#like.... I love the time around my birthday I always peak | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gangplanksorenji · 11 months ago

Text

Kinknuary Day 1: Breeding

Pairing: aespa Winter x Male Reader

Word Count: 4,471

[Kinknuary Masterlist]

A/N: Happy birthday to Winter!! This will be her birthday fic as it's intentional to put her as the introductory of the series since it's also her day!

--------------------------------------

--------------------------------------

“God, that’s an awful one.”

It definitely wasn’t atrocious in your opinion, but it’s the opposite with her—she barely appreciated something that much about the movie and it’s nothing new, honestly. Minjeong is hard to impress, and it almost feels like a fever dream if she turned around, her interest piqued or even the slightest of a smile induced on that sternly, beautiful face of hers. You know a couple of things to break that attitude down in the slightest but nothing was ever close and you didn’t care about it because you’re treating her, not the other way around. Sure, she appreciates your efforts but you know it was never enough and you hate it.

“At least you’ve watched the movie I want, Minjeong.”

“But it’s horrible! At least I didn’t get bored by you rubbing my thighs—”

“Minjeong, not here! You damn know we’re still in public, right?”

On how many times you’d told her to calm her nerves down in public is how many times she’d disregarded your scolding, acting like the biggest brat and the most seductive vixen you’ve been with.

Your relationship with Minjeong… isn’t the best but god, it’s always a wild and interesting ride.

For starters, it’ll be such a nuisance with all of the complaints and random whimpers from her in someone’s perspective and it is true, she’s truly annoying and hard to deal with—almost like a child trapped in a woman’s body. Yet, you got the grip of her and read her like a book, absolutely knowing what she loves and doesn’t but it’s not always the best of things coming to her end.

She may seem like a douche but honestly, she's thoughtful and the complete opposite of that. It also doesn’t help the fact that she lived most of her life with such luxury that it’s almost peak-sophistication and even with you, she feels the same.

With the days you're down, she’s there to comfort you as you do with her and that’s why you’ll always cherish every moment with her, even with the most embarrassing and the silliest ones.

Her perfect imperfections, it’s pristine and broken yet so beautiful…

“You can’t stop me, daddy.”

“Yeah, I can’t.” you mutter upon yourself as she’s trying to push your buttons once again. Knowing things may get out of control, you didn’t want to waste some time trying to deal with her and instead, coursed the way towards your vehicle, leading the way. With just mere two minutes of walking, you swiftly approached your vehicle, opening the front passenger door as a gentlemanly act towards Minjeong as she chuckled softly, flustered from your actions as you got onto your seat too in a rush.

“What do you want, Minjeong?”

“I’m just so tired, daddy—let’s just go home to your place. I love it there! It’s so cozy and it smells so fruity and flowery…”

And she’s luring you to fall into her trap again, probably. This wasn’t the plan all along—both of you should part ways after escorting Minjeong on her way home—yet there’s maybe something in her mind that can possibly worsen or make everything better even though it was.

As much as you can read her, she’s an unpredictable woman and that’s what makes her unique—unique enough for you to fall in love.

“Well, I thought you were going home? Isn't this enough?”

“Well—” Minjeong clicks her tongue, smiling not-so-sarcastically as she lets you know how serious she is with her decision. “—your Minjeongie changed her mind—and don’t tell me you don’t want me!”

Minjeong’s minuscule noise and tone of annoyance is as adorable as her pristine beautiful face, and you can’t help but giggle because of her cute act.

“Yah! I never said anything that I don’t want you—” You then kissed her cheek and ran your hands onto her silky dark-brown locks as she blushed from your subtle actions. She finds it endearing with you, reassuring her as she feels the utmost affection that she always loved. “—besides, I even love that idea better…”

“Stop it…” Minjeong lightly punches your shoulder as she feels weakened with your affection towards her.

“Well, besides—” You adjust your position to further look into her with a better angle, further appreciating her flawless features and for you to have a better conversation with her. “—there’s no one is this world that can stop us, Minjeongie.”

Caress her hair playfully and then run your finger slowly down her cheek as you finish your sentence that implies the utmost adoration—

“I want you for me, tonight, and no else.”

Minjeong inches her face closer towards yours as her eyes scanned your face, her mouth curling up a smirk and her hand cupping your cheek gently, letting you know how she adores you too.

“I feel the same too… I want you and you only.”

Unable to contain the built-up intimacy from earlier, she initiated a torrid kiss in which you were caught off-guard but your instinct made you reciprocate quickly enough before you even truly noticed. Pecks and sounds of little-to-none discomfort, as well as pleasure can be heard resonating around the car. You feel yourself falling down to the deep abyss again, constantly drowning into the sea of intimacy yet you swim away, forcing yourself to pull out not because you’re out of breath but because you wanted to go home with Minjeong as soon as possible.

“But I wanted more!”

“When we get to your place, we could spend the entire night doing this—or maybe even more, Minjeong…”

As much as wanted to disagree and derive you onto her wants, she can’t blame you with that as you absolutely had a point. Both are deprived of each other’s taste, and both of you want to savor it on full-comfort and ease—at Minjeong’s home.

--------

Scrambled and scuffed, probably the best way to describe Minjeong’s bedroom right now as the clothing is just everywhere—to god knows where they are and you absolutely didn’t care about it. The two of you didn’t want any foreplay or any teasing involved yet you know that Minjeong isn’t like that, so she herself has something to hold you over while you’re absolutely just with your boxers.

“So needy for me, Minjeongie…”

“Can’t help myself, daddy and besides—” She moans ever-so-slightly as you continue peppering her neck with kisses that makes her world rock on how full of heat and love each peck has. “—I can’t control myself whenever you’re around…”

And the feelings are mutual towards each other. You know how needy and submissive she can get whenever she’s in her vulnerable position and as much as you want her to strip teases you, you can’t help but take a glance and appreciate the beauty behind her glamorous outfit.

“By the way, Minjeong, I don’t if I said this already but—” Minjeong’s puppy-like eyes was all in your sight, anticipating something that will come out of your mouth as you smile and caressed her hair. “—you look stunning and perfect in this outfit. I love it so much…”

As you were peppering her neck with more kisses of affection, she can’t help but moan and blush with your compliment, knowing how much you adored her look today.

“T-thank you—ahh, daddy. I’ve always wanted to be the most beautiful girl in your eyes whenever we meet. So I—ahh, always put effort on make-up—”

“Minjeong—” You move towards her, your face just inches closer to her as you tilt her chin, making her look up to you, dead in the eyes. “—there’s no other girl that’s more beautiful than you, alright? You’re my everything and everything that I need.”

Minjeong flashes that beautiful grin, her eyes almost half-lidded with the genuine smile she’s emanating, feeling the utmost adoration. She then stole a kiss with your lips and you immediately reciprocate with it, running your hands down her jacket and removing it off her arms as the other palms her stupendous curves of her waist while the kiss gets heated, riling up immediately to the tongue action that the both of you missed. While you were busy with your intimate kiss with Minjeong, she herself already got her dress off in a single, swift motion while you could only feel her dress brushing against your arms. She looked great on it but it would be better with it off her scrumptiously slender body so you didn’t care and continued the heat that was ignited earlier before you even got home.

“Daddy…”

“Yes?”

Minjeong slowly courses her hand on your abdomen and then, near your clothed crotch in which you instantly know what she wants but you still prefer to have it her way—she may want something else or more than what you’re thinking.

“I need this inside me. Please, daddy…”

The way she pleads with her glistening orbs and her pouty mouth never fails to make you weak, and behind that pure countenance of hers is the lustful and wanton needs that should be attended immediately. You knew that this may happen before you even met her today and whenever she’s horny (especially when she’s with you), her heat can’t be stopped and must be fulfilled immediately or things will break loose. Loose in both ways, can either be good or bad but there’s nothing to worry about as the both of you heated up the atmosphere with another torridly intimate kiss.

While you’re busy pecking her beautiful lips, she swiftly ran her hands onto your stiffened rod and stroked it slowly, earning a subtle moan from your lips in which she smiled knowing how much it turned you on in an instant. She continued doing this for seconds until you stopped her, earning a small whimper and a cute sulk from Minjeong. With her panties now off, down to her ankles, you brushed your tip against her dripping folds, earning the sultriest moans escaping Minjeong’s mouth.

“Please, d-daddy—ahh! Fuck me like how I deserve it—”

“How do you think you deserve it, Minjeong, hm?”

She just whimpers uncontrollably within every oscillation your hips do, brushing so gently on her folds as she can’t think straight or anything articulate. Within every tease earns the mellowest of pleas that can absolutely make you give in to your deepest carnal desires but you resist, your iron will holding yourself up, dealing with your own dominant trait against Minjeong.

“L-like—daddy, ahh—uhm, l-like a g-good girl?”

You continue with your teases until you had enough and plunged your whole length immediately without even warning her—

“We’ll see about that, baby—but for now, you better take me like a good girl and I’ll—” You bring in a spank that marks an imprint onto that porcelain skin, making her cry and groan from the pain and from your leisure pace of thrusts. “—fill you up, okay? My poor little Minjeongie… So needy…”

Of course, you aren't just going to fuck her slow without doing anything more than that, so without wasting any time, you pull her into another hot kiss as immediately reciprocates. You’ll never get tired of tasting the succulent flavor of her lips as you were addicted to it right away—the feelings are mutual so it wasn’t really hard for Minjeong to comply and get into the same boat as you. Pulling out of the embrace of her lips on yours, she breathes heavily right after and so do you, catching air as your eyes wander around her smooth, pristine skin of her collarbones and neck. You didn’t hold back on your temptation as you immediately latched onto it, peppering it with multiple kisses that elevates the urge inside you on increasing the pace of your thrusts but you maintained your earlier composure, giving her your utmost intimacy with maximum pleasure and moderation.

Minjeong’s moans are so heavenly, encapsulated with its own primal call and utmost adoration with how you’re treating her as it pumps the fuel of animalistic urges. It’s hard to maintain such a moderate pace whenever Minjeong pleads with her soft-toned voice and the lewdest sounds possible—you eventually feel yourself giving in, slowly intensifying your thrusts and you don't bother to slow it down.

“Look at me, baby.” You said with all-seriousness and a demanding tone yet you know how Minjeong can’t really focus because of the peak pleasure she’s been experiencing that’s completely a sight to see, for you, at least. “Minjeong, look at me!” Another call and she responded yet without her eyes being full of tense and her breaths ragged as each thrusts is too much to take yet so enchanting to feel.

And then, she slowly averted her glistening orbs, pupils dilating from anticipation as you muttered: “I’ll definitely fill you up to the hilt, okay?”

Your eyes ignite with lust as you groan in pain yet pleasure drives you onto your craziest cravings of desire, as you quickly follow up what you’ve said: “You like the thought of me painting your walls white, hm, Minjeong?”

She whimpers, biting her lip as she’s starting to lose herself because of so much pleasure. “I l-love—gahh-ahh—it, daddy! Please c-cum—gahh—inside m-me!”

Minjeong’s moans orchestrate such melodies that pleases your ears and further fuels your arousal, skyrocketing it up to the point every thrust you do inside her, you groan in tempo with it (your thrusts) and with how much her tight cunt clenches around your shaft just puts gasoline on the flames of lust. You didn’t let her catch a break as your pace finally wildens after like three minutes of a slow and steady one and you could feel the sudden spike of pleasure coursing down your veins. The view of Minjeong was the most erotic you’ve ever seen since earlier: her eyes alternating on being half-open to a full-closed one as you know how much those orbs anticipates and dilate in every thrust you do, her mouth in a shape of ‘O’ as she stick out her tongue, her face ahegao from the reckless treatments you’ve been doing to her, sweat dousing down her neck and onto the back, also down to her toned midriff and the cherry on top, her scrumptiously small mounds with her taut buds that further turns you on.

With a relentless pace being ensued by your hips, an ear-screeching sound escapes her lips as you pound her like an animal, chasing your very own high. With just the tip inside, almost withdrawing your whole length up to filling her up to the hilt is an exhilarating experience and this is probably the hottest sessions you’ve been in with her—maybe, you’re a bit biased now since you only think of just plowing her tight cunt until she see stars and the overstimulation from both parties doesn’t help with your articulate judgment.

“God—you’re tightness, baby—fuck… Since when did you get so tight?”

Of course, she can’t answer just immediately but rather, taking seconds because of the pleasure she’s experiencing. She doesn’t know if it’s a rhetorical or a genuine question but she didn’t care because she wanted to answer anyway.

“I don’t k-know, daddy—ahh! I’m j-just so—gahh, daddy! Just s-so tight ar—around you!”

Well, the feelings are just mutual—you can’t help yourself but get too hard whenever she seduces you and she knows it because she’s one of the multiple weaknesses you possess. Between the rapid movements of your hips, you take some time to look at her pristine features and run your hands to caress it while still maintaining your ruthless pace. She screamed followed by hurried moans that further ignited your animalistic spirit and permeated a blessing to this filthy atmosphere that is probably a nightmare for the neighbors to hear upon—and the last thing you want to hear knocking at your doorstep is a noise complaint from them.

Hearing Minjeong’s moans is angelic and erotic, and it’s even going to get hotter considering how she mewling about reaching her high sooner and you know that she can’t do anything about it, even if you commanded her to hold on and not to cum yet. You know that your princess requires her needs to be attended whenever possible, and you’ll treat her as one and a ear-deafening scream pursuits you to go faster and harder in her tight, little heated cavern as she pulls you into an embrace, her nails gripping your shoulders and almost leaving your skin scratched but you didn’t mind it.

She needs to cum and you’ll give it to her because she means everything to you and you’ll make her world rock with it. She deserves it, like the good, little servant she is for your cock and it’s just obvious because of how much her walls grip and hug around your stiffened member.

“Daddy, I’m g-going to c-cum…” Minjeong whines audibly between your thrusts and with the sight of this, you fuck her like an animal, helping to chase her orgasm sooner and to make her achieve the utmost bliss.

“I know, baby. Now cum.”

She doesn't hold back anything, screaming in delight as she lets out everything while still gripping you tightly with her hands as a leverage from the mind-boggling orgasm she’s having. With how much she creamed all over your raging length—her juices forming like a rivulet around your cock that it stained the bed sheets and god, you’re damn sure you need a new one after you’re done with her—you could tell how euphoric her orgasm was as you still fuck her through it, but with a moderate pace, you wanting to get onto your high too, and not just hers.

“You good, baby?”

“Y-yeah…” Minjeong weakly responded, her eyes a bit drowsy from the earlier orgasmic earthquake as she tries to recover from it. “Please c-cum inside me. Breed m-me—spill it all out i-inside my tight cunt…”

You’re fulfilling that, of course.

Even with her enervated state, she still looks hot as fuck and you can’t help but get more aroused with her ruined look. With your pace building up again, you grab onto her hips for an outlet of your own pleasure as her moans encourage you to get onto your high much faster. With tight feelings on your loins getting out of hand, you know it’s going to be achieved soon so you hammer her pussy with deep thrusts that rocks her world ultimately.

Her wanton face never fails to make you on your knees and it’s about time to let it all out inside her.

A wild groan and the burying of your whole length up to the hilt is just a signal of achieving paramount pleasure. She can feel it and lets out a faint moan and a whimper as you deposit all of your seed inside her, not wasting a single drop not buried deep in her cunt.With still the mere adequate will in your body, you thrust your hips, fucking your semen deeper in her and to chase your still orgasmic state. Minjeong’s sultry cadence brushes off your ears, finding a way to force you into oblivion yet you can’t take such more because of your sensitivity. Giving both of yourselves some space to recover and breathe, you slowly pulled out of her tightness, causing Minjeong to cry in need and satisfaction.

“God, daddy—y-you came in me… A l-lot—o-oh…” Minjeong smiles with the oozing semen coming out of her hole, grabbing a small sample and then tasting it, humming in satisfaction as she’s delighted to taste your delicious product.

“What c-can I say—you’re goddamn hot, Minjeong.”

It was never enough and you know it to yourself she deserves more. You’re still sensitive but the urge of ruining her pristine and god-like image is more than the definition of arousing—it’s monumental and probably an experience of a lifetime. Still with your unrivaled hardness, you can’t tell how you will not ruin her again with your cock as she senses it, smirking and luring you to another round of filthiness and she’s not far with that.

“Such a slut for my cock, huh, baby?”

“You k-know me, daddy…”

Yes, you know her well and so are her limits. This was just the beginning of a spectacular show that you’re about to be into and it will be one hell of a night between the both of you. It’ll be a euphoric one, to that extent.

Being creative is a blessing in disguise, even in times like this even with your primal desires taking over you. You wanted variety as there’s more room to discover and to feel with her—experiment with her. Well, this wasn’t an experiment, but rather, you wanted to feel a different side of intercourse. As much as you want to see her beautiful face whenever you’re fucking her like an animal, you wanted it from behind, where you can achieve a different kind of pleasure and deeper penetration, which Minjeong utterly likes. You then commanded her to spin her figure around, get herself on all fours. She’s not naïve in these kinds of situation, being clever enough to do the rest—her ass up, face buried down the pillows

“Such a good girl for daddy, huh?” An obligatory spank on her bubble butt spices the atmosphere in the room, heat permeating the air as Minjeong’s moans add up to the concoction.

“I know you like it from behind—well now, you’ll get what you want, baby.”

This new profound position is a sensational experience and it’s literally everything you can dream of. Plunging your length deep inside her again, you groan with her tightness that rivaled any hole that she has—maybe even her walls gripping tighter than her ass, but that’s saved for another day. You painfully thrust inside her, moaning in unison as the pleasure is suddenly coursing down your veins, and hers and it’s hard to think straight with it.

Clouded with the filthiest thoughts possible and the urge of bypassing the sensitivity you’re feeling, you didn’t start off slow but did the opposite—ensuing such a reckless pace like earlier. In each thrust you do, a spanks comes in every divisible of twos as Minjeong lets out a cry and a moan that further ignites the lust in you. Knowing you need an outlet to further have a greater grip in fucking her, your other hand reaches for her hair, making a makeshift ponytails and pull her head up, her back arched in order for those muffled moans be unshackled, letting your ears be blessed with those sinful moans escaping her beautiful lips.

“Daddy, y-you’re—ahh—t-too deep!!”

“And y-you’re too tight, baby—but I fucking love it!”

It’s not a complaint but rather a call of pleasure as the penetration was euphorically insane to take, for her, yet she loves it. You notice how much she’s spilling out her juices around your cock—and maybe even some of your semen leaking out—and by the sight of it, she’s definitely enjoying it as you continue fucking her cunt mercilessly.

She’s sensitive and vulnerable, bound to be broken and ruined within just merely a reasonable fraction of the power your hips ensues and yes, she’ll be a sullied mess after you’re done with her. She faintly moans after every spank you do, and a shrill from time to time, between your thrusts. You could tell that she’s about to reach her high again with the tight clenching of her pussy around your length, almost suffocating the life of it and the stream of her juices being the cherry on top.

