “I’m so- I am so so sorry Micheal. I thought you were dead, I thought- I thought you died thinking I was angry. I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Don’t apologize. I’m just- I’m so glad you’re alive.” He kisses your temple, and as you raise your red face to look him in the eyes, he moves your hair out of your face. “We’re gonna get out of here, okay? Can you walk? God, you must be freezing. Did you come all the way from the lodge like this? Fuck, y/n, how are you even alive.” You shake your head, a silent confirmation that you don’t know how you’re alive either. 

He helps you to your feet, taking off the unfamiliar jacket and helping you into it. He then retrieves the lantern and the gun from the floor, “Here, can you hold this up?” You nod, and take the lantern from his hand. In the hand opposite of you, he holds the gun, and with the other, he intertwines his fingers with yours. “We're gonna get out of here. I am going to get you out of here, I promise.” He’s so certain, and your fear almost dissipates completely as he leads you farther into the sanatorium with a tight grip on your hand.

[essentiallyleaf]

day 20. cockwarming. with. jisoo.

1105 words.

tags.

kinktober ‘23, idol x male reader, cockwarming, angst, i don’t even know anymore, possibly the coldest cockwarming fic to ever exist, so much angst and for what.

notes.

short and a little rushed. sounds just like every day of my life. exhaustedly, leaf.

You plop down on the bed, barely able to take your black dress pants off before the dizziness gets the best of you. Jisoo is there, laying still, facing away from you and towards the cloud-shielded moon outside of the open window, like she always is. You can’t really tell if she’s awake or not, and the alcohol certainly doesn’t help.

This must be what they mean when they talk about magnetic fields. We’re immersed in them all the time, but we can’t see it, something about a wavelength our eyes are not tuned to. It’s like even when it’s past your bedtime (which on a weekend night like tonight is at least three hours after your regular bedtime), the sky completely starless, when you zig-zag through the streets and keeping your balance requires a voluntary effort, when your white shirt has more than one almost fully dried Bordeaux stain on it, you don’t know why or how, but your red needle always points back home, back to her.

You always manage to find your way to your shared bed, well, shared right in this moment, but often, too often one could easily argue, the bed feels hollow and freezing as Jisoo’s in it alone. Maybe that’s why the first thing she does when you lie down on it, is take your strong arm and wrap it around her waist to hold her close and share some of your alcohol-boosted warmth, and keep her own arm over it as if to ask you to never let go, never leave her again. She’s awake. Your natural response is to use your other hand to brush her long, silky black hair and watch it flow through your fingers, but as she feels your breath caress her shoulders, she knows that you can’t promise much more than that.

This shouldn't work. Well, to be fair, it isn’t working. But throwing stuff away, whether it’s dropping old photos in the fireplace, or leaving an entire relationship behind you to possibly never see your special person again, that hurts. It’s not just about the value of it, no, if that was the case, if that thing you’re throwing away still brought value to you, then you wouldn't be getting rid of it, right? It’s about admitting that something went wrong along the road, that things didn’t work out, that a wrong turn was taken, and that maybe, you were the one who took it. So the only thing you can do is turn away, keep going down that road, and if you ever happen to look back in a moment of accidental lucidity, justify your own mistakes.

So Jisoo reaches back and starts rubbing the outer side of your naked thigh, slowly traveling up to your ass as you lay a trail of quick kisses on her shoulder. Once she starts fiddling with the hem of your boxers and pushing her own butt back towards you, you get the message. You take your underwear off and stroke your dick a couple times before her nightgown is hiked up and her cheeks fully envelop your length. Your pecks take a trip up to her neck while both of you start shifting your hips up and down, back and forth against one another’s, a couple of low moans leaving your mouth.

It was your fault, but what if it wasn’t? What if that girl, what was her name even, hadn’t asked you for a lighter? What if she hadn’t looked at you all night with those warm brown eyes, what if she hadn’t asked you for a ride home? Any of those would’ve fixed this. The nights of yelling at each other’s faces and the nights of dead silence, the feeling of unbridgeable distance even when holding hands, the cool air of beach days in the middle of August. Maybe invisible walls are the best solution in some cases, and fuck it if they break some people’s immersion, as long as you can see the sun rise in the distance, you can live with not being able to touch it.