“Daddy—I’m g-gonna cum ag—again—gahh!”

You lower down your head as your mouth is now inches away from her ears, whispering the words that breaks the reservoir inside her—“Cum for me, darling.”

And she didn’t hold back, again. It feels like she’s in an override as her thighs quiver from another mind-blowing orgasm that she’s letting out, streams and streams of her juices gushing out of her emanating heat and around your throbbing length. You kiss her nape and her shoulders while achieving her high, letting her know how much you love her and how much you’ll cherish every moment with her.

“I love you baby—yes, let it all out…”

“Gahh—uh-uh, daddy! Aren’t you g-gonna cum too?”

“Well, you don’t need to say that anymore, baby.”

Chasing your own orgasm too, you pick up the pace you’ve left earlier, bringing in the harshness of thrust as every oscillation brings in maximum pleasure on both parties. You’re too aroused to see her in this state, so you thought of venting every horny detail that you’ve been battling around your head to her.

“Damn, Minjeong—this pussy really deserves to be bred and used, isn’t it? You like milking my cock until my balls feel like raisins, hm? ‘Cause gosh—it’s really working and I’m going to breed this pussy until you’re leaking with my cum, do you under—stand?”

“Y-yes, daddy—breed y-your beautiful slut! Bree—”

With your energy invigorated and so is the serotonin running down your body, you shoot another thick load inside her, painting every inch of her walls full of your warm seed. With your unparalleled carnal desires, you still fuck yourself hard enough for her butt to jiggle as it resonates even up to her thighs. With multiple pecks and suckling onto the porcelain skin of her neck, you fuel your orgasmic state, wishing your orgasm to last longer but not all things are everlasting, hence, they all end in a good note.

With your high depleting down, off to a cliff, you pull out of her with a satisfied groan, admiring the mess you’ve made between her legs as your cock twitches on the arousing sight of her full-creamed pussy. You exchange arduous breaths to each other, exhausted from the steamy session you’ve been into. She turned around, her body laying flat on the bed as your sweaty bodies collide, inviting her into an embrace and for a warm cuddle that you always loved.

“Daddy, y-you came so m-much, again…”

“You know I can’t waste not even a single drop with you, baby.” You peck her forehead with a n affectionate kiss, making her hum in delight as she appreciates your little actions.

With all of the filthiness that had made the room a big mess, you invite her to clean up with her in the bathroom as she struggles a little, concern feigning all over your face.

“You good, Minjeong?”

“Y-yeah, I guess y-you wrecked my pussy too hard…”

“I’m sorry about that—” Minjeong quickly lays a finger on your mouth, silencing you from your continuous apology. She reassures you that everything’s fine as she wanted this anyway, to be totally sullied and ruined by you.

But sometimes, people love to risk going over the limit…

“Probably a round three in the shower, daddy?”

And there she goes, again…

#kinknuary 2024 #aespa smut #kim minjeong smut #winter smut #winter x male reader #aespa x male reader #kim minjeong x male reader

2K notes · View notes

familyvideostevie · 1 year ago

Text

steel drum weight of me

joel miller x fem!reader, 18+ mdni

summary: joel comes back from his wall shift with hands in need of some serious tlc. but why stop there? | 3.2k

warnings: fem!reader, fluff turned to smut, a tender blowjob, p in v sex, unprotected sex, riding, creampie

a/n: this could be in the same universe as come care about me and watching you with wonder but who knows. what matters is it's a post-part i jackson au and all is well. this is my first fic in a while and i hammered it out today so hopefully it's coherent. <3 series masterlist here.

Jackson looks its best in the winter.

You've always thought so with its endless skies gone white, blending in with the grey clouds carrying the constant threat of snow. The peaks you never tire of, such ethereal beauty in a world otherwise gone to shit, looming over town with a steadfastness that you can fool yourself into thinking means protection, means safety. In reality, they're just something nice to look at when you have a free moment.

It's also fucking cold.

But you can deal with that. You've spent more winters in the last twenty years than you'd like to remember mostly outside, freezing your ass off, fingers so numb you could barely pull the trigger. But when it counted, you did.

Winter now means a town full of children laughing and having snowball fights. It means big pots of stew and your pick of hats, scarves, and a good pair of boots. It means a warm house to go back to every night, a bed to crawl into, and a man you love to hold you.

Things could be worse.

You're home first today. Joel and Ellie are on the wall and have been since mid-morning. The light is already going, the sun dipping behind the Tetons, sky that winter mix of purple and pink that makes the breath catch in your throat no matter how many times you see it. There's a flu going around and taking people out for a few days at most but it means fewer bodies free for the wall and for patrol. You're pulling a double tomorrow and you're already looking forward to the hot bath you'll take after.

Today, though, you change from your work clothes to something softer, a sweater that travels between your drawer and Joel's, thick socks Dina gave you for your birthday last year. It's hard to heat houses like yours the way you used to but it works well enough to fight the chill so long as you layer. That's the name of the game these days: adapting.

You set the kettle to boil and forgo thinking about dinner for a few hours. Joel won't drink tea with you but if Ellie stops by she'll have some. Maybe you can convince her to watch the movie you pulled from the library this week. You love him, but Joel just doesn't appreciate comedies.

The front door creaks, the bell you have hanging from the doorknob jingling.

"S'me," Joel calls into the house. "You home?"

"Making tea." The kettle isn't steaming yet so you lean against the counter and wait.

The sounds of his return are familiar even though you can't see him. He locks the door with a click, shrugs his jacket off with a sigh. He sits down on the bench you put in the entryway so he can take his boots off. The thunk of one and then the other. He'll tuck them next to yours under the coat rack. When the weather is bad you try to come in the back door so not as to track snow through the house but you don't want his back to get any worse so a bench in front makes sense.

The kettle screams. You pull it off quick and pour the water into your mug -- a chipped green one with a dinosaur holding a cookie that you find endlessly amusing -- and leave it to steep. The floor creaks under your socked feet as you make your way into the hall. Joel still sits on the bench digging into the meat of one palm with his thumb like he's working the feeling back into them.

He looks up and his jaw softens a little. His cheeks are rosy from the cold and his hair a mess from the wind. "Evenin," he says.

"How was the wall?"

"Fine." He stops messing with his hands and rolls his shoulders back with a grunt. "Ellie swears she saw a moose on her last patrol. Said to tell you. I think she's fuckin' with me. How was your shift?"

"Fine," you echo. "Is she coming for dinner?"

He shakes his head. "Game night at Jesse's."

You cross the remaining distance between you and he parts his legs automatically so you can stand between his knees. You run a hand through his hair, pushing the greying fringe back from his eyes. He looks up at you and finally smiles, just a little. You drag your hand down the side of his face and enjoy the feel of his beard on your skin.

"Maybe she did see a moose." He rolls his eyes and brings a hand up to cover yours. You lean down to kiss him but something catches your eye and you pull back, tugging your hand from beneath his to circle his wrist.

"Jesus, Joel." He makes a surprised sound.

"Hey now, what --"

You pull his other hand from his knee and hold them both close to your face, turning them over in the light of the entryway. "You didn't wear gloves, did you?"

He just shrugs. That means someone else on the wall -- probably Ellie -- forgot theirs and he handed his own over.

The skin of his knuckles is dry and cracked, the rest of his palm dry and cold to the touch. You've seen them bloody, broken and bruised, and compared to that, this is tame. Welcome, almost. But you know he won't do a damn thing about it, let himself bleed rather than take a second to make things better.

And you've never minded this part. Taking care of him, making him slow down and rest for even just a little bit. You both know you'd get your hands dirty or worse for him and he for you, but this is the part he has trouble with. So you take the reigns.

It's part of how you fit together -- part of how you look after each other.

"We've got something for this." Joel looks unamused. You press a light kiss to one of his knuckles and his nostrils flare. "Go sit on the couch," you say.

"I'm fine --"

"Joel, they'll bleed if you don't let me --"

"I said I'm --"

"Hey," you say. He hears the finality of your tone and lets you have it, sighing your name in one long breath.

"Alright," he says. "Move, then."

You press a quick kiss to his lips and release his hands to step back. He stands with his usual grunt and you have to stop yourself from leaning into the width of him, from wrapping your arms around him and slotting your nose in his neck and never letting go.

"It's that salve Dina brought over last week," you tell him. "The new one for the winter. Smells nice. Good for this kind of stuff."

Joel makes his way to the couch and you fetch the tin from the kitchen.

"What's it made of?"

"Uh -- oil? And some flowers, I think? Wax, maybe."

He's settled into the cushions when you return, smirking. "It's okay to say you don't fuckin' know."

You sit next to him and unscrew the top, folding your legs so you're facing him. "Well then, I don't fuckin' know." You're sure to imitate his drawl.

"Cute."

"Gimme those hands, big guy."

The salve smells faintly of lavender and it's cold on your fingertips. Joel extends his right hand and you work it into his skin slowly, extra careful around where it's cracked and split. You feel his eyes on you but you let him look.

"Feels good, huh?" He hums. "If you'd wear your gloves then --"

"What was I gonna do, let her freeze?" So it was Ellie, then. You flick your gaze up and find his brow furrowed. If you have a free hand you'd smooth the crease with your thumb.

"No," you say. "Guess it's a damn good thing you have me here, then."

He chuckles, a throaty, rusty sound. "Guess so."

You finish the first hand and motion for his second. He gives it to you and you dig your thumbs into the meat of his palm. Joel lets you touch him whenever you like, for the most part. Pressing into his side when you walk down the street in town, trailing your lips down his neck until he whines just a little in your bedroom. You've worked knots out of his shoulders and cleaned blood from surface wounds. You can never get enough of him, of his warmth, the expanse of his tanned skin all yours for the taking.

And, boy, he touches you back.

So you take your time. You rub the salve between his fingers, over the ridges of knuckles split so many times you don't even know about. His hands are rough even when they're not dry and cracking, callused from years of hard work. From years of violence and playing guitar, shooting a gun and holding the people he loves. Dotted with scars and nicks, hands that have touched every part of you.

Joel's slightly slimy finger taps your chin. "You okay?" You've been stroking the same bit of his hand for who knows how long.

"Yeah," you say and mean it. You rub your own hands together to soak in some of the salve before putting the lid back on the tin and standing. "Need to let it soak in."

"Feels soaked in already," he grumbles.

"Stay there." He purses his lips. "I mean it, Joel."

"Bossy today," he says. "There's wood that needs choppin'." You ignore him since he's just being annoying. The salve goes back in the kitchen and his voice trails after you. "And I told Tommy I'd --"

You turn on the tap. "You gotta let that soak in," you say again from the sink.

"What? Can't hear over the water."

You turn off the tap and dry your hands. Joel is still on the couch when you return. "Sorry," you say. You run your hand through his hair again and settle back down next to him. "I said be patient."

"Don't think that's what you said."

"It's what I meant."

And he looks at you in that way that always makes your face feel hot. Like he's seeing right to the bone of you, like he's laying you bare on the floor in his mind. Like he never wants to stop looking at you, next to him on the couch, leg pressed to yours. Like he loves you.

"Alright," he says.

You get an idea, the flames licking at your belly and your hands itching to touch him again, to touch him differently than before. That idea has you grabbing a pillow and tossing it to the floor, has you getting up and drawing the curtains before you sink to your knees before him.

Joel only looks mildly surprised, eyebrows raised, mouth tugging up at the corner. "Now, I ain't gonna complain but --"

"Then don't," you say. You tug his shirt from his waistband and start working on his belt. "Gotta pass the time somehow. And I don't know what we're doing for dinner yet, so maybe I'm just stalling."

"Hell of a way to stall." He reaches for you to touch your face, maybe, or help you with his belt, when you click your tongue. "We can just go to the community hall--"

"Don't touch," you remind him. "You have to let it--"

"Soak, Jesus, yeah, yeah." Joel tips his head back along the sofa and takes one deep breath. If he really wanted to he could ignore you and you'd let him get away with it, but if there's one thing you and Joel have solidified, it's trust. He trusts you to take care of him, to handle him with hands that love him.

So you do. He lifts his hips just a little so you can tug his jeans down, zipper undone and button popped. You pull out his cock, already half-hard at the promise of what's to come. You spit into your palm and stroke him once root to tip and he hisses. More blood flows and he stiffens in your hand.

"You just gonna look at it?"

You give him a squeeze for being a shit. He laughs but it sounds punched out, on the edge. Frankly it's an effort not to take him in your mouth right away. You've always loved this -- the exchange of power, the trust. You're the one on your knees but you're calling the shots. And he's mouthwatering. The way his cock curves a little, the vein that runs along the underside. The mushroom head a little pinker than the rest, the wiry hair at his base. The hefty weight of his balls in your hand, on your tongue. You know how to make it good for him and it's good for you, too.

Joel opens his mouth to no doubt say something else annoying so you finally drag your tongue along the vein, swirling a little at the top before taking just the tip of him in your mouth. His precome is salty. You work your hand along the rest of him as you start to suck in earnest, hollowing your cheeks and taking a little more each time.

"Look so pretty, baby," Joel says. His voice is gravely, broken in his throat. You manage to take almost all of him and you swallow, just once. Your reward is your name spilling from his mouth in a groan.

It's messy. Spit beads at the corner of your mouth and drips a little as you work him, breathing through your nose when you take him all the way. So good, takin' all of me, keep goin'.

Joel has clearly forgotten your directive as he winds one hand in your hair and pulls just a little, just enough to make you moan around him. You don't scold him for it, instead keeping your eyes on his face. His head is tipped back just a little, lips parted at he gazes down at you. His other arm is stretched along the length of the couch, his fingers digging into the fabric as you bob on his cock.

You know he's close. You can feel how he's trying hard to keep his hips down, trying not to fuck your throat cause usually he asks first. So it's only a little surprising when he pulls you off him, eyes a little glazed and some color high on his cheeks.

He wipes spit from the corner of your mouth with the pad of his thumb. "Why don't you c'mere?" he says. "Let me fill you up."

"Joel." This was supposed to be about making him feel good. You know even if he comes in your mouth he'll ask you let him touch you, so frankly you don't mind if he fucks you or not.

He smirks, presses his fingers into the side of your neck a little. You swallow so he can feel it. "We both know you can take it," he drawls, eyes dark. "Always gets you goin', my cock in your mouth."

You can feel the heat between your legs, the arousal pooling in your gut. He's right but he's also an asshole. "You're annoying," you tell him.

"So is that a no?"

You drag the flat of your tongue up his shaft one last time as punishment before standing, using his knees as leverage to get off your own. He shucks off his jeans the rest of the way as you drag down your pants, letting them pool with your underwear at your feet before stepping out. Joel holds out a hand for you to balance on and you take it, putting your other on his shoulder.

"Feels softer already," you mutter. Joel snickers and you straddle him. He uses one hand to drag his fingers through your cunt and you fail to swallow a gasp.

"Well, look at that," he says. "I was right." He pushes two fingers into you and they go easily, your hips jerking as he pumps them in and out once, twice, and then you're empty again.

"Smug bastard," you manage. He brings his hand to his mouth and takes a long lick before surging forward to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it makes you even wetter.

Joel licks into your mouth and you kiss him back sloppily, desperately, in the way you know he likes. You're so busy with that hands on his face, his beard scratching your skin deliciously, that you don't notice what else he's doing. His hand presses into the bare skin of your back under your shirt and you lift up a little on instinct and then --

The head of his cock nudges at your entrance and his hand presses again and you meet the movement of his hips with your own and he fills you with just one stroke.

You moan in unison, Joel's arm wrapping around your back as you curl yours around his neck, mouths not so much pressed together as hovering as you pant, as you adjust. Even with how wet you are Joel is a stretch, a welcome one, but a stretch regardless. You shift your hips, roll them back and forth a little.

"Go on, then," you tell him. "Fuck me."

He laughs.

His lips leave yours and trail down your chin, sucking spots onto your neck and on that spot that makes you keen as he does what you ask. He goes slow at first, letting you meet him thrust for thrust. One hand snakes up your shirt, thumbs at your nipple when he finds no bra in the way. You wing your fingers in his hair and tug, tug until he picks up the pace, until all you can hear is the smack of his flesh against yours.

"Joel -- Joel -- right there --"

"M'not gonna -- I -- fuck --"

"Said you were gonna fill me up, didn't you?" you pant, managing to find a bit of cheek in the haze of your fucking. "C'mon, Miller. Don't keep a lady wait--"

His hips pick up the pace, his hands pressing into you hard enough to bruise. You give up trying to tease him and hang on for dear life, managing to snake a hand between your legs to rub at your clit as he pounds into you. The only thing you can say is his name over and over as you feel the hook pull taught, feel the head of his cock brush against and then pound that spot that makes your vision blur.

Joel comes just before you do, his thrusts stuttering and his name on your lips. You feel it, the heat inside you and it's enough to send you over the edge, your cunt squeezing him as he empties inside you.

You press your forehead to his and catch your breath. He palms your neck, your jaw, slides his thumb lazily under your eye and kisses the corner of your mouth.

"Hell of a salve," he manages.

You slot your lips over his. "Wear your damn gloves." Joel laughs and it shifts him inside you. Even softening it makes you both hiss a little. "Just gimme a second."

His hand drags up and down your back, pressing into your spine. "Take your time," he says. "M'clearly not goin' anywhere."

"You never stop, do you?"

Joel kisses you again. "'fraid not."

You laugh into his neck. "Good."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction

1K notes · View notes

hookhausenschips · 12 days ago

Text

Fingers in His Curls, Heart in Her Hands {LN4}

Navigation

Summary: Lando adored how Y/N’s touch in his hair made him feel both relaxed and on edge, unable to hide the thrill her fingers sent through him. Her playful obsession with his curls, especially his new mullet, brought out a tender, vulnerable side in him that he couldn’t deny, leaving them both captivated by each other’s presence.

WC: 5.7k

Join my taglist here!

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

A/N: It’s our boy’s 25th birthday🥹

Lando would never admit it outright, but there was something about the way Y/N’s fingers moved through his curls that made him feel a certain way. He loved it—more than he could say—but sometimes it made him feel a little too aware of her, of how close she was, of the way her touch made his skin tingle. It was like every gentle tug and soft scratch sent a spark through him, making him feel both calm and somehow electrified all at once.

The first time Lando came home with his new mullet, Y/N could barely keep her composure. She sat on their couch in their Monaco apartment, eagerly awaiting his arrival. He’d told her he was getting a haircut, but she’d never expected… this.

When he finally stepped through the door, wearing a cap low over his eyes, her curiosity peaked. As he sat down beside her, he took off his hat with a casual, “What do you think?” revealing the masterpiece beneath. Her heart practically stopped.

Y/N had always thought Lando was attractive, but this? This was another level. His hair, now wild and curly, faded on the sides and left longer at the back, gave him an edge she hadn’t seen before. She felt her cheeks warm up, a flustered grin taking over her face. She straddled his lap, his hands finding home on her hips. Her eyes locked onto his unruly curls. She had no choice—she reached over and ran her fingers through the soft, unruly curls.

"Lando," she whispered, her voice breathless, "I didn't think it was possible, but somehow, you got even more attractive." Her fingers wove through his curls, gently tugging, and he couldn't hide the way his eyes fluttered shut for a moment as he melted into her touch.

He grinned, playing it cool despite the way her hands made him feel. "Oh yeah?" he murmured, slipping his arms around her waist.

"You're really that into it?"

She laughed, leaning in to brush a kiss against his cheek. "Don't act like you didn't know. This is... dangerously good." Her hands moved up to trace the lines of the fade, grazing his scalp lightly, sending little jolts down his spine. She could feel his muscles tense and then relax as she explored every curl, the sensation grounding them both. "I'm obsessed, Norris. No one can tell me otherwise."

And from that day on, her obsession only grew. Every chance she got, her hands found his hair-whether they were walking around Monaco, cuddling in bed, or even out in public. She'd reach up with a playful grin, fingers grazing his neck and tangling in those unruly curls, and each time, Lando felt a little shiver, a blush creeping up his neck no matter how many times she did it.

He’d act unfazed, jokingly rolling his eyes or pretending to be exasperated, but deep down, he couldn’t deny how much he loved her fingers in his hair. There was something about the way her hands moved through the curls that made him feel completely at ease—and yet, a bit on edge.

One evening after dinner, they were walking hand-in-hand back to their car when she paused, turning to him with a mischievous look. Before he knew it, her hands were in his hair again, pulling him close by the curls at his nape, and he couldn't help but smile, feeling his cheeks warm.

Her fingers finding their familiar place in his hair, her nails grazing his scalp lightly, and he couldn’t help but shiver. “That… feels nice,” he mumbled, his voice coming out quieter than he intended. He felt a flush creep up his neck, and he tried to play it cool, glancing down at his shoes to avoid meeting her eyes.

She grinned, clearly catching on to his reaction. “Does it now?” she teased, giving a soft tug to one of the curls at the back, watching as he tensed up just a little before relaxing into her touch. She loved how easy it was to make him melt, to see that slight blush dust his cheeks whenever her fingers brushed over the sensitive spots at the nape of his neck.

“Don’t get cocky,” he muttered, trying to act unfazed, but he knew she could see right through him. She always did. The truth was, her touch did things to him—made him feel vulnerable in a way that was rare. He was used to being the confident one, the one who could tease her and keep his cool, but whenever her hands were in his hair, he felt that careful facade slipping.

"Oh, you love it," she whispered, wrapping a curl around her finger, her eyes locked on his. His breath hitched, and he bit his lip, trying not to give away how much he was enjoying it, but she knew. She always knew.

The next morning, as they sat in the hotel lobby waiting for his car to arrive, she reached up once again, letting her fingers trail through his curls. He leaned into her touch, eyes half-lidded with that sleepy, satisfied look she adored.

"You're really not going to let this go, are you?" he chuckled, glancing at her, trying to keep his cool but failing miserably.

"Not a chance." She smirked, tugging gently on a few strands before smoothing them back. "You did this to yourself, you know."

Lando let out a little laugh, his hand coming up to rest on hers as she played with his hair. "I didn't think it'd make you this obsessed."

"Well, you thought wrong," she replied, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. Her hands drifted through his hair, each touch bringing a soft flush to his cheeks, and he loved it-the way she adored every curl, every inch of him.

"Good thing I'm not planning on going anywhere," he whispered, voice low and full of warmth.

“Mhmm, Good thing.” She whispered.

One of Y/N’s favorite things about Lando—aside from the mullet, of course—was how easily she could fluster him. She loved knowing the effect she had on the usually cool and confident driver, catching him off guard with a look, a word, or a simple touch. Today, she was in the mood to see that familiar flush rise to his cheeks, and she knew exactly how to make it happen.

Determined, she set off through the McLaren garage, weaving through engineers and crew members in search of him. First, she checked the garage itself, glancing around the car but not finding him there. His driver’s room was empty too, and she knew he didn’t have any meetings. But just as she was starting to wonder where he could be, she caught sight of a familiar head of curls, bouncing slightly with each scroll of his thumb.

There he was, leaning against the wall in a quiet corner of the McLaren unit. He was dressed in his team kit, the top half of his race suit unzipped and wrapped casually around his waist, revealing the black undershirt that clung to his frame. He was absorbed in his phone, looking effortlessly composed, a picture of calm and cool. But that was about to change.

She stood there for a moment, arms crossed, just admiring him. He hadn’t noticed her yet, but she could feel the anticipation building, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Soon enough, that calm demeanor would be shattered.

As if sensing her stare, Lando’s head lifted, his eyes locking onto hers. A smirk crept onto his face, and he raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Come here often?” he asked, voice low and teasing, eyes glinting with that familiar mischief.

Y/N stepped forward, a playful glint in her own eyes as she approached him, slowly closing the space between them. When she reached him, she rose on her toes, giving him a quick kiss that left him momentarily speechless, before leaning back with a sly smile. “Depends,” she murmured, her voice soft but challenging, “What exactly are you looking for?”

Lando’s gaze flicked between her eyes and her mouth, caught off guard by the spark in her tone. He opened his mouth to respond, but she reached up first, threading her fingers into his curls, her nails gently scratching at the nape of his neck. His breath hitched slightly, his composure cracking as she continued to play with his hair.

She moved her fingers slowly, winding a few curls around her fingers, taking her time. He bit his lip, trying not to react too much, but every touch sent a little thrill through him. “Y/N,” he said, his voice coming out softer, almost like a plea.

She looked up at him, her eyes full of warmth and a hint of playful mischief. “What’s wrong, Lando?” Her tone was innocent, but he could see that knowing sparkle in her eyes. She knew exactly what she was doing.

“Nothing.” He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual. “It’s just… well, you know…” He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks as he stumbled over his words. “You’re, um, kind of distracting.”

“Oh?” She laughed softly, looking completely unbothered, which only made him feel more flustered. She slid her fingers back down to the nape of his neck, scratching gently, and he felt a shiver run through him. He closed his eyes, breathing out slowly, trying to regain some composure, but it was no use. Her touch had him feeling like putty in her hands.

He tried to look away, to hide the way his face was flushing, but she tilted her head, catching his gaze. “You’re so cute when you get all flustered, you know that?” she murmured, her smile softening as she ran her fingers through his curls again, slowly, almost lazily.

He tried to gain a bit of composure back. “Y’know, if you keep doing that, I won’t be responsible for what happens next,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, though his smirk was still there, just a little less steady.

She laughed softly, the sound sending a shiver down his spine. “Oh, is that right? Well, I don’t mind seeing you lose a little control, Norris,” she teased, tugging lightly at one of the curls, watching as a faint blush crept up his neck.

He chuckled, trying to keep his cool but failing as his hand slid to her waist, pulling her a fraction closer. “You know you’re trouble, don’t you?”

She looked up at him with a grin, the sparkle in her eyes enough to undo him completely. “Only for you, Lando.”

His smile softened, his gaze turning from playful to something warmer as he leaned down to kiss her properly, forgetting everything else around them.

One night as they lay in bed, the glow from the city lights casting a soft hue over the room, her hands found their familiar place at the nape of his neck, fingertips grazing the curls she adored. He let out a soft sigh, sinking into her touch, his arm wrapped around her, pulling her close.

“Y/N…” he began, but his voice trailed off as she continued, each movement sending a wave of warmth through him. He felt his usual confidence slipping, and for once, he didn’t mind. With her, he could let his guard down, let her see this softer side of him.

“You don’t have to hide it,” she whispered, her voice gentle, her fingers tracing light circles at the base of his skull. “I like it when you’re like this. When you just… relax with me.”

He swallowed, feeling his heart race as he met her eyes. “I… I just…” He hesitated, but her smile encouraged him. “I like it when you do this,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe a bit too much.”

She grinned, leaning in closer, brushing a kiss against his cheek, right by his ear. “Good,” she whispered back. “Because I could spend hours right here, just making you melt.”

And he did melt. He felt his shoulders relax, any lingering tension fading as her fingers continued their soft, familiar rhythm. Each gentle touch made him feel more vulnerable but also more connected to her. It was like she had this quiet power over him, one he didn’t mind surrendering to.

They laid there for a while, her fingers moving slowly, carefully, as if she wanted to savor every curl, every little shiver he gave in response. He felt his cheeks stay warm, the blush refusing to fade, but with her gentle smile and knowing gaze, he didn’t feel embarrassed.

Instead, he felt cherished, loved, and completely captivated by her.

Y/N was hopelessly, irrevocably in love with him. Lando Norris had completely captured her heart, but if she were honest, his hair—that mullet—had an extra hold on her. It was a slight obsession, something she couldn’t keep her hands off, no matter how hard she tried. And truthfully, she didn’t even try to resist it anymore.

As they wandered through the hotel lobby in yet another city, his arm wrapped lazily around her shoulders, Y/N couldn’t resist reaching up to tangle her fingers in the familiar curls at the nape of his neck. Her fingertips grazed his skin lightly, sending a delicious little shiver up his spine. She loved the way his curls felt—soft but thick, unruly yet perfectly controlled. They faded short at the sides, then bloomed into that wild mess at the back, each curl begging her to play with it.

Lando chuckled, glancing down at her with an amused, slightly exasperated look. “Honestly, Y/N,” he said in a mock scolding tone, “is there ever going to be a moment you’re not running your fingers through my hair?”

She grinned up at him, completely unbothered. “Absolutely not. You’re the one who had to go and get the best hair in Formula 1.” She gave a little tug on one of the curls, watching it bounce right back into place, as if it too was resisting her, only to keep her hooked. It was impossible to ignore how soft it felt, like velvet under her fingertips.

Lando laughed, leaning into her touch despite his teasing, clearly enjoying the attention more than he was letting on. “I knew this mullet was a good decision,” he joked, but his voice softened, betraying just how much he appreciated her adoration. “Didn’t think it’d turn you into a complete addict, though.”

She tilted her head, giving him a playful pout. “Maybe it’s not my fault,” she murmured, voice dropping to a low, teasing tone. Her fingers traced the line of his fade, then sank back into the wilder curls at the back. “If you didn’t want me obsessed, you shouldn’t have made it so irresistible.”

His smirk faltered for a second as she touched him, his breath catching slightly. “So it’s the hair, not the driver?” he teased, trying to keep his tone light, though his eyes were starting to darken. “I see how it is, Y/N.”

“Oh, I don’t know…” she replied, a spark of mischief lighting her gaze. “I think it’s the whole package. But the mullet? Definitely a bonus.” She slid her hand up to the top of his head, brushing back the longer curls that always fell forward. Her fingers drifted through the soft waves, and he closed his eyes for a moment, savoring her touch. She loved how his face softened, his lips parting slightly as he leaned into her hand, completely relaxed, a faint blush rising in his cheeks.

Her fingers trailed back down, her nails grazing the skin at his nape, and he let out a soft sigh, tilting his head forward slightly as if inviting her to keep going. “Feels good, huh?” she whispered, her voice tinged with affection as she watched him practically melt under her touch.

“Maybe,” he mumbled, though his eyes remained closed, and the way his shoulders relaxed said far more than words. It was rare for him to let his guard down like this, but her touch had a way of softening him, breaking down his usual playful front. A low, contented sigh slipped from his lips as she kept up her gentle rhythm, his head tilting just so, inviting her to explore every soft curl.

She smirked, leaning in close, her voice teasing as she murmured, “Down bad for me, aren’t you?”

Lando’s eyes flicked open, and he grinned, his own playfulness reemerging. “Says the one who practically has her hands glued to my head,” he shot back, his tone warm. He leaned in, brushing his lips close to her ear. “But maybe I’m down just as bad as you are.”

That was all the invitation she needed. Her hands slid further into his hair, pulling him gently toward her until their faces were barely an inch apart, their breaths mingling. She could feel the warmth radiating off him, his lips just inches from hers, and she whispered, “You don’t even understand…” Her fingers tugged lightly at his curls, feeling the way they wound around her fingers, grounding her. “I think I could stay here forever, just like this.”

Her words seemed to break the last of his restraint. Without another word, he closed the gap between them, his lips meeting hers in a slow, lingering kiss. It started soft, unhurried, but as her fingers continued to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, he deepened the kiss, his hand sliding around her waist, drawing her flush against him. His other hand moved up, fingers brushing along her jaw as if he couldn’t get enough of being close to her.

Time seemed to stand still as they stood there, wrapped up in each other, the world outside fading away. His lips were warm, gentle yet insistent, a mix of tenderness and barely contained need. She responded with the same intensity, her fingers exploring every curl, every inch of hair that had driven her to distraction, grounding them both in the moment.

When they finally broke apart, a little breathless, he rested his forehead against hers, his eyes still half-closed, a soft smile playing on his lips. “You really are obsessed with this hair,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

She laughed, brushing another curl out of his face, her own cheeks flushed. “Guess I am,” she admitted, grinning up at him. “Good thing it’s all mine.”

He chuckled, his breath warm against her cheek. “Good thing I’m not planning on going anywhere, then.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close, and for a moment, they stood there, locked in each other’s embrace.

He smirked, pulling her even closer. “All yours,” he repeated, sealing his promise with one last kiss, slow and sweet.

“So the mullet really does it for you. That’s it?” He teased as they pulled apart.

“Lando, you have no idea.” She smiled, catching his hand and guiding it back to her shoulder, so she could reclaim her rightful place in his hair. Her fingertips traced little patterns against his scalp, sending another wave of shivers through him. She loved how responsive he was to her touch, how even a simple scratch at the nape of his neck could make him soften.

They stood there in comfortable silence, her fingers moving slowly, gently, until finally, he let out a low murmur, almost like a purr. “You’re going to put me to sleep if you keep doing that,” he whispered, but he made no effort to stop her.

“Maybe that’s my plan,” she replied, grinning. “Just keep you here, quiet and still, while I play with this perfect hair of yours.”

He let out a sleepy chuckle. “Fine by me,” he whispered, a warmth in his gaze that made her heart race.

—————————

Extras:

1. At the Track

They were waiting for the race briefing to start, and Lando was in full team kit, cap on and all. Y/N leaned casually against the wall nearby, watching as he laughed and chatted with his teammates, looking every bit the confident driver she knew and loved. His cap hid most of his curls, but she caught a few unruly strands poking out at the back, teasing her with every small movement he made.

Finally, as Zak called him over, Lando adjusted his cap, lifting it briefly to scratch his head. Y/N’s breath caught as his curls were fully visible for a moment, wild and free, framed perfectly by the fade on the sides. She bit her lip, trying to hide her grin, but she felt her cheeks warm as she realized she was staring.

After the meeting ended, she found him in the hallway, and her hands went instinctively to his cap, gently lifting it off to free his curls. “There’s the look I missed,” she teased, running her fingers through his hair.

He chuckled, clearly amused by her fascination. “You really don’t get tired of this, do you?”

She flashed him a grin, her hand tangling deeper in his hair. “You have no idea, Norris. These curls… they’re dangerous.”

He leaned down, his gaze softening as he tilted his head so she could play with his hair more freely. “Dangerous? Babe, they’re just curls.”

“To you, maybe,” she murmured, her eyes lingering on each curl as if they were her own personal addiction. “To me? They’re perfection.”

Lando laughed, clearly amused. “You don’t get tired of it, do you?”

“Not even a little,” she replied with a wink, adjusting his cap as her fingers lingered a second longer than necessary. “It’s like you’re a real-life heartthrob, Norris. And this,” she tugged on a curl at the back, “is part of the magic.”

He leaned down, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Just part?”

She nodded, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “Well, the rest of you isn’t too bad, either.”

2. During a Lazy Morning at Home

They had nothing planned, so they were taking full advantage of a slow, lazy morning. Lando was sprawled across the couch, head resting on Y/N’s lap as he stretched, his hair a delightful mess from having just woken up. The soft morning light filtered in, highlighting the curls that tumbled carelessly over his forehead and fell against her thighs.

Unable to resist, she reached down, fingers tracing gentle patterns in his hair. As she began to massage his scalp lightly, he let out a soft sigh, his body sinking further into her lap. “Mm… that’s heaven,” he murmured, his voice still heavy with sleep.

“Oh, really?” she teased, scratching lightly at the nape of his neck. She could feel him shiver slightly under her touch, his cheeks tinged with a faint blush.

“Yeah, really.” His eyes drifted shut, and a slow smile spread across his face. “If you keep that up, I’m going to be asleep in two minutes.”

“Looks like I’m not the only one obsessed.” She said.

He cracked one eye open, catching her gaze. “Yeah, but let’s keep that between us,” he replied, giving her a sleepy grin. “Wouldn’t want anyone to know you’ve got me wrapped around your little finger.”

She laughed, leaning down to plant a kiss on his forehead. “Deal. As long as I get to keep doing this,” she whispered, her fingers tracing the line of his fade before drifting back to his curls.

3. At a Fancy Event

They were dressed to the nines, attending a high-profile event, and everyone around them looked like they’d stepped out of a magazine. Lando was in a sleek suit, his hair styled but still rebellious with a few curls falling out of place, giving him that effortlessly cool look she adored. Y/N, in her elegant dress, was hanging on his arm, but her mind kept drifting to the tempting curls at the nape of his neck.

As they stood mingling with a few of his friends, she couldn’t resist reaching up and brushing a curl back into place, her fingertips lingering for a moment. Carlos noticed, chuckling. “Y/N, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re more in love with his hair than with him.”

She laughed, unabashed, glancing up at Lando with a wink. “What can I say? He makes it impossible to resist. Also have you seen him?”

Lando’s cheeks flushed as he leaned down, his voice a low murmur for only her to hear. “You know, if you keep doing that, I’m going to think you’re flirting with me.”

“Oh, I am,” she replied with a playful smile, her fingers grazing the curls again, sending a shiver through him that she could feel. “But I don’t think you mind.”

He swallowed, his voice dropping as he looked at her with a smirk. “Not even a little bit.”

4. A Casual Dinner with Friends

They were out with friends at a cozy restaurant, laughter filling the air as everyone shared stories over drinks and food. Lando was animatedly recounting a funny moment from the paddock, his hands moving expressively, his face lit up with excitement. Y/N watched him, smiling, completely captivated by the way he spoke and the curls that bounced with each movement.

Unable to resist, she reached up mid-story, gently brushing back a few curls that had fallen forward. He paused, a slight blush coloring his cheeks as he shot her a look that was half-teasing, half-affectionate.

“Oh, sorry,” she laughed, her fingers lingering as she gently twisted a curl around her finger. “I couldn’t help myself.”

Their friends laughed, nudging Lando playfully. “Seems like Y/N’s got you wrapped around her finger, mate.”

Lando grinned, reaching up to take her hand in his, bringing it down to his lap, though his fingers laced with hers, keeping her close. “Or maybe she’s the one who’s wrapped around my curls,” he teased, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

She blushed, biting her lip as she looked up at him. “Touché,” she murmured, squeezing his hand back, feeling her heart flutter as his gaze lingered on her a moment too long.