Jisoo suddenly stops her motion just to raise her thigh a little, suggesting you to enter. You align yourself with her slit and penetrate her warmth, her slick coating easing you through her walls and quickly letting you bottom out inside her, but as soon as you try to retreat, she puts a hand on your hip, halting its movement. She just places her thigh back down and stays still for a few seconds. A few seconds that enclose some kind of understanding, or, a feeling of understanding, at the very least. Most of the times when you have a revelation, an epiphany, you have no idea what the fuck is being revealed to you, you only see the light bulb turn on. Your kisses get wetter and longer, traveling from her upper neck to her ear and to her jaw, your hand finds itself on her soft, perfectly sized mound. She starts contracting her abdominal muscles repeatedly and rhythmically, squeezing your shaft between her tight walls, your pelvis still fixed in its place. You see her skin glow more than usual under the faint moonlight, and you think you taste a little salt as your tongue brushes her cheek, which you can’t help but groan on every time Jisoo tenses around you.

Invisible walls are not meant to be broken. They’re meant to disengage, to discourage. What does it say about us when they manage to do what they’re meant to? Is it sad, disheartening? Does it speak about our sense of agency as a whole? What if you did something different, what if it was your fault? You can’t go back, so what can you do about it now? Another night of getting drunk, another night of having sex, in each other’s embrace but miles away.

Your hand feels up her thigh as hers reaches between your legs from the back and starts massaging your testicles. You can’t hold back anymore. Her abs contract once, twice. You stop counting, she feels too good. Your thigh wraps around hers as you cum inside, letting out multiple guttural moans right next to her ear. You drop load after load of white paint onto her walls and into her womb.

You think you hear a little sniffle. Again, the only response is to caress her hair and leave one long kiss on the back of her head. Not more. Sometimes we hurt people that love us, love people that hurt us. And if it’s true that opposites attract, then likes must also repel.

-

footnotes.

sorry if this is depressing. how can i help you get back to horny, the superior mood? lunatically, leaf.

[willowser]

*this was—apparently—in my queue on my nsfw blog, and i must have scheduled it so far out so that it wasn't taking up room in my drafts, and the day that i scheduled it came to pass and it posted on a locked blog and i didn't even know about it until now hehe

i actually get a little sad, thinking of pro hero touya !! especially in the case of knowing him before it all, when he was still eighteen and scrawny, angst-fueled, acne on his cheeks 🥺

you're the first person he's ever had like this. you're not necessarily dating, because endeavor wouldn't allow such a possibility, such a distraction, but you walk with him after school and occasionally stay for dinner, sometimes come over to study on weekends. rei let you hang around until the early hours of the morning once, lazing on the couch with all her kids, watching movies while enji was on night patrol.

there isn't much time the two of you have to yourselves, outside of school and touya's siblings, so the relationship is platonic for the most part (save for the few brave late night texts that have been exchanged, the handful of goodbye kisses you've managed to sneak on his doorstep). the furthest it ever goes is on the couch upstairs, one weeknight when his dad is gone and everyone else is meant to be asleep.

it's hard, being that age and having to settle for hands held under the table, fleeting looks across the room when the tv goes dark. it freaks him out, too, wanting something—you, in more ways than one—when he knows his main focus should be graduation, his reputation, training. his future.

but you're so—comforting, and you couldn't care less about who his dad is or who touya is supposed to be one day; you're here, always, for who he is now. for his home-pierced lip and chipping nail polish and red, embarrassed cheeks. for just touya.

and so he really goes for it in the moment he can, manages to unbutton your shirt enough to slip his hand inside it. and he's never touched someone like this before, so even though you're shy about your simple, plain bra—he really isn't paying attention to that, just the tender weight of your breast in his hand. how soft and squishy it is.

by now, you've managed to figure out the kissing thing: it had been a bit awkward before—when to move his head, where to fit his nose—and it all had to be done quick, in case anyone was coming around the corner, and he really should still be worried about that, but his head is only full of you, you, you.

especially when you unzip his slacks enough to fit your hand, his whole body stiffening when your fingers brush the material of his boxers, touching him in a way he's only done to himself. it doesn't go too far—though touya is more than preparing himself to lose his virginity on this couch—but there's such severity to the want flowing through his veins, an intensity he'd never felt before then.

of course natsuo ruins it, by shouting at the top of his lungs that touya's got his pants down, even though he totally doesn't, and—

maybe that's all he gets from you, before his future finally comes for him.

gradation and becoming a side-kick, joining endeavor's agency, adjusting to the new hero life; it becomes a lot for him, and now that enji has the chance to be more heavily involved in touya's every step—he loses you along the way. gets swept up in the tide of fame and glory and all that his dad has ever wanted for him.

but i think—no matter how many people he sleeps with, how many people come in and out of his bed as the years pass, he'll never forget how he felt on that couch during that late night. how special you felt to him. how special he felt to you.