5. Post-Race Celebration

The race was over, and adrenaline still coursed through Lando as he celebrated in the pits, drenched in champagne and absolutely beaming. Y/N ran over to congratulate him, laughter bubbling up as he caught her in a big hug, pressing her close despite being completely soaked.

“Lando, you’re getting me all wet!” she laughed, but her arms wrapped around him tighter, her hands instinctively reaching up to tousle his champagne-soaked curls. His hair was a beautiful mess, wild and free, and she couldn’t stop herself from running her fingers through it.

He leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers, and she reached up, fingers sinking into his wet curls. “You look like a rockstar,” she whispered, giving his mullet an affectionate tug. “A very sweaty, attractive rockstar.”

He laughed, pulling her in for a kiss. “Good thing you’re still into me, sweat and all.”

“Into you? I’m completely obsessed,” she replied, running her fingers through his curls, savoring the feel of them even now, champagne-soaked and wild. “I think I might be a little obsessed.” She said, tipping her head up to press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. She could taste the champagne on his skin, and as she pulled back, she smiled.

He grinned, brushing a curl back from her face. “Trust me, the feeling’s mutual.”

6. Winding Down in the Paddock

The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden glow over the paddock as they walked hand-in-hand back to the car, the day’s excitement slowly winding down. The light made Lando’s curls glow, highlighting each twist and turn in a way that made her heart ache with affection. Her hand slipped up almost unconsciously, fingers threading through the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

Lando stopped walking, turning to face her with a raised eyebrow, though his smirk betrayed his amusement. “You’re at it again?” he asked, pretending to sound exasperated, though she could see the softness in his gaze.

She gave him a sheepish grin, her hand resting at the base of his neck. “Can you blame me? You’re the one who got this haircut and then made it my favorite thing.”

He shook his head, laughing as he leaned into her touch. “I’m starting to think you’re going to be keeping me around just for the hair.”

She pretended to think about it, giving a soft tug to one of the curls. “It’s a strong motivator,” she teased, moving her hand down to trace the line of his fade before bringing it back up to the curls.

Lando’s eyes fluttered shut as she continued to play with his hair, his usual confident exterior melting under her gentle touch. “If you keep that up, I’ll be asleep in no time,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to keep going,” she replied, her tone playful yet full of affection. She watched as his shoulders relaxed, and a look of pure contentment settled on his face.

They stood there for a few more moments, wrapped up in each other, his head bowed slightly as her fingers continued their gentle rhythm in his curls. She felt a deep warmth spread through her as he leaned down, brushing his lips softly against her forehead.

In that moment, everything felt right—the warmth of his curls under her fingertips, the soft sunset casting a glow around them, and the quiet certainty that they were exactly where they were meant to be.

7. FP1 Madness

It was nearing the end of FP1 in Mexico, and Y/N was keeping up with the session results from afar, her curiosity getting the better of her. She had noticed, though, that every single shot of Lando that day showed him with his cap firmly on his head, the brightly patterned McLaren hat never budging, and she hadn’t seen a single glimpse of his hair. She couldn’t shake the growing suspicion that maybe, just maybe, he had finally cut off the mullet she loved so much.

As soon as Lando was back in his hotel room, they connected on FaceTime, like they always did when she couldn’t be there. He appeared on her screen, still in his orange McLaren shirt and with that same cap on, looking a bit tired but happy to see her. His arms were crossed casually, and his cap was pulled down low, just like it had been all day.

“Hey, babe,” he greeted, giving her a small, tired smile, clearly unaware of her suspicions.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, trying her best to look unimpressed. “So… you’re just keeping the cap on all day now? Not even letting me see the hair?”

Lando’s eyes widened in mock offense, leaning a little closer to his phone camera. “What, you don’t like my hat?” he teased, adjusting the brim slightly to cover even more of his forehead, purposely obscuring any chance she might have of seeing his curls.

“Oh, I love the hat,” she said, crossing her arms to match his posture, giving him a playful glare. “But you’ve had it on all day. What’s up with that? Did you…?” Her voice trailed off dramatically, narrowing her eyes. “Did you cut off the mullet while I wasn’t there?”

Lando burst out laughing, shaking his head in disbelief. “Why would I do that?”

Y/N gave him a look, trying to hide her smirk. “I don’t know, maybe you got tired of it, or maybe one of the guys finally convinced you to go back to a normal haircut,” she shrugged, feigning disinterest. “But if you did, you’d be too chicken to tell me.”

Lando leaned back, crossing his arms again and smirking at her through the screen. “You really think I’d get rid of the mullet and not tell you? I’m hurt, babe, I thought you trusted me.”

She rolled her eyes, feeling bratty, pushing him a little further. “I don’t know, Norris, you’ve been hiding under that cap all day. I haven’t seen one curl. Not one.”

He chuckled, clearly amused, but then his expression shifted to a playful challenge. “You really think I’d cut it? How about a little bet then?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh, really? What kind of bet?”

He tilted his head, still keeping his cap firmly in place, clearly enjoying dragging this out. “If I still have the mullet, you owe me… a full day of whatever I say when I get back.”

She laughed, narrowing her eyes playfully. “And if you don’t have it?”

“Then I’ll… take you wherever you want for a weekend. No complaints, no caps, just you and me.”

Y/N pretended to think it over, finally nodding. “Alright, deal. Now show me.”

He leaned in close to the camera, holding his finger to his lips, “Only if you promise not to freak out.”

Her eyes widened, a little more nervous now. “Lando… just show me!”

He grinned, clearly savoring the moment, before slowly, dramatically, lifting his cap just enough to reveal the back of his head. And there it was—the mullet, in all its tousled glory, with the sides perfectly faded and the curls at the back just as messy as ever.

Y/N gasped, covering her mouth, then let out a laugh, relieved and slightly annoyed. “You absolute tease! You had me convinced!”

Lando burst into laughter, finally taking the cap off completely, running a hand through his curls with a smug grin. “You really thought I’d cut it off without telling you? Babe, you’re the one who keeps begging me to keep it.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes but feeling a rush of affection. “Okay, okay, you win. I’ll admit it, you had me worried.”

“Worried, huh?” He leaned closer to the camera, giving her a smirk. “Don’t worry, babe, this mullet’s sticking around. Just for you.”

She sighed, playfully exasperated, but couldn’t help smiling. “Good, because I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to those curls yet.”

He grinned, shaking his head, “Glad to know you’re just here for the hair.”

She smiled back, giving him a little wink. “Maybe I am.”

LN4 Taglist: @esserenorris, @tallrock35, @yourbane, @lightdragonrayne, @really-fucking-tired, @evie-119, @ilivbullyingjeongin, @ggaslyp1, @icecoldtires, @cmleitora, @cheyennep3107, @d3kstar

F1 Taglist: @tallrock35, @yourbane, @hiireadstuff, @really-fucking-tired, @evie-119, @donteventry-itdude, @spookystitchery, @dhanihamidi, @decafmickey, @cmleitora, @d3kstar, @mellowluka, @ysnhua, @omgsuperstarg, @qxeenjen

215 notes · View notes

jiminrings · 9 months ago

Text

fail-safe (2)

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: yoongi got everything he ever wanted and you've heard nothing about it, so you're thankful.

alternatively, yoongi reminds you of home in more ways than one.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ a Lot of angst, brother's best friend AND single dad au, eventual fluff, a lot of yearning but For What, they reunite but at what cost rlly, jealousy, self-loathing, unrequited love (initial), deja vu but in the worst possible form, eventual redemption in the next parts ]

notes: i am So sorry for this .

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! even reading ur thoughts in the tags give me life :) | series masterlist

FIVE YEARS LATER

The trip back home wasn’t as rough as Yoongi expected it to be.

Somehow, there’s a huge difference between sitting in economy seats versus first-class seats, even if they’re situated on the same aircraft. When he left, Yoongi was irritable (amongst other things) to keep bumping elbows with everyone else; now that he’s back, he almost misses the ruckus in the cabin that’s far too cramped for everyone who could afford it.

Yoongi used to hate people like himself — atleast the version that he is now. He hated bastards sitting upfront in seats that reclined all the way back and ate off plates instead of noisy, flimsy plastic containers. Back then, deep down to his very core, he wanted that lifestyle for himself. To become bigger and better than he could ever imagine for the life ahead of him was always the goal.

Now that he’s at the peak, maybe even being the peak himself, he feels weirdly homesick.

“You need to bundle up all the way, Haneul. They’re gonna scold me if you’re not covered from head to toe,” Yoongi playfully chides his son, the insecurity and nervousness underneath his tone flying right over his head. It’s not even that cold, but still, a huge part of Yoongi worries.

He worries everyday if he’s a good dad to his four-year old. He worries if he’s good enough to be a solo parent because after all, he’s the one who has main custody of Haneul anyway. He worries and worries, but there’s nothing quite like the trepidation he feels being back home with everyone who has ever known him prior to all this success, suddenly seeing him come home.

It should be the opposite way around, that’s what everyone says to him. Yoongi had been queasy the whole flight back home despite the flight being one of the smoothest trips he’s ever been on in his life. He’s nervous to be back where he had been born and raised and he doesn’t know what’s that supposed to mean, except for the fact that he has an inkling of what the weight in his chest pertains to.

He’s back because it’s your mother’s 60th birthday. He’s back because her and Namjoon had asked him to, and he obliged without even thinking about it. Yoongi had offered numerous times to throw a party for the woman who had practically raised him alongside his closest friend, and even if Namjoon had backed him up on the grand idea for such a large milestone, she said no. All she wanted was for everyone to be back home, and Yoongi couldn’t say no.

Neither could you.

Yoongi is not the most modest person alive, but he is at his humblest when he drives the long way home just to delay the inevitable. He’s happy to the point he could be sick. He can’t tell if it’s the joy or the anxiety in his chest that makes it tighten, almost unbearably so, that he makes Haneul reach up to his forehead to check if he has a fever.

Yoongi’s home.

Not Los Angeles home, and not New York home. Not his home with a closet that’s the size of his childhood house’s living room, and not his space with the big windows and concierge downstairs.

Yoongi’s home — where the streets are narrow and the stairs are creaky; where this time, it’s all of him and none of you.

Enduring is different than working.

You’ve realized that the two concepts are drastically different as soon as Yoongi left, leaving you to survive the remaining years of your degree before you had to face the reality that you had to work to the bone for the rest of your life if you wanted a shot at living an average, food-stocked-in-the-fridge kind of life.

You didn’t know anyone who was connected to someone of importance one way or another, your family had zero ties, and you graduated from a university that raised more eyebrows in confusion than it tilted heads in awe. Your degree does havehigh promises as far as everyone in your town was concerned — it does and it should be, if only you were born and raised in different circumstances.

There’s not one acclaimed and high-profit company that would ever accept the likes of you. You worked hard and even if there were no exchange student agreements and Latin honors to show for it, you really did. You gave your best to graduate with a degree you never really liked and was only forced upon you, all for the promise of a future. It didn’t matter if it was extremely good or bad — everyone else just said you had to have one.

Your misfortune is what it is. It’s empty and haunting and the two weeks you had spent in the city right after graduating is truly something you never want to relive.

In hindsight, gambling the rest of your pocket money on a bus fare in your last day of job-hunting in the city at the time was a stupid decision. It was impulsive and irresponsible and everything your family scolded you for, what Yoongi hated you for, but it ended up being the single best gamble you’ve ever made, even above entry-level lottery tickets.

The same circumstances that held you back from where you’re supposed to head ended up propelling you to somewhere far, far different. Your degree became completely irrelevant, and the fact that you had nobody of significance in the city– no person to pass malice and gossip onto— made you a manager.

It had been a gamble to go work for an unknown entertainment company, much more a sinking one. It was an insult to have busted your ass back in your hometown, studying and working at the same time, only to work professionally in the city for a field that you didn’t even study about.

Your fate is what it is. You’ve endured and worked hard enough to the point that you had finally lucked out. Being the manager of someone who had later turned out to become the biggest actor in the industry, even in Hollywood, became your biggest break up to date.

Your way back home feels like an embrace you’ve denied yourself for far too long. You’ve mainly stayed in Seoul apart from the several hundred times you had to come with Jungkook for filming outside of the country, yet you could only count on one hand the amount of times you came home without anyone telling you to.

Coming home had become foreign to you as much as leaving it had become familiar.

“I’m near, Joon,” you hum to your phone, taking a quick glance at the cake you’ve strapped to your front seat. “It’s only us, right?”

“Yeah. Just us.”

Maybe it’s your fault for changing what us meant throughout the past five years, but Namjoon’s definition never changed. Maybe it’s your fault for not clarifying what he meant when you’re still kilometers away, when you can still leave, but nonetheless, you were cornered.

Us meant what it used to be when you were a kid in your childhood home — when Yoongi was still in the picture and you didn’t hate him for it.

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that Yoongi was right — nothing valuable was left for him in your hometown anymore. He was as right as you were wrong every time he went on a monologue of how he thinks there’s no problem in him admitting that he’s full of envy. He had been right for being bitter that there’s people who have and get much more than him, more than what they deserve, by not even putting a fourth of the effort that he does.

In the same way that he was right, you were wrong for thinking each time that Yoongi would soon outgrow his ambitions and instead, see things for what they are. You were wrong for thinking Yoongi would stoop down to your page, much less ever think of it.

Yoongi was right for saying that his stomach’s made of steel, and you were wrong for trying to convince him otherwise. He’s always had the appetite for more, the digestion of whatever life throws at him coming easy. Yoongi can choke down the reality of leaving Namjoon, your brother, who’s been buddies with him even before they could talk. He could forgo the only brother figure he’s ever had in his life if it means making something of himself.

He doesn’t get constipated from the reality of no longer having the homemade meals your mother would make that the younger, more innocent, and less ambitious version of him would literally jumps fences for. In fact, Yoongi’s palate craved something more foreign and sophisticated; not familiar, hearty meals served in dinnerware dulled from years of routine.

His stomach doesn’t turn thinking about how the skyline he said he’d never get tired of, wouldn’t appear in his new side of the world. The little, unassuming, and far too comfortable version of him who used to chase sunrises with his bike as a child and chase sunsets with his car as a teenager, doesn’t feel like he’d be poisoned if he were to see the sunlight in a high-rise instead of a run-down pavement.

Yoongi’s right when he said he had a tolerance because he doesn’t even get heartburn when you cry for him to no longer leave. You’re not in the position to beg him to stay (and you probably never will be) because as you’ve come to realize, he would only stay for the big things.

The only thing that would anchor Min Yoongi into place and dissuade him from chasing more is by being the most. One would have to be extremely significant, even bigger than Namjoon’s brotherhood, your mother’s impact, and what your hometown has to offer. You can’t even hold a candle to the aforementioned.

In Yoongi’s grand plan that’s as big as the galaxy, you’re merely a speck of dust that had the luck of hovering around him. You realized it back then when you blew over and fought with him right before his flight; right when Yoongi was clutching his one-way ticket, right when one foot was already out of the door.

“But the future that you want is not easy, Yoongi!” you gritted through your teeth, the grip you had on his suitcase too visceral that it bends under the pressure. Yoongi snatches his luggage from you in a blink, nostrils flaring in annoyance.

“Of course you’d be the first to say that,” he seethed, eyes wild and unforgiving. He drills his finger into his temple, inching towards you with an anger he had never shown before. “You don’t work as hard as I do, Y/N! You always settle. You always go for mediocre. You never put your head into anything because you’re too immature for any of this shit!”

“I’m not immature, you asshole!”

“Yes you are, you dipshit!” Yoongi scoffed, throwing his head back. “You cave and you bend and you let the whole world fuck you over, then you come running to me whining. You don’t have a passion in life, Y/N! You’re begging me to stay in the same predicament that you’re in now, what’s not immature about that?”

“When you leave now and decide to come back one day, Yoongi,” you spat with resentment, the tears that pour down your cheeks no longer out of sadness but instead, out of promise. “Nothing will ever be the same.”

“Good,” Yoongi clipped, turning his back on you for the last time. “Good for me.”

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that when Yoongi left five years ago, he also took the large chunk of your soul that had been shaped over and over again the entire time that he stood by you. He’d gotten his hands on the security and contentment you used to take pride in, weaponizing them against you.

You’re unsure if you have to thank him for that, the uncertainty being on par with the insecurity you had felt when he left you with his truth.

When you visit your mother for her birthday and see Yoongi emerge from your childhood bedroom, hand-in-hand with a toddler that looks like an exact carbon copy of him, you’re unsure of what to do either.

You’re not hysterical in the same way you stood before him when you even considered ripping up his plane ticket, but on the other hand, Yoongi’s inconsolable in the way he flounders before you.

“Y/N,” he says breathless, the lump in his throat even bigger than the tiny fist that grips his hand. “I… I-I didn’t-…” Yoongi tries again, his mouth dry at your appearance. “You came home.”

“I’m only visiting,” you answer, the curt smile on your face that Yoongi recognizes to be the one you’d give to strangers making his blood run cold. “I don’t plan on staying.”

You’re numb if that’s the word for it.

Your chest buzzes emptily the same way your fingers clench around nothing. You look at everywhere and everyone but Yoongi and his son. It’s nauseating to even think that everyone’s eating dinner as if everything’s okay; what’s even more sickening is that somehow, you’re willing to settle for it.

Yoongi is your mom’s cross-stitch project of a teddy bear that she hung up in your room one day when you were in school that you never took off by the time you came home. He’s a dent at the corner of your gate that could’ve only been made by Namjoon when he was practicing his soccer skills. He’s a Snellen chart that nobody really uses, stuck to the side of the refrigerator that you walk past.

Yoongi’s here, there, and everywhere, but you don’t question it. He’s simply there in your orbit and even if he exists, you don’t follow up on him.

You stay quiet at the talks of the sleeping situation because it turns out that Yoongi’s family had long sold their house. You never knew that throughout the several times you came down to visit.

Frankly, you’re relieved to barely know anything about Yoongi these days.

“You and Haneul can take my room,” you half-heartedly offer, not because it’s Yoongi who tugs at your heartstrings and demands your pity, but his child instead. The two, three (?) year-old baby (read: you’re too hesitant to ask what his age is because if it’s anything higher, then that meant Yoongi had moved on earlier than you did) you didn’t even know existed because you’ve completely cut off Yoongi from your life and refused to listen to Namjoon every time he talked about him, will be sleeping in your room; it just happens that he’s with his dad.

Yoongi’s awed at your preposition but he’s even more worried. He can’t tell a single thought that’s going on behind your eyes nor a single hint behind your tone. You’re formal; neutral. You’re detached even when you utter Haneul’s name and gesture them to your bedroom as if he hasn’t spent years and years of his life in your home.

“Where will you sleep?” he furrows his brows, his hand that had been rubbing circles on Haneul’s back faltering.

He’s asking because he doesn’t know anything about you at this point. He can’t tell if it’s the indigestion he has from resisting to talk your ear off at the dining table (like he’s always did when you were young) because you barely even spoke to him, or if it’s the overwhelming feeling of being back home with everything feeling familiar but you — either way, Yoongi thinks he’s gonna be sick.

“I’ll sleep at my mom’s,” you purse your lips, leaving him at that.

Between the yearning, demanding looks you get from Yoongi, the nosy and concerned glances from Namjoon, and even the guilt that you get from keeping all of your emotions from your mom when you used to confide in her religiously when you were younger — you’re drained. The urge to wash off all your anxiety can’t be done in your childhood home’s small bathroom. You can’t with the faulty water heater (you have to keep one finger pressed on the button at all times to keep it running) because you can’t even cry in peace under the either scorching or freezing water.

You can’t evade everything by grabbing a drink from the fridge that runs loudly as if it’s excavating oil from underneath your floors. You can’t curl up on the couch that’s become worn with age because there’s dents of you and Yoongi, the only two people who had sat on it the most every late night for years on end. You can’t romanticize any of the things in your home that have brought you joy all your life at this point in time.

To sleep under the same roof with your mother and brother again after so long feels foreign. It’s a language you can perceive but can’t translate and the frustration that comes with it seeps into your bones. There must be some common ground between the three of you; it should be anything and everything. With Namjoon being a world-renowned football player and you being somewhat accomplished and decorated in your field, you’ve managed to retire your mom early.

The three of you are doing fine. Not one interaction in the past five years has ever felt this tense and unfamiliar, but if you could pick just the odd one out, the very reason why you feel like falling to the floor and crawling your way out of your own home because you feel like you don’t belong to it — it’s Yoongi.

You feel awkward in your own four walls, whereas Yoongi finds your nightlight that you keep tucked in your closet without breaking a sweat.

Namjoon tugs you right when you’re about to call it a day in your mom’s room, his hushed whispers taking you back to when he pleaded for you not to rat them out whenever he and Yoongi crashed at the couch drunk.

“Give them this,” he shoves the can of bug spray into your hands, your immediate reaction making him wrestle with you just to push you closer to your own bedroom.

“No, Joon. You give it.”

“Y/N, no. You give it,” he whines, purposely having given Yoongi extra sheets and blankets earlier without the bug spray so you’d have something to take to him.

“I don’t wanna see Yoongi,” you whisper, trying to pathetically regain your footing even if you know your attempts go futile against an athlete for a brother.

“You think I don’t know that?” he snarks, giving you one last shove with a stern finger. “We’re gonna talk about whatever the hell happened between you and him, but right now, you’re gonna offer him bug spray like the gracious hosts that we are!”

You crash too far to your door that it could be mistaken as a knock, making you hiss because you know you can’t retract it. You actually knock this time, being met with nothing but a quiet Yoongi behind your own door.

Even when he opens it fully, even when it’s your own room — you enter hesitantly.

Yoongi’s already made a home out of your room. He knew where your nightlight was, knew which good extension cord (that didn’t spark every time it shifted) to plug into the wall, and even knew where you kept the magazine that you had to wedge between your windows whenever they didn’t fully close.

“Namjoon told me to give you this,” you put your hand out, looking at everything but Yoongi. You could look at Haneul who’s sprawled in the middle of the bed, but it isn’t any different than looking at his dad himself.

Yoongi, on the other hand, can’t see anything but you. He feels like an intruder who just happened to know the confines of your life almost better than his own, holding bug spray and the remainder of whatever recognition you have left for him.

“Will we ever be alright?” he whispers, not for the sake of keeping Haneul asleep, but for the sake of his sanity. If he makes his voice any louder, he’ll spill all his grievances and question if he had ever meant anything to you.

“We’ve always been alright,” you smile tightly, wrapping your hands around your back.

“You know what I’m talking about,” he pleads, swallowing the lump in his throat. “When did you ever give me bug spray? When did you have to knock on my door, o-or when did you ever have to treat me like I’m some guest and not a huge part of your life?” Yoongi stumbles over his words, correcting himself with a huff. “Most of your life.”

The sarcasm that coats the last of his words makes you twitch, the clench in your jaw being unmistakeable. Yoongi almost forgot what you looked like whenever you argued with him — talked to him, even. “Why are you only bitching about this to me and not to Namjoon? He’s the one who told me to give you the bug spray.”

“This is not about the bug spray!”

“What is it about then? Is this, is this some sort of long-winded euphemism that involves bug spray? What is it Yoongi, are you gonna hound me for an essay about it?” you spit, exhaling heavily. Haneul twitches in his sleep from the corner of your eye. “You grew up and so did I.”

Yoongi flinches like you’ve shot him.

“Don’t do this to me, kid. Don’t do this to us.”

You flinch because anything is better than to have him dig up his old nickname for you as if he’s close; as if he’s still the Yoongi that you chased, as if you’re still the Y/N he looked out for.

“Don’t call me that.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi’s in the kitchen with your mom.

He looks domestic this way, hair tousled and pajamas loose. Even if you have unbridled internet access (courtesy of the high-speed package you split with Namjoon for your mom even if the most she does online is repost motivational quotes, reels of Namjoon and his team, and clips of Jungkook where you’re seen), you can’t muster the courage to search Yoongi’s name and what he’s made of himself.

You’re too scared to search up articles about his success as a producer because if you do, you’re terrified by the thought of accidentally clicking a link that leads you to a page of him and his ex-wife.

You’re too weak to search up the songs he’s had a hand in (that is if you hadn’t heard them before) because you fear that if you even listen for a single second, you might hear how perfect his life has been ever since he left behind everything that he’s ever known.

Even now, you’re too uneasy at the sight of him. He’s in your home and he looks like the version of himself that had never left. The Yoongi in front of you, sitting on your seat at the dining table and peeling tangerines with your mom, resembles the Yoongi that would top off your glass with water whenever you ate with him.

It’s as if you’ve always been in touch for the past five years; it’s as if Yoongi has never aged and you never drifted apart.

“You’re awake,” he remarks, greeting you first before your mom could even register your presence.

“You’re still here,” you reply, the exhale that leaves you making you deflate in reflection. Breakfast isn’t ready yet, but Yoongi’s already slid over a plate to you.

“There. Just how you like them.”

There’s tangerines with barely any pith on them, and iced tea that had more ice cubes in them than there are in the freezer.

Yoongi smiles at you like you’re the old you again; the one who is more forgiving, and the one who is more hopeful.

( ♡ )

If it wasn’t for your brother guilt-tripping you into joining the impromptu road trip, you never would have come.

You didn’t want to come with them in the first place because the very thought of hanging out with Namjoon and Yoongi like old times, this time with the addition of the latter’s son, was too close; too familial. The three already knew each other and had kept in touch and you’re the odd one out. You’re the only planet out of the system and once you’ve come to think of it, that bit of their galaxy never failed. Whether you were in it or not didn’t matter — atleast that’s what you thought.

Yoongi got everything he ever wanted and you’ve heard nothing about it.

You blocked his number and on every social media account he had to his name. Even with Namjoon as a prominent variable, you’re amazed to how you’ve heard little to nothing about Yoongi ever since he left your hometown. You still talked to your brother, of course, but there was an obvious difference to how your conversations went because none of them ever went to Yoongi.

You didn’t tell him to not talk about Yoongi at all. You didn’t instruct him to never utter a single word about his closest friend whom you also grew up with. You never told Namjoon anything concerning Yoongi and what unfolded between the two of you before you left, and yet, it’s almost as if he had already been in your mind and knew exactly what to do.

You’ve come to realize that the prospect of growing up never used to be in your cards. The whole concept of it sat at the very back of your mind, the only times you used to pay attention to it being whenever Yoongi picked at your brain.

You thought your world would have ended when you were 19. You didn’t think you would grow up and see past high school. You didn’t think you would finish college, much less pick a degree to pursue in the first place. You didn’t think of having a future — you didn’t think you’d be living it now in this way.

“Joon,” you mutter, voice barely being heard at the expanse of the balcony you’re in. It’s his balcony in his vacation house he barely stays in, overlooking the waves by the beach he isn’t even that fond of to begin with.

Yoongi and Haneul are already asleep, the father-son duo knocking out way ahead than everyone else. They stayed with the two of you in the balcony hours ago, the bug spray in both the adult and kid edition being proof of it.

Tonight, alone, felt different. It’s as if the younger version of you was gazing out to what was supposed to be your future, except neither the past nor present variant of you could have ever had it for yourself.

“Hm?” he hums, sipping the last of his drink while he’s sat at the far end. You know about each other’s presence, and while years ago, the two of you would’ve been giddy staying in a house as grand as this whilst drinking behind your mom’s back, you and Namjoon grew up. You didn’t fight or anything — you simply grew up and grew apart.

“I never said it before, but thank you,” you exhale, clenching Haneul’s towel as you try to warm your hands. You may have spent the better part of the day not even acknowledging his dad, but you did fawn over him like you would with any other child. “Thank you for not telling me a thing about Yoongi.”

“You’re welcome,” Namjoon finally speaks as soon as he grasps what you were talking about, the smile on his face only lasting for a second. “If it were up to me though, I would have told you everything.”

“Good thing it’s not up to you, hm?” you laugh uneasily, running your hand through your hair. You didn’t know how much you had to be grateful for until Yoongi came back and reminded you of how little you knew about him.

Namjoon breathlessly laughs, looking up at the sky to try and condense everything that has happened through his words before you leave again. “I would have told you that he confessed what happened that time you ran away from home a couple years back, and I beat his ass. We didn’t talk for like, I don’t know, three months? Even when I was still training in the US that time.”

Your lack of a reply is what makes him take notice, the stunned look you have on your face making him snort.

“What?” he questions, eyebrows furrowed as he throws a stray bottle cap at you. “Why are you so shocked? I love him like a brother, but you’re my actual sister,” he confides his loyalty to you, yet you don’t even have a second to express your awe before he opens his mouth again. “I would have told you that I became the best man at his wedding. Even mom was there.”

“You can stop telling me these things now.”

Namjoon exhales, already feeling deep in his chest that you’re gearing up to leave. He wants to get the last word in, not to prove himself, but to try and vindicate you and the quiet suffering you endured without telling anyone.

“I would have told you that Yoongi kept trying to come back to you.”

( ♡ )

Haneul wakes up before Yoongi does.

You’re confused for a second because the moment you hear the lightest footsteps that you ever could pad along the kitchen, you become completely disoriented. There’s a child that looks like Yoongi, wandering off to where you are.

For the briefest second, your heart drops because the whole situation resembles a vignette. In another lifetime, it could’ve been your child, your Haneul, waking up before his dad, trudging to the kitchen where you are is if you’re his mom.

He’s an observant kid, far too trusting unlike his dad who used to scold you to hell and back for even entertaining strangers that asked you for directions. He’s friendly to you; to someone Yoongi had introduced as appa’s close friend. There isn’t even a single hint in how he introduced you to Haneul that the two of you stopped being close. Yoongi didn’t leave the faintest indicator to him that you most probably hated his guts and would probably choose a lifetime where he hadn’t even been in your life at all.

Haneul is innocent to yours and Yoongi’s history and it’s going to stay that way. You don’t meant to change whatever he introduced you as because by the time your mom’s birthday week is over, or by the time Yoongi takes the hint and leaves your hometown again, you would be a fleeting persona in Haneul’s life.

You’re not his mom. You’re not anyone of significance to either him and his dad.

“Good morning,” he greets shyly, his diction telling of how just attentive Yoongi is as a dad. You mostly listened to whatever Namjoon told you last night anyway, tuning out the parts where he rounded to how Yoongi had been miserable not having any contact with you (you don’t believe that at all), and instead zeroing in on the large details that you’ve missed. “Auntie.”

You smile tightly, patting the empty seat beside to you to which he climbs effortlessly.

Haneul doesn’t know you, but you do know him. You know that his dad is a doting, slightly paranoid one whose current dilemma is whether or not enrolling him in kindergarten early or waiting for one more year. You know that Yoongi doesn’t want him to know about the existence of iPads for probably ever, so he spends almost every waking moment talking to him to the point that Haneul’s eloquent at speaking for his age. You also know that Namjoon’s his godfather, and that he had looked after him for a whole day by himself when Yoongi went to settle his divorce.

Haneul doesn’t know you, but you know his parents. You know Yoongi is his dad, and more importantly, that Hyewon is his mom — the same Hyewon who had been with him in your room before, and the same woman Yoongi shared his success with when he made it big.

“Hi,” you greet him softly, handing him his bottle for him to drink from. It’s a warm, domestic vignette for a split second. You’ve watched Yoongi far too many times at the corner of your eye to know where he gets the distilled water. “Why are you up already?”

“Uncle Joonie promised yesterday we can watch the sunrise together,” he says in between sips, letting you comb his hair into order unconsciously. You didn’t even think of it before your hand sweeps the strands scattered on his forehead, the hum you have at the back of your throat pausing when you realized what you’ve done.

“He’s still sleeping right now. He had uh, a long night,” you mutter, at a loss for a child-friendly alternative word for hangover. You keep your hands to yourself because you fear falling into the domesticity that isn’t yours to relax into; if you think about it for a second longer, you’d think that Haneul is yours and Yoongi is the final piece to your puzzle.

“Oh. But I, I wanna watch,” Haneul frowns, brows softly furrowed at your revelation. He’s not close to throwing a tantrum, but the upset expression on his face keeps tugging at your heart to cave.

“You can take your dad with you,” you offer, willing to knock on Yoongi’s door if it meant his son smiling again.

Haneul shakes his head at that, looking up at the ceiling as he recalls the events of last night before being tucked in. “Nuh-uh. Appa had a long night too. He just kept crying.”

A part of you wishes that Haneul didn’t speak so clearly.

“What?” you clarify, heart skipping a beat the more you replay his words in your head.

“Crying?” Haneul repeats, tilting his head as he tries to figure you out. He says it again for a third time as if you needed any clarification of the word and not because of your disbelief that his dad was capable of it. “Like this,” he adds, pretending to bawl with his hands wiping at his eyes.

The scene before you is your brief moment of reprieve, making you chuckle breathlessly as you try to regain your senses. Whether or not Haneul was sure of what he was saying, if Yoongi had cried, it’s most probably not because of anything that has to do with you.

“Oh. So that’s what it means. Thank you, Haneul,” you laugh lowly, patting him on the head until you retract your hand again in realization.

Haneul thinks nothing of your trepidation; he thinks nothing of the yearning behind your eyes, and thinks nothing of the tremble in your voice.

“Can we watch the sunrise together?” he asks, eyes looking up at you as if doing so would be the equivalent of hanging the stars up for him in the sky.

(Read: it probably is, and in another lifetime, or in the far-shot that it happens in this one, you’d do it if he asks you to do so.)

You want to ask Haneul why it’s you who he wants to accompany him, but you don’t. You can wake up either Yoongi and Namjoon to go with him instead, but you won’t.

In another lifetime, this would have been your son, your Haneul asking to watch the sunrise with you. There’s a Yoongi-shaped hole and a Haneul-shaped vacancy in your chest, but you don’t prod about it further.

You don’t question what’s happening, and maybe, just maybe, there’s a tiny part of you that wants to fully accept it instead of hesitating to do so.

“Okay.”

Haneul puts his hand in yours, but you don’t pull away. You just hold him tighter.

( ♡ )

A large part of you forgot that for as long as Yoongi’s here, he’ll treat every interaction you have with Namjoon as an open invitation for him. He had always been this way; for as long as you could remember, he’ll include himself even if he isn’t needed nor wanted.

You can’t count the amount of times your mom had berated Namjoon for something and oddly enough, Yoongi also happened to be there. Whether it was to rat out on his own best friend or being at the receiving end of said scolding, Yoongi jumped at every opportunity to come along as a package deal.

When you asked Namjoon to drink with you at the balcony two days ago, Yoongi butted in and asked what brand of alcohol he should buy you at the convenience store. When you were on the way home and asked your brother what he wanted from the rest stop, Yoongi said he wanted the biggest can of coffee you could find.

And when you asked Namjoon what time you should come to the stadium to watch him practice, Yoongi said he’ll pack you an extra cap while Haneul bonded with your mom.

Sometime long ago, you and Yoongi saw each other eye to eye. You can’t determine when and how exactly, but there was a point in your life where everything you had to say to each other was what the other was thinking all along. Nowadays, you can’t even look at Yoongi in the eye while all he wanted was for you to return his gaze.

If there’s just one thing though, one single variable that remained unchanged between the two of you, it would be Namjoon.

The way Yoongi engages you in conversation this time around is not to trap you and to ramp himself up to apologize again, but purely, it’s to talk about your brother. Namjoon’s a lot of things, and one thing you pray would remain unchanged is the love you have for each other.

“Who would have thought, right?” Yoongi nudges, asking you sincerely. “Who would have thought that the Namjoon who had knockoff cleats years ago would become this world-famous athlete?” he chuckles, shaking his head as he once again tries to digest the fact that this very stadium in your hometown had been built and refashioned in his honor.

You laugh genuinely, the sound being the first he’s ever heard in such a long time.

“Abibas.”

Yoongi has his lips parted, shocked that you were even answering him.

“Abibas. That was the brand of his knockoff cleats,” you chuckle, bowing your head as you try to contain your laughter. “He could’ve bought the original with his allowance and everything, but he split it so he could also buy me knockoffs.”

Yoongi laughs at the memory you jog up in his mind, remembering distinctly how Namjoon kept asking for his opinion repeatedly on which colorway of the knockoff pair he should gift you.

Even if things are still tense between you, even if Namjoon is the only salvation that Yoongi could bring up in a conversation to which you don’t run from, nothing from the past five years could ever take this moment away from you.

The three of you have grown up. Some faster than they’d like, and some because they had no choice but to — nonetheless, in this moment, it’s the three of you back at home like it used to be.

“Namjoon was always meant for greatness. Even from the start,” you murmur, your attention waiting on Yoongi’s response even if your eyes were on Namjoon in the field.

“You are too,” he interjects quickly, voice defensive at the lack of your name to your own sentence.

“No I’m not,” you snort, crossing your arms. You’re not angry when you say it; in fact, you’re calm as if you’ve always seen it coming. “You told me I’d amount to nothing.”

You’re calm, seemingly at peace with what you just said and what Yoongi had ingrained in your head before, but he’s the furthest thing from it. His mouth hangs open, chest tightening impossibly as he shakes his head eagerly.

“I never said that!”

You’re about to counter him when you hear a familiar holler reach you at the lower section of the bleachers, eyes perking to see a familiar figure who isn’t blood-related to you.

“Y/N!” Jimin runs up to you faster than to whenever he passes the ball to Namjoon, engulfing you in a massive hug that forces you up to your feet before you know it.

“Oh my god, Jimin! I didn’t know you were gonna be here!” you awe at the sight of him, unwilling to break away from the embrace until he does so. It’s been ages since you’ve seen him, the second-best player in the team (you’re biased because of course Namjoon had been the best player to you since you were kids) being the closest member to you out of everyone.

Jimin doesn’t care for Yoongi. He knows of the guy and he doesn’t want to know any more than he already does. He doesn’t even acknowledge the guy’s presence; all he does is squeeze you tighter and twirl you briefly in his arms.

“Fuck, me neither. Heaven must’ve healed my ankle quicker so I could come here and see you,” he flirts playfully, earning a well-deserved eye roll from you.

“And you know, play for Korea.”

“Eh. That too, I guess,” he shrugs, sitting at the seat beside you. He looks straight at you and only you — Jimin only pauses to snort to himself when he notices that Yoongi’s squirming in his seat, beyond annoyed and frustrated.

( ♡ )

On the fifth day of Yoongi staying over at your house, there’s a power outage.

The sound of everything shutting off together in sync makes you jolt, the collective groan you hear outside from the neighborhood comforting you in solidarity.

You can only make out a grunt from Namjoon and a gasp from your mom until you hear the trembling voice of Haneul, the sound of a cry that crawls up his throat putting everyone on their feet.

“Oh baby, it’s okay, it’s okay! It’s just a little dark, that’s all,” Yoongi pipes up instantly, scooping him up in his arms without having to fumble for where he is because he could practically locate his son in his sleep.

You didn’t want for it to be a power outage, but oddly enough, you feel sorry that it happened while you’re here. “It’s okay, Haneul,” you whisper as consolation, the dark of the night shielding you from how Yoongi’s eyes widen at your cooing for his son. “Mom, where did you put that generator I got you?”

“About that,” she sheepishly shrugs, turning on her phone to illuminate her shyness. “I donated it last year to the public school nearby.”

“It’s gonna get so hot,” Namjoon groans, the sound of him clumsily feeling around for the lights alerting Haneul briefly. He comforts him instantly, finally turning on the torch in his phone instead of relying on his instincts. “Don’t cry, Haneul, alright? Uncle Joonie’s gonna get the candles and the flashlights.”

“I’ll go try to find a guy,” you get up as soon as Namjoon hands you a flashlight, your contribution to help instantly being shut down.

“You can’t just try to find a guy, Y/N. That’s dangerous,” Yoongi scoffs, putting a hand on your forearm to pull you.

“I meant on my phone, Yoongi,” you grit. “I was gonna go outside to try and look for a signal.”

“That’s still dangerous,” he narrows his eyes at you as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Give me a break,” you mutter, removing his hold from you. You’d save your pride and actually go outside if not for your mom interjecting that she knows an electrician from her contacts.

Namjoon comes back after his quest for battery-powered fans and flashlights, unaware of how Yoongi’s protective streak for you practically never disappeared; in fact, it came back twofold. “Whole neighborhood’s out. Must be a broken transformer or something.”

Your mom consoles Haneul in her arms.

Namjoon waits by the gate for the electrician.

You and Yoongi clean the fridge up before anything spoils.

In between getting food out and embracing Haneul every now and then who insisted on obediently sitting atop the counter so he’s closer to his dad, Yoongi holds your hand.

“That’s my hand that you’re holding,” you murmur, assuming that he had mistaken yours for Haneul’s as he’s always chuckled how yours always seemed to be small against his.

Yoongi only hums.

“I know.”

( ♡ )

You’re falling back into your old routine.

Maybe it’s how your mom has to shake you awake because otherwise, you’d sleep through the afternoon and would therefore be unable to sleep through the night. On the other hand, it could be Namjoon who either hounds you to hang out with him or tell you off for clinging to him too much.

Maybe, it’s just Yoongi. It’s him who’s tricking your brain into thinking that has nothing changed with the way he keeps peeling fruits for you and telling you to be safe even if you’re only buying ice cream from the convenience store.

It’s only been a week and a half of almost normalcy, save for the fact that there are certain things and connections you can neither reverse nor rekindle.

You’re convinced, almost fully convinced that history is repeating itself except for the bitter, ugly parts of it that you never want to pop in your head again.

Like the past, Namjoon blocks you for whatever reason in his head but this time he does it to you while you’re on the way to your room, on the quest to retrieve your charger for your phone that you barely even used for work purposes.

“It’s my room. Why can’t I go in my room?” you furrow your brows at him, your amusement turning into annoyance the more that Namjoon pushed you with actual strength instead of playfulness.

“Are you hungry? Let’s go out for dinner,” he changes the subject quickly, turning you towards the stairs.

You shouldn’t have questioned him further — you should’ve left it at that.

“I guess? I’ll just get my purse,” you concede, dodging his attempts to haul you downstairs.

“I’ll pay,” Namjoon insists and although it’s not out of the blue for him, his franticness is what keeps you on edge.

“I still need my-…” you counter, being interrupted when he holds you firmly as you attempt to walk towards your door. Namjoon grips you with a silent plead, one that you can’t even decipher. “What the fuck is going on with you?”

You finally break off his grip at once, walking into your room with a renowned determination.

It’s not only your routine that falls back into place, but it’s your whole worldview that does.

Love is terribly human. It’s a loose thread on your shirt that gets snagged on your doorknob. It’s a coat in your closet waiting to be worn for the supposed perfect time, and when you do, you realize that it no longer fits you.

Love is terribly human, and it is terribly Yoongi, Hyewon, and Haneul.

Love is terribly human and fragile, and it’s Yoongi, Hyewon, and their son sleeping on your bed.

#target audience im on my knees IM SO SO SORRY HOW R U FEELING!!!!#yoongi imagine #yoongi oneshot #yoongi oneshots #yoongi series #yoongi angst #yoongi angst imagine #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi au #min yoongi imagine #min yoongi scenario #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x you #bts yoongi imagine #bts yoongi x reader

718 notes · View notes

lnfours · 13 days ago

Note

i feel like youre the only one who could understand my thoughts rn, hear me out: uni student who is having a hard time being motivated and is justt feeling overall down about school and such. THEN, lando comfort, just being there and being so comforting (this is not at all inspired by my life or anything...truth, ive been having such a shit week and i just know that this week is going to be bad too and i really need comfort, but am lacking in the friend/boyfriend department and my phone calls with my mom are simply not doing it for me anymore. okay enough with the venting.)

i definitely, 100% understand your situation. school is stressful and hard, especially when you’re feeling unmotivated. remember to give yourself breaks as needed, and my messages are always open if you need anything ❤️

‘feeling 22’ birthday sleepover

the sound of the front door opening sounded through the apartment before his voice did, "hey, baby."

you looked up from your laptop, smiling softly at him from the spot on the couch that you had realized you'd been at all day. the sun was beginning to set, peaking in through the curtains in the living room. he walked up behind the couch, wrapping his arms around you, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"it's five already?" you asked, glancing up at the time in the corner of your screen. sure enough, it was a little after five. you had quite literally been working on this final project all day.

he hummed, resting his head on top of yours, "mmhm," his nose absentmindedly nuzzled into the hair ontop of your head, taking in the smell of your shampoo, "have you been working on this all day?"

you nodded, sighing before pulling off your glasses, rubbing your eyes, "yeah and i feel like i've barely made a dent in it. i feel like no matter what i put, my professor isn't going to be impressed."

"he'd be an idiot not to be impressed with anything you do."

"yeah, but it needs to be perfect if i want to land that internship," you said, "and it's nowhere near perfect. no matter how hard i work i feel like it's not good enough and i just... i don't know what to do."

"take a break, baby," he said, "you've been at this all day. rest the rest of the night and have another go at it tomorrow or the next day. little by little."

you knew he had a point, but you sat there defeated as you tried to get yourself to close your laptop, "okay, yeah, just let me read it over one last time and then i'll be done for the night."

he nodded, "okay, just once though," he said, standing up again, "i have an idea, actually. i'll be right back,"

you nodded, letting him venture down the hallway and into your bedroom. he made quick work with his actions, gathering candles from your bedroom before placing them on the bathroom counter and lighting them. he started the faucet for the bath, making it the temperature he knew you liked before adding some of your body wash to the water.

once it was set up to his liking, he made his way back to the living room and you were still invested in the project on your laptop. he stood in front of you. gently closing the lid, which made you stop reading as you let out a soft sigh of defeat. there was no getting around it with him.

"c'mon," he smiled softly, reaching out and offering his hand for you to take. you placed your hand in his, rising from the couch as he led you down the hallway and to your bedroom.

"what're you up to?"

"nothing in particular," he smiled, and when you saw the bathroom you immediately almost broke down into tears. the candles dimly lit the room and a bath was drawn.

"lando," you gasped softly, his thoughtfulness making your heart flutter against your chest and reminding you why you fell in love with him in the first place.

he smiled, "you relax, i'll order us some food. how's that sound?"

you nodded as wrapped your arms around his neck, "have i ever told you how much i love you?"

he smiled, "once or twice, i can't quite put my finger on it though."

you laughed softly, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, "i love you."

"i love you more," he smiled.

you nodded in the direction of the tub, "how about you join me and then we order dinner?"

"i like the way you think."

183 notes · View notes

lure-of-writing · 9 months ago

Text

Little sister; all in a days work

Note: I was thinking of making this like a little mini series, Rhysands sister doing normal sister things and how Rhysand would react. Let me know if you have any suggestions and if you like this idea

Word count: 1.9K

Warnings: None that I know of, let me know if I forgot any!

Summary:As Rhysands younger sister you had perfected the art of annoyance by the time of your fiftieth birthday. And making your brother regret all life choices was all done in a day's work.

As Rhysands younger sister you had perfected the art of annoyance by the time of your fiftieth birthday. The easiest form of annoyance came from flirting with the shadowsinger and lord of bloodshed, personally this was your favorite pastime but your brother's worst nightmare.

It was the traditional family dinner at the river house and you had stepped out of the room to grab another drink when you came back in to see there were no empty seats. It was honestly shocking how little furniture your brother owned considering he was the high lord, but ya know the wings kind of make it hard to furniture shop. Looking around the room you find the perfect place to sit. Azriels lap. With grace earned only after a lifetime of practicing you made your way over to your favorite person and said nothing as you took a seat in his comfortable lap.

“Uh no absolutely not.” Rhysand had managed to cough out after his wine went down the wrong windpipe while waving his arm in a get up motion. “Absolutely not?” Morrgian was sitting on the floor leaning up against the couch when she glanced over to where the high lord was staring before giggling into her wine. There you were perched on Azriels lap holding your own glass of wine in one hand while the other was draped over his shoulder and lightly playing with his hair. This was nothing unusual for you considering you loved how much it got to your older brother but it was the fact that Azriels hand rested on your bare thigh that was exposed due to the slit in your dress. And he had his other hand positioned on your waist, just to keep you from falling of course. That was unusual and it had Rhysand on edge.

You watched from the comfort of your seat as your brother removed Feyre from his lap and made his way over to you. From your position he towered over you forcing you to crane your neck up to look at him. “Can I help you, my dearest brother?” The fake sweetness dripping off your voice was Rhysands last straw. Without a word he reached for your arm to get you off of his Shadowsinger but the next thing he knew Azriel had blocked his hand with his wings and wrapped you up in warmth of his body and protection of his wings. “I think next time you sit like this with Feyre she should pull her away from you.” Azirel looked up at Rhysand to see his controlled face of anger and exhaustion. You really made sure to keep your brother on his toes with your antics “But I don’t think you would appreciate that.” After a long sigh and Feyres beckoning to come back to her and to leave you alone Rhysand reluctantly agreed and began to make his way back to his mate. Peaking your head out from Azriels wings you smirk at your brother's defeat. Turning your attention to the shadowsinger you thank him for playing along as he always does to which he just nods. But what the others can’t see is the comforting circles he's soothing over the skin of your legs. “Brother!” you call out just as he reaches his mate after his defeat and watched as he slowly turns around to see just your head peeking out at him from Azriels wings. The sight makes him want to puke. “If you are going to try and enforce a rule I would try not being a hypocrite while doing so.” You nod your head towards Feyre where she once again made herself comfortable in your brother's lap.

The next incident of you testing Rhysands patience was on a lovely Tuesday morning during training. Cassian had picked you to fight him in hand to hand combat. All was going well until Cassian had you pinned on the floor with a knife to your neck. The logical part of his brain told him that Cassian would never cause you any harm but the older brother with no logical thinking told him you were in trouble and to get Cassian away from you. What Rhysand failed to realize was the compromising position the two of you were in. Were laid out on the floor of the training mat with Cassian's body in between your legs and most of his body on top of yours. Cassian was going to get up as soon as he had knocked you to the ground but as soon as he went to push himself off of you he felt your mental claws poking in his brain. “My dear Cassian?” he could all but feel you in his mind “Uh Yeah?” if you weren’t determined to make your brother's stomach churn you would have laughed at how confused the general sounded. “Could you just stay here for a moment I want to see something”

Rhysand was no more than five feet away from you and ready to rip Cassian away from his little sister “I think I like seeing you like this Cassian. Should we try this position later in your room?” Feyre watched from across the roof top where she was training as her husband's face turned green and he gagged while trying to get Cassian to move. Unfortunately for him, his general found it hilarious and collapsed right on top of you. Rhysand had never wanted to bleach his ears until that very moment.

As a little sister it is your life goal to make your brother question his life choices at least once a day and if you didn’t, well then, you simply weren’t doing a good enough job. And you had yet to finish your job today. Earlier in the week your brother declared you and your family would be paying a visit to the court of nightmares and you couldn’t be more pleased. Where was a better place to stress out Rhys then in the fretful place of nightmares.

You had spent the afternoon getting ready with Feyre and Morrigan. You each took turns with doing your makeup and hair while filling each other in on life events and the gossip of the inner circle. “I forgot to ask you what you're wearing?” Feyre looked at you through the mirror as Mor perfected her makeup.

Everyone had gathered downstairs in the living room ready to go except for one person; you. And as if on cue the sound of high heels on marble floors could be heard coming down the stairs. “Oh no. Not happening in a million years.” sharply lined eyes and glittering eyelids blinked at him in question. The outfit in question was a black backless and sleeveless corset dress with slits on either side that went up to your hip bone. Unfortunately for your brother it was happening. As you finally reached the bottom stair Azriel had his hand out waiting to help you with your descent. He watched as his brother looked you up and down to take in the far too revealing outfit you had donned and you had winked back in acknowledgement of his wandering eyes. “Before you say anything I think you forget your mate has worn much, much worse.” you glazed at Rhys' partner with a shy smile “No offensense Feyre, you know I love you and you always look stunning in those outfits.” your high lady smiled back at you and giggled before smacking her husband's arm. “Let her live Rhys, she is grown after all. And if we don’t leave now we will be later than we already are.” With his wifes input on the matter you knew Rhysand wouldn’t argue with her.

The first to arrive were Cassian, Mor and Azriel. Then you made your appearance followed by the high lord and lady. As the high lord your brother was busy playing court politics and you couldn’t be bothered with the boring stuff so without a second thought you threw yourself into the pool of bodies after you had grabbed a drink. The Fun times were cut short as a random male had slid in behind you and wrapped his arm around your waist. “What is a pretty girl like you doing here all by herself? Huh?” his hot breath was on your ear and an educated guess could be made that he was either drunk or simply did not know who your brother was.

Without saying a word you removed his arm and began making your way to where you knew Azirel would be leaning up against a pillar constantly looking for a threat. By the time you had made it to the edge of the crowd you had figured you lost the random man but the brute apparently made it his life mission to follow you to the end of the earth. Moreso his life as he reached for your arm and pulled you back into his chest. “Where do you think you’re going?” The truth-teller was pressed in the man's throat the moment he had pinned you to his chest. All you could see was Azriels chest until you looked up and saw pure death in his eyes. It was a look you knew all too well. This man had signed his death certificate. “Get your hands off of the high lord's sister before I break them off one by one.”

The murmur that spread across the group of people was enough to catch the high lord's attention where he spotted you in between Azriel as he held the truth-teller to a random man's neck and the random man holding you to his body. Suddenly you were thrust into the arms of his brother as the man made a break for the exit. Rhys made sure he wouldn’t be able to get away. Gently Azriel guided you to where he had been standing before you had been grabbed. “Are you ok? He didn’t hurt you or anything right?” the watchful eyes of the shadowsinger observed you for any signs of harm and when he was content with his evaluation he finally looked back at you. “He couldn’t have hurt me even if he wanted to. You would have killed him if he tried.” Rhysand watched from afar as Azriel made sure you were ok and it calmed him down to know he had some who he could trust besides himself to protect his little sister and that brought joy and appreciation for the man he calls a brother. What didn’t bring him a sense of appreciation to the high lord was watching you stand on your tippy toes clad in heels and place your hand on Azrael's cheek while the other hand went to his hair as you full force kissed him. Rhysand had never been more ready to kick Azriels ass as he watched him return the kiss. After what felt like forever you finally separated from the shadowsinger once you felt eyes on you. Glancing around the room until you found the prying eyes and judgment laced with anger that was hitting you like a wave you find your brother's harsh stare and twitching eye that matched his jaw. Shrugging you sent your brother a wink before grabbing your savior's hand and leading him to an exit while giggling. Making your brother regret all life choices was all done in a day's work.

#acotar imagine #acotar x reader #acotar x you #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #azriel imagine #azriel one shot #Rhysand x sister!reader

806 notes · View notes

belokhvostikova · 10 months ago

Text

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | After five months of no reconciliation with the man whose lifestyle became too much for you to manage, you're met with your ex-boyfriend, the rockstar, after an accident leaves you in the hospital, and you face the realization that Eddie Munson is still your emergency contact.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, crying, mentions of alcohol consumption, hard drug use, insecurities, minor jealousy, fighting, breakup, brief mention of infidelity (no cheating, though), hospital setting, head injury, concussion, mentions of stitches, mentions of blood, and mentions of seizures.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Y'all, I'm 19! So, as a gift to you (whatever logic that is) here's a fic that takes place around Christmas, so I guess, also a belated Christmas gift. Happy birthday and Merry Christmas! Also, the extent of my knowledge on injuries is purely based on the fact that I took both Health Science I and II in high school, and, well, that's it. So, if anything is inaccurate, NO IT'S NOT (because I said so).

“Will you-” so vividly, you heard his boisterous laughter dense the air sweetly, his face glowing with the ever peaking sunlight that glimmered the sparkling snow outside each time you peered up to his extended height. “It’s like you’re trying to make me fall!” His dramatic accusations were merely met with your fits of giggles, something he so gladly wished to always be met with, as the graze of your cold fingers buzzed his skin with the excitement of what used to be your touch. “Seriously, baby, I can’t finish this if you’re attacking me.”

But you made no effort to stop, continuing your precise placement of delicate ornaments upon the belt loops of his jeans, the links of his chain, the pockets of his backside, perhaps even one snuggly secured in the threaded rips of his pants. With your boyfriend at your mercy—stuck a couple feet higher atop the fifth step of the ladder to fulfill your dreams of draping green garland to surround your high rise windows—you couldn’t help the ebullient urge to decorate him as you pleased, bringing some loving festivities to the black denim ensemble he regularly sported.

Effervescent balls of sparkling reds and yellows accompanied the hanging bandana of his back pocket. “You’re like my very own personal Christmas tree!” You beamed upwards, watching a smile that was personal to himself, as he lavished in the innocence this holiday expelled from you. “C’mon,” a fatuous whine that had him chuckling with strings of fake green leaving his hand to secure around the window frame, “have a little spirit!”

And perhaps, that’s all you were trying to have now: spirit.

Because in the blink of an eye, the purity of crystalline, white snow had turned into sludges of watery dirt to meet the once twinkling hues to stringing lights that now simply became the bane of your existence. Because to you, everything embellished itself as a mockery to the happily ever after you now no longer had.

But it never hurt to try, and yet, trying became the very literal thing that hurt you.

“…What occurred in the midst of their fourth track, Corroded Coffin’s notable ‘Goliath’s Wrath,’ left fans in a frenzy, when frontma…” Your eyes blurred with exhaustion, attempting to fight back the heaviness of your eyelids that left your vision impaired by spotty shades of blacks and whites. Various pitches of ringing clashing with static voices began provoking that throbbing ache in your head that pounded your brain to mush. “…Information falls scarcely upon accuracy, though there were mentions of a family emergency as to the reaso…” One harsh breath for your dense chest left your nose to be invaded by the artificial, bitterness of antiseptic. All more of a reason for your eyes to screw shut in a brutal endeavor to appease the gnawing of your head. “…Demanding refunds for a set that had to go on without the leading m-”

“You’re up!” Your eyes shot open. His aging skin told stories of his life, crinkling into an abundance of creases that welcomed your startled awakening. “I know things may seem a little scary and confusing here, kid.” Heaving became an understatement when your eyes accepted the burning tiles of white around the room, and suddenly, whatever news outlet that was recounting the upheaval of 90s Hollywood from the tiny television that served its purpose of passing time was becoming drowned out by the abrasive beeping of monitors that clung to your body with tubes. “But just bare with me, alright, everything’s going to be okay.”

Okay? Your body felt cold under the roughness of hospital linen. “I-I…” A reckless try at sitting up left your mouth soaring with an agonizing groan from the pain, your sore body all too weak for the heavy lifting at your head, that suddenly felt the density of a dozen bricks that smashed together.

“Take it easy, alright.” The older gentleman smiled, urging you to lay back against the flat pillow with his simple gestures. “I know things are a little hazy here, but my name is Dr. Rosenthal, would you be able to tell me yours?” Your brows scowled at the disparaging child-talk the man thirty years your senior was showcasing you.

With a roll to your eyes—something instantly regretted because of the pain in your head—you dryly croaked. “Y-Y/N.” It was all too bright. God, what would it give to flip off the overhead lights? You never really were a fan of overhead lights, but his excuse of, “we have money now, these lights can stay on,” had a knack for making you giggle. It’d been five months since those overhead lights were ever turned on again. You wondered how often Ed-

“That’s great!” Dr. Rosenthal smiled, and you accepted the scraping scribble of his pen against his papered clipboard to satiate the buzz of your brain. “Tell me, Y/N can you remember anything about how you may have gotten here? Any recollections you may-”

“Where is- is she here?!” You fought the throb of your head to snap into the direction of the door, where Dr. Rosenthal mimicked your concern. In truth, the smell hadn’t been all too great; beads of perspiration coated his body in part with the concoction of spiced cologne and the bitter bourbon he regularly downed before coming face-to-face with thousands in a packed arena. “Y/N- she’s- what, what happe- oh, shit!” Cindy Jaurick had been a renowned makeup artist in Hollywood, but with the dryness of his skin, even she couldn’t conceal the bruising of his sleep-deprived eyes; splotches of alabaster cream became patchy upon his bags that smeared with the waxiness of black liner.

Eddie Munson, all leather and chains that clashed with his truest self of denims and tees. A facade so greatly curated by the hands of top executives that in a span of three years, millions were acquired to his name. Such a stupid name, you now thought.

A heavy step forward left his booted foot clanking against the white tiles, a movement too abrasive for your liking, as his incoming hand has you pushing back from his reaching touch. “Excuse me, sir, you need to step back and calm down.” Dr. Rosenthal proclaimed, a man of loyalty to his position, clearly perturbed by any bothersome that came to his patients.

“I just- what the hell happened, are you okay?!” His jewelry—the real kind, far from the fake silver he once adorned that periodically fused his fingers green, but loved them more than anything—jingled to the admission of his distress, hands harshly raking through the chunks of sweaty hair over the sight of your damaged self.

An audible clap came with the hit of Dr. Rosenthal’s clipboard to Eddie’s exposed chest, where the buttons of his designer brand had been deliberate to showcase the permanent markings of his tattooed skin. “Sir, unless you are a relative or partner of-”

“Yes! Yes, I’m her boyfriend-”

Your memory hadn’t served you right for the occasions that brought you to the hospital, but you knew enough that Eddie Munson no longer brandished the title of such, given the circumstances that occurred five months ago. “N-No, he’s, um, not… anymore.”

“Then, sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave-”

“No, I- do you even know who I am?” Eddie watched your face scrunch with disgust at his language to the doctor, but whatever damage control he attempted fell short on your solidified opinion of a distasteful eye roll against him. “Shit, no- like, I mean you called me. I-I’m her emergency contact! I swear it, I’m Eddie!”

And you slumped back against your bed. Clear as day, you remembered the cursive handwriting that marked the page with the name and number of your ex-boyfriend. When a year ago, months apart finally came to a halt as Eddie’s touring schedule cleared for the coming holidays. It would suffice to say the bedroom of your quaint Indianapolis townhouse saw little abandonment, with silk sheets becoming imprinted with the weight of your bodies that refused to leave the warmth of each other’s depraved company. In doing so, your judgment became clouded from the usual routine of bathroom care that came after a heated rendezvous. But could you be blamed? Believe it or not, there actually was a time when Eddie’s embrace brought you comfort and peace. What eventually transpired into a run-of-mill UTI had actually worsened quicker than expected. Over-the-counter medication did little to relieve you from the infection, and when your back suddenly began to ache, you knew a trip to St. George's Hospital was in need. With a close call, your kidneys were able to stay intact to your body, and the use of dialysis was spared from your future. And yet, who knew the most haunting occasion of that experience would come with the boyish smile of Eddie Munson, as he watched with lovesick eyes as you entrusted him as the man you’d want in the case of an emergency.

My god, how times have changed…

“Um, yeah, yeah, he is.” You swallowed the dryness of your throat, hoping the commotion of everything would finally settle to alleviate the stress of your head.

“Well, Ms. Y/L/N, it’s up to you if you’d like him here.” Dr. Rosenthal sighed, a harsh click to his pen that surely cemented his dislike for the gaudy man upon him. “Your neighbor has already left, but I can assure you that the nurses will make frequent routines to keep you in care.”

Neighbor? “I- um, Trevor?” Your head spun with the lack thereof details that painfully tried to piece themselves together.

Eddie's hair flew with the snap of his head to your doctor, as his scowl silently demanded the explanation you both were desperate to hear. Dr. Rosenthal cleared his throat. “Ms. Y/L/N, you took quite the fall off a ladder in your home. After a while, your neighbor had found you, and did the deed of bringing you over. He mentioned you had borrowed his ladder to put up-”

“Christmas decorations.” What a wonderful feeling it was to have the epiphany that was as simple as regained memory. Where you no longer had a boyfriend to gladly bear the brunt work of Christmas decorations for your sole enjoyment, you now had to dish out yourself. Unloading dusty boxes had usually accompanied a teasing compliment to the muscles that bulged from his arms, though now, your back felt the strain of heavy lifting, because you refused to properly use your legs. “Um, y-yeah, I remember- well, I don’t remember falling, but, uh, I used Trevor’s ladder for the, um, y’know, what do you call them? The green, leaf stringy-”

“Garlands?” Dr. Rosenthal and Eddie spoke simultaneously.

And you perked up as best as your body would allow. “Yeah, garlands!” Your voice excitedly croaked. “You, uh, y-you remember?” For once, in five months, you actually acknowledged him. Eddie. “I-I like those garlands around our- my windows.”

He remembered. Your giggles ringing in his ears like magical sleigh bells. Your touch warming his skin against the burning cold. Your eyes twinkling over the simplicity of green garlands… something he couldn’t even provide you with now.

“That’s good.” Dr. Rosenthal smiled. “You’re recalling events and… history,” he pursed his lips against Eddie’s cold demeanor, “wonderfully. It’s a good sign of minimal memory loss, which falls quite commonly against those in situations as yours. When you fell, Ms. Y/L/N, your neighbor had informed us of a seizure-”

“Seizure?!” Eddie spat.

“Yes, seizure; fifteen seconds.” He clarified. “And with that, an immediate grade II concussion. We ran a necessary EEG and CT scan prior to your waking, as such classification can offer some findings. Fortunately, all we saw was the inevitable stretching of your neurons which caused a burst of electrical impulses in your brain explaining the seizure. Checking for any fracturing of the skull, or swelling, and bleeding, and you were quite lucky. Completely cleared.” His smile broke through his wrinkled face. “Though, you were brought in with quite the gash on the left side of your head, right between the parietal and occipital bone. Nothing too extreme on the severity scale, but in order to stop the bleeding we did have to repair the tissue damage with stitching.” A vapid explanation of the overly tight gauze that somehow felt like a ton of bricks around your cranium. “But other than that, your vitals are excellent.” Check, check, check off his clipboard. “It’s very likely you’ll continue experiencing a headache, perhaps some nausea, or dizziness. I do recommend an overnight stay to ensure secondary swelling doesn’t occur, and to guarantee your memory continues to function properly. But a morning discharge should be fine.”

A deep breath allowed your head to nod along. “Yeah, um, thank you… really.” You earnestly smiled.

But where you could muster a staid beam of politeness, Eddie Munson gleamed a smile so faux, even Dr. Rosenthal piqued him with a scowl—though miniscule for his professional aptitude. The heavy click of the door closing behind Dr. Rosenthal granted the heaviest breath to escape from Eddie before his attention scrutinized you.

“What the hell were you thinkin’?!” He ambushed. Seriously, he knew you for seven years. Seven years of his fucking life, and not once had you ever dared to lift a finger for manual labor. Okay, call him old fashioned, but that’s exactly what he liked about you; you know, the whole damsel in distress that needed him whenever something fell loose or broken. That’s it, just the need for him. The need to want him around. “I-I mean, seriously, you- why couldn’t you just call me- or, or, like, Steve, or someone, so you wouldn’t get hurt?” Okay, so maybe calling him wouldn’t have been your first option. If the fact of being no contact for five months wasn’t enough, surely living across the country would have ruled him out. You stopped keeping up with his whereabouts weeks ago. But that wouldn’t stop him. It was you, for Christ sake! You wanted your garlands, Eddie would have given you your garlands. No matter the lack of communication. No matter the distance.

Eddie Munson would have given you everything.

You dryly blinked. Twice. If only he felt like that when you both were still together. “Get out.”

“Okay, no- wait, I’m not trying to blame you-”

“Really? Because that’s exactly what you’re doing. Get out!” Your tired voice tried to muster.

“No, sweetheart, c’mon, I-I know- I just worded it wrong, okay? Please, I just- I don’t know why you would try to do something that would get you hurt like that. You could have, I don’t know, asked for help, like called me up, I promise I would have answered to help you-”

Your eyes rolled against his sentiment. “What, so I’m just too dimwitted to use a couple of tools?!”

“Well, you did fall.” By your stare, Eddie Munson had two seconds to live. “N-No, I didn’t say that- I, look, I just wish you would have called or someth-”

“And I wish you would just get out!” But your rash endeavor to sit up and shove him away legitimized the pitiless reality of your gnawing head hazing your vision and dismantling your balance, forcing Eddie to rush to your assistance.

“I- okay, I’ll shut up, just lay back, relax, please, sweetheart. I don’t want you hurting yourself more.”

“I’m fine.” You gritted.

“There’s a chunk of your head missing.” Eddie retaliated with a deadpan so infuriating mocking.

A huff of disbelief rippled from your dry lips. “Dr. Rosenthal just said it was no big deal.”

“Like I care what that old fuck has to say.” Your scolding eyes ripped him a new one. “Okay, geez, didn’t know you two were such close friends.”

With no energy to fight back, you permitted his touch to push you back against stiff pillows, where his ink-engraved hands worked swiftly to cover your frail body from the harsh chills of the hospital air conditioning. “I’ll be quiet, promise.” He whispered, adhering to his words, as he silently watched you close your eyes away from him, now that his presence has garnered a throbbing headache.

By the seventh beep, you no longer found interest in counting the indications of your working monitors. But where your mind lost the simple activity, you also gained attention to the whirring voices of the television. Sat by your side on the hardened chair, Eddie’s tapping toes forced your eyes to tear back-in-forth from his stance to the static colors of live footage coverage.

“Man, all I hope is for a refund!” Drunk out of his mind, as the lights of cameras began emphasizing the drugged redness of the young man’s eyes. “Like, seriously, we’re all here for The Freak, and for him to just run off like that, dude, we paid for a Corroded Coffin show, and we’re gonna get it, or else we want our money back!”

A pan to the well-dressed reporter stocked drastically to the metalheads on scene. “Well, you heard it here first, folks. As we wait for more updates on the events that occurred that left Eddie Munson running off stage to what would have been his biggest performance in his home state, fans are pressuring for a refu-”

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere right now?” Eddie's head pulled itself from his intense stare that followed the grout of the tiled floors.

“Huh?” His gaze followed yours which briefly led to the boxed television that delivered MTV’s insistent need to showcase a replay of Eddie “The Freak” Munson, lead guitarist and singer of Corroded Coffin, running off stage in the midst of their newest single, ‘Goliath’s Wrath.’ “Oh, um,” his hand waved you off, “my team will rip me a new one later, it’s fine.”

You sighed. “And just for the record, I am self aware, so I did have someone there to help me.” You muttered, leaving his brows to furrow. “Trevor?”

“Oh.” Eddie’s lips maneuvered awkwardly. “Trevor, right.” Knee bouncing, fingers tapping, Eddie knew he should have kept his mouth shut, but the question burned his mind for too long not to suddenly blurt out. “So what, are you seeing him or something?” And perhaps he should have kept his mouth shut, given the death glare you killed him with that had him reeling back his words. “I- sorry.”

“Trevor has a girlfriend. And a ladder.” You scoffed. “And you of all people cannot be talking.”

Three weeks post the headlines that announced the separation between rockstar, Eddie Munson, and his longtime girlfriend, new reports were eager to air Hollywood’s newest romance between the amoral and Playboy’s finest, Lindsey Sawyer. To say you cried for weeks was quite the understatement, when your body physically impaired you from leaving the shielding comfort of your bed. While you rotted, Eddie danced on the grave of your love with his new girlfriend, whose six inch stilettos pierced your bludgeoned heart. Granted, it lasted nothing but a couple days, though it didn’t stop from the new pattern of recurrence in which Eddie found Hollywood’s new recycled “it” girl to accompany the image of a rager rockstar. Gisele Camarella, Pam Densely, Yvonne Huntsford; a new name, face, and body to compare yourself to.

“I-” his shame flooded his cheeks crimsen, “those were never real- not, like- not like you, not you and me real. Just what management thought looked best.” Though, his quiet admission did nothing to soothe over painful memories. “I’m sorry.” Three scrapes of wooden legs scratching against white tiles was all it took to have Eddie Munson sitting by your side. “How do you feel?” His eyes fervently raked your face. “Honestly.”

“My head hurts.”

“About seeing me?” He clarified.

Silence crept up in a suffocating manner, as Eddie watched your stoic lines revise his being. “I don’t like seeing your face anymore, Eddie.” How were you able to speak those words so calmly? Eddie’s throat choked him with unbearable bitterness that burned his insides. “You look stupid. You used to never look stupid.”

Eddie Munson had a haunting past of failures; D’s and F’s marked such a bloody red over white papers, tainting any scribble of hard work he, at least, attempted at times. And what followed failed tests and quizzes only came with the taunting laughter of jocks and cheerleaders, jeering their distaste for his “kind” that branded his leather and denim as the epitome of all things they deemed nauseating. For a while, Eddie Munson believed himself to be nothing but stupid. The grades and reputation being all the evidence needed to solidify his self worth to him. Every compliment to your intelligence he gave you knew came with an underlying insecurity within him. Because you were smart, so smart. What was a smart girl like you doing with a stupid guy like him?

So, yeah, your words hurt. As they intended to.

Eddie’s eyes dropped with shame, his Adam’s apple following suit with a thick bobbing gulp of guilt. His eyes casted upon his tight leather jeans that felt insufferable under a building layer of sweat; too much eyeliner, at times clouding his vision from the very fans he loved seeing; sheer shirts waving in a draft of uncomfortableness, forcing him to long for prized t-shirts that gave him the movement to be him on stage; and a god awful personality detailed so preciously by management to make his name a headliner’s favorite.

Yeah, Eddie Munson looked so fucking stupid.

“I-I don’t like ‘em.” He stammered.

“You used to.”

July once brought Los Angeles, California a blistering heat. You hate heat.

Five months ago.

“No, no, no, he’s full of shit, I was the one who came up with ‘Goliath’s Wrath!’” The cigar browning of Gareth Emerson’s scotch dribbled his lips wet with his drunken blubber, as men surrounding—all big money and titles alike—huffed out laughter worth millions to the men that provided them such wealth.

Eddie’s nose burned with the ecstasy of white powder, dusting his beautiful features with the hedonism of all glory and power… for once, right in his hands. “Oh, fuck off, you were passed out drunk laying in your own piss when we wrote that god awful fucking song!” He laughed, joining in on the obnoxious cacophony of guffaws that held no sense of reality.

A shoulder knocked into his. Greased slicked hair, gold rings, and a suit worth your car payment; Iverson Green. And Eddie had no fucking clue what he did. “You really don’t like the upcoming song?” He whispered.

And Eddie would never know. Information as such mattered little, as long as the man helped pay his check. “These braindeads approve of all this rock shit for the image.” Eddie bit back. “If I had it my way, I’d show ‘em real metal.” He smiled.

A blood red stiletto acrylic stabbed at his shoulder before a cloud of Chanel °5 invaded his itching nose. “Got you booked.” She spoke, her breath tickling his ear over the sheer closeness needed over the vibrating base of stereos.

Eddie turned his head to see her, a smiling Judy Carawan that had him beaming right back. “For what this time? I’m not doing some late night news bullshit again.” After the way Larry Parsons of Hollywood’s Friday Nights called out his delinquent behavior, executives were buzzing for another clash between Eddie “The Freak” Munson and talk show hosts to get the papers running.

“Hilfiger.” Judy leaned in, a smirk of confidence for her work truly accomplished. “A fitting, then you wear one of his suits to the VMA’s, and that’s cash in your pockets. And mine.”

Eddie’s face glowered with disgust, as he attempted to move away, her smell becoming too strong for his liking. “Save me a line.” He instructed to the man breaking rows of snow on the mahogany table. “Fuck no, I’m not wearing some posh-y model shit in front of the fucking cameras.”

“It’ll be one time, and a check worth a lifetime.” She rolled her eyes, a habitual stance against the troubles that came with personally assisting Eddie Munson. “Also, see.” Her slender finger pointed to the lengthy body of Cierra Kalahi, perched against the marbling chimney of your Hollywood Hills home. “Miss America’s Next Top Model will be wearing Hilfiger, too. You and some Shalom Harlow wannabe wearing the same designer is just enough to spark some attraction to your name.”

Eddie knew the venomous implications of her suggestion. “I’m not playin’ into your bullshit dating rumors.” A vicious cycle you two had to go through; you hurting more than the other, though.

“Okay, fine, then we get your pretty, little girlfriend to wear a matching dress… that is if she’ll stop being a bummer.”

“Don’t fucking do that, alright?” Eddie huffed, dragging his sweaty hands down the heat of his cheeks. His eyes felt like they were going to crack out of his skull from the dryness of being opened for the past forty-three hours. But the umpteenth swig of Old Fashioned was fueling him alongside the unstoppable fuel of crystalline cocaine. “She just- I- look, I’m not putting her out there where she doesn’t want to go. S-She’s too good- she’s too good for the cameras.”

“She’s not good for your career.” Eddie felt her words echo into a repeated ringtone that irritated his ears. His vision grew blurred with his impulsive movements against her face.

His hot, alcoholic breath fanned her bangs with each huff of his chest. “Remember who pays your fucking bills!” Nothing but the voices of Mötley Crüe tormented the background, as everyone but the music quieted to bask in the events of another Eddie Munson meltdown. “You say one more fucking word about her, and I’ll leave you to the fucking street.”

Judy Carawan cinched her eyes against his lost ones. Whatever bad boy facade he drugged himself into every night never scared her. Hell, she fed into it. “Eddie, I’m going to be quite frank with you, since no one else will be. You and your goody girlfriend will never last. If she truly cared for you like she says she does, she would do anything to keep your name in the spotlight. And if you truly cared for her like you say you do, you wouldn’t be snorting snow on your fucking anniversary.” Eddie's hardened muscles fell from realization. And Judy smiled such a sick smile. “And FYI, I was someone before you.” Eight years of work with Hollywood’s hottest clientele. “Can you say the same?”

Your lip wobbled under the harsh bite of your teeth to suppress the stinging tears from an embarrassing downpour. Despite his promises of a private evening, you braced your arms over your chest, where it became exposed from the strapless dress you uncomfortably endured, after too many magazine headlines criticized your lack of “looks” for the hottest rockstar in town. You’d never admit it, always brushing him off whenever he became concerned for your well being because of the tabloids, but he always noticed the subtle changes you made to look like the women in the city that felt like another plant from olde Indiana.

And now, unwarranted flashes of cameras settled outside the Michelin Star restaurant that burrowed burdening humiliation into your skin, as a cautious peer around the setting allowed you to notice the pitying and gossip of the goers around you.

Every minute that passed, you gave him the benefit of the doubt. But an hour and fifteen minutes just prevailed you to be a doormat. But could you be blamed? Seven years ago today, you ran into the man, himself, who turned the dreaded day of Hawkin’s High open house into a new adventure. Where you had the excuse of an actively involved mother, who became adamant on touring the unknown environment of the orange and green halls after your father’s relocation to the rural town, Eddie had an intransigent uncle who refused to watch his nephew lose another year of his life to failing high school, and imposed the young man to abide by the staff’s fake smiles, as they greeted parents and students for the coming school year.

It’s funny how one sullen face can find another in a crowd of PTA parents and their goody-two-shoe children alike. Meeting eyes and a devilish smirk on his face was all it took for two strangers to find trust in one another, and sneak away in the depths of bushy, green woods. In retrospect, asking Eddie Munson to be your boyfriend after only three hours of knowing him was quite rash—he, himself, was quite taken aback, as well—but the worst that could happen was it didn’t work out. I mean, what high school relationship ever does? But his informative trek across lush grass, a shared cigarette, and talks that had your stomach cramping from fits of giggles was enough to solidify your decision at heart. And who was Eddie Munson to ever say no to a pretty face and soul like yours.

And it worked out… surprisingly.

It was quite the experience learning the ins and outs of someone you already called your boyfriend, but the pureness of it all bloomed into the most innocent love of two people navigating the world and finding themselves together.

But suddenly, the world had a place in your relationship. The people had a say. In what you wore, what you looked like, who you had to be. And he allowed it. Allowed everyone to measle their way in. After the first promise to you that nothing would change, every single one to follow became a lie.

Because he changed.

You mustered the will to sniffle away any tears. He no longer became worth it to you. And it broke your heart. Your heels clicked their way out of the restaurant, where your being was blurred under the paralyzing flashes of people who invaded your life, capturing and exploiting your lowest moment for a check, and branding you the girl that held the greatest rockstar back.

Eddie stumbled back on wobbly feet, his mind too disorientated to care about the bodies he shoved that consequently left glasses of cocktails to shatter against the polished flooring of his home. Though, nothing mattered as long as he got to the door. But your crying self had beat him to it from the other side, swinging the grand doors that were always too heavy for your liking, and entering your home that was invaded by strangers and their substances, and Eddie… your Eddie standing in the middle of it all.

His red, beclouded eyes had disallowed him the privilege of blinking your beauty straight, but through the haze of blear lines, he saw your face so clearly fall from disappointment.

From pure defeat.

“W-Wait!” Eddie fought the incoordination of his legs to follow you outside, leaving his guest to watch in awe. “Baby, I- fuck! I-I’m sorry- ugh, I just- I forgot!”

Los Angeles’ humidity suffocated his airways that were already constricting from his sobbing chokes. His insides burned from the concoction of drugs and sweltering heat that only fueled at the sight of your broken face. “You forgot?!” You cried, swinging your body around to face the man you no longer recognized. “For the past seven years you’ve never forgotten, but now you do! What, is it no longer important for you?!”

Spit blubbered with his words, as his lips moved a mile a minute to keep your love preserved. “N-No, I mean- yes, of course, it’s i-important-”

“Then why weren’t you there?!” Mascara stained the softness of your cheeks, now too darkened for Eddie to ever kiss the pain away. “Why aren’t you ever there?! For me!”

“I-It wasn’t my fault.” He heaved. “J-Jude, she-she said this s-stupid thing was scheduled, and-and she said it’d be quick-”

“Of course, it’s never your fault!” You bit back with the deflation of your arms. “It’s always the alcohol, or the drugs, or Judy, but it can never be your fault, can it, Eddie?!” His fist balled into his eyes, as snot caved down his nose.

“N-No, it is my fault! I’m sorry, Y/N- I’ll fix it! I’ll do anything, I’ll make it up to you, I swear!”

“Don’t you get it?!” You marched up to his wrecked body. “Your promises mean nothing to me anymore!”

“Don’t, please!” Eddie sobbed. Shameful embarrassment ate him alive in the middle of your Hollywood Hills driveway. “I-I’ll stop all this, th-the drugs,” his arm smeared away the remnants of snot and cocaine against his nose, “the drinking, partying, everything, I mean it!” Because something deep within Eddie Munson knew this was the last straw.

You were done.

“Stop lying to me!” Your eyes stung with tears. “Why are you so comfortable lying to me, and h-hurting me?!” His head adamantly refused your words with a harsh shake to his head, but the history of abandonment that brought you to your wits end weighed more than his inebriated actions. “You touch me and it feels like a lie. You k-kiss me and it feels like a lie. E-Everything you do has become bullshit, Eddie! I don’t trust you. I-I just worry. Worried that anytime you’re not next to me you’ve drugged yourself dead, or-or knocked out somewhere, or… with women-”

“Don’t fucking say that! I’d never do something like that to you!”

“The Eddie I knew would never leave me to snort coke with strangers, but here we are!” You bawled in retaliation, forcing his mouth quiet in disbelief. “You’re not Eddie anymore! So, don’t stand here and tell me you wouldn’t do these things, when everything you do leads me to believe you are capable of doing something like that… something to hurt me! Because you do, Eddie! You hurt me.”

“I’m so fucking sorry! Please, Y/N, baby, I fucking love you, everything’s just been too much, a-and I forget things, I’ll be better!” You scoffed at his utter patheticism that grossed you out, turning your heel, but his large hand caught a tightening grip to your wrist. “No, I’m serious, sweetheart, I’ll change! I-I’m still Eddie!”

“Get off.” You quietly pleaded, exhausted from the sobs that wrecked your body.

“Y-You can’t leave me, Y/N, no, I-I need you.” He choked. “I love you. So much. With everything in me. Please. We don’t do this to each other!”

“Then why do you keep doing this to me?!”

“Darling, Ms. Y/L/N?” Yours and Eddie’s head parted to the soft voice of Debby Weiser. Nearly a year ago, your elderly neighbor—who came into stardom in the 50s for her acts that revolutionized the spreading use of colored television—welcomed you into the gated neighborhood with a gluten-free muffin basket that had tasted like pure shit. But the kindness of her effort garnered a budding friendship with the mature woman who offered her wisdom on enduring Hollywood’s notoriety. “You alright there, sweetie?” Her southern accent never had assimilated to the Valley.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You turned to his eyes, staring down the saddened roundness that no longer held the precious life they once used to. “I was just leaving.”

That night, you left to your shared Indianapolis townhouse that became your starter home when Eddie’s career was first taking off. You were so happy then.

And he hadn’t seen you since.

Until now.

Eddie Munson had fallen quiet.

Everything had, in fact.

The constant beeping of your medical instruments drove him to madness, but he figured the insanity was substantial punishment for the hurt he caused you. He’d been suffering for five months already, what’s a couple more minutes? If anything, he’d be suffering for the rest of his life should it continue without you.

But it didn’t have to.

Eddie knew he had no right to gain your love once more, and the vulnerability of your state worsened the situation tenfold, but there was a reason Eddie received that call. A reason why his heart sank amidst a phone call that identified your beautiful name in an emergency, that left him dropping everything in front of thousands that cheered his name. Whatever cynicism that tainted his heart had long left upon your sweet arrival; a ‘thank you’ filled with such gratitude towards his uncle, when Eddie busted into the trailer with a smile too large to be because of Hawkins High’s yearly open house. Wayne Munson had never asked, mostly due to the fact that his nephew locked himself in his bedroom, where the nineteen-year-old worked endlessly for his new upcoming Dungeons and Dragons campaign that followed the grounds of fate and destiny.

In the mere three hours of your presence, you gave Eddie Munson hope.

He’d be damned not to devote his eternal life to you.

“Y/N, I…” his eyes laid low, examining the threads of linen that covered you, as his fingers twiddled with his rings to appease the constant bounce of his anxious knee. “I need you to know how terribly sorry I am for everything I did. All the times I hurt you.” He sighed, as his teeth sunk into his bottom lip. “I- uh, I just really need you to understand that everything that happened to us was not your fault. At all. You-” his breath shook with a tremble, “You really were so fucking perfect during everything. So patience, so communicative, and I-I never listened to you the way you deserved, I just- I don’t know, I thought maybe-maybe if I gave it my all to this career, I could finally give you everything you deserve.”

His eyes attempted to blink away searing tears, but his emotions were getting the better of him. “A-And I know how fucking selfish that is, I had- fuck, I had no right to assume what you wanted from me, and-and put you in a position where you had to go through all my bullshit, all because I thought that in the end it would make you happy… without even speaking to you about it.” Eddie's voice cracked with a harsh sniffle to gather his strength.

“I-I’m getting clean, um, it’s been really fucking hard, but I-I got the boys s-setting me straight everyday. Especially after I practically tortured them with my cries after you left.” His pity laughter softly broke through. “B-But yeah, sweetheart, I-I’m doing pretty good for myself- well, tryin’ to, at least. Still kinda always, constantly, forever feel like shit,” Eddie chuckled, “but I’m managing. T-The drugs n’ everything flushed n’ all, n-now just trying to hold off the booze, y’know? But fuckin’ hell does a beer get me through it.”

A smile began etching upon his face, where the history of all the laughter you provided him with creased his face with the lines of joy that only truly showcased in your presence. “Talked to our manager, he sure as hell was pissed when I insisted on getting rid of Jude. And she sure as hell went out with a bang, and smeared by name to the tabloids, but, uh, you probably already read about that- or not, I don’t, like, expect you to keep up with me or anything, honestly I kinda hope you didn’t, because, well, those first couple of weeks after everything real-really, uh… brought the worst out.” A deep breath escaped his mouth, as his fingers dug into the temples of his head to alleviate the dull pain.

“I-I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m really… trying.” Eddie swallowed thickly. “F-For my fans, the boys, myself, a-and you, Y/N. And I c-can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am for taking, y’know, taking this long t-to get better, and for not trying better before, for having to h-hurt you just to learn, I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N. A-And I’m not askin’ for a second chance- well, I know I don’t deserve one, not now or-or ever if you feel like it, I just need you to know I’m Eddie, somewhere inside- I’m working really hard on just being me- oh, but, of course, I do want to be with you. T-That wasn’t me saying I didn’t. I do, I-I always wanna be with you, I just- I, okay, I’ll shut up now.”

The deliberation was excruciating.

The process of his words that rambled on for an eternity was too much to process, especially with a head injury, and he understood that to the fullest, but the quietness was becoming deafening, as he waited for your words… your rejection… your reciprocation.

Anything.

And he couldn’t dare look you in the eyes, the ones that pierced his soul so deeply, and he desperately urged you to say something. Anything!

“Y/N?” Beep. Beep. Beep. “Sweetheart…?” His eyes fluttered forward. “Jesus H. Christ, Y/N!” Your peaceful sleep had garnered a frightful reaction from Eddie, as he jumped to his feet to urgently caress your face awake. Of course, when doing so, your eyes tiredly awoke to his face all too close for your liking, and a frown broke your face, as you attempted to move from him.

“Christ, Eddie.” You debilitatingly rasped. “What are you doing?”

“Me?! What are you doing? Are you okay? You shouldn’t be going to sleep, you have a concussion! I-Isn’t that, like, something you shouldn’t do?!” He cupped your face straight to the blinding ceiling light, that had you mewling with annoyance.

“Eddie, I can remember Reagan’s speech, and the fall of the Berlin Wall.” You dragged, prying his concerned hands off your face. “I think I’ll be just fine going to sleep. God, did you just expect me to stay up all night?”

A shuddering breath left his strangling throat, as his hands flexed at the electricity of the touch of your skin. His body tensed, as his round eyes worriedly followed the contours of features. “You didn’t- did you hear me, like, anything that I just said? B-Before you- I woke you up?”

Your brows concave with a furrow of confusion, as you peered up at him through wispy lashes. “What’d you say?”

A deep sigh left his dry lips, as he flashed you a small smile filled with sincerity. “Don’t worry about it, okay? It was nothing.” His hands gently worked to cover your body further with blankets to keep you warm, as your suspicious stare hesitantly nodded in acceptance to his words. “Y-You hungry, or-or need more blankets? Painkillers, anything?”

You delicately rejected his help with a shake of your head. “Just tired.” You softly answered. “And you should probably leave, too. Get some sleep.”

Despite his mind refusing your proposal, he knew your rest was vital for recovery, and he watched you slowly turn your back to him, as his slow steps marked his way to the door. So lonely, he gazed at your tired body curl up into itself like it once did when his presence was actually yearned by you; all safety once found in his embrace, as he promised to never let go. And though he never did, his actions forced you to let go, as he now had to bear witness to seeing you become content with yourself. Something he could never imagine doing so.

His finger flipped the switch. You never were a fan of the overhead lights. And once so, a peaceful sigh buried its way from your parted lips, as your mind rested in tranquil darkness.

Eddie’s hand wrapped around the doorknob that allowed the hallway light to bleed in. But his eyes couldn’t dare leave you once more. Five months of deprivation killed him every passing day, and one glimpse of your beaten self made him feel like an addict breaking their withdrawal. There was once a time in which he was beckoned with the devastating occurrence of you leaving him no choice but to watch you walk away. Now, he had an opportunity. A chance. To walk away. Or stay. Leaving you alone, hurting, in a cold, empty hospital room was too heartbreaking of an option to ever endure, and he was vowing to his words of never hurting you again.

He gently closed the door with no intent to deceive you, but rather care for you. Right now, what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you. And his mind felt at peace knowing he could watch over you; his heart dissipating to the rhythm of calmness only you could bring him to. His quiet steps guided him back to the stiff chair that numbed his bottom and stabbed at his back. But it all became worth it, finally seeing you at peace, after the last weeks he ever got to see you your face had been permanently etched in distress, because of him.

Despite being awake for nearly twenty-two hours now, Eddie Munson spared a couple more just to look at you.

The morning to follow, Dr. Rosenthal had commented greatly on the normalcy of your brain. And Eddie felt envious. You could take thirty more blows to the head, and your brain would still function far better than his ever could. You, unfortunately, had no chance to question his lingering presence, since your body had been awakened by the prodding of a nurse who kindly checked if your vitals were up to par. You figured you’d save her the awkwardness of interrogating your ex-boyfriend, the rockstar.

“If necessary, just some acetaminophen of your choice once every four to six hours depending on the instructions. But if your pain seems to not be improving, I’ll surely write you a prescription for a triptan, whichever one we can work out best for you.” You nodded along, subtly watching Eddie in the corner of your eye, who was listening too intently for someone who was bound to leave in a couple minutes. “And for your stitches, twice a day, remove the old coverage, clean off, and apply a new gauze. After a while, you should be okay with doing it once, and by the two, two and half week mark, I’ll have a referral to remove them when the time comes.” You sighed, taking a minute to let your head process the instructions of the older gentleman before you. “Alrighty, any questions?”

“No, really, you’ve been so helpful with everything-”

“She can’t drive, right?” Eddie butted in.

Dr. Rosenthal took a long second to peer at him, before clearing his throat. “Wouldn’t recommend it under your symptoms. Nausea and dizziness can impair your ability, so we can call someone, arrange transp-”

“I already got that covered.” Eddie spat a smirk back in retaliation.

“As long as it’s okay with you.” Dr. Rosenthal sympathetically smiled at you.

You drew out a defeated sigh, and watched Eddie react like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Fine.” You begrudged.

“Alright then, you go ahead and take the time needed to gather your things, and you can check out at the front desk.” Your trusted doctor assured you. “Call me if you have any questions or concerns, and I’ll gladly help. You have a Merry Christmas, Ms. Y/L/N.” Eddie was spared from a polite holiday goodbye.

You gently smiled. “Thank you, have a Merry Christmas, as well.”

With a click of the door behind him, Eddie was quick to let out a breath of relief, as though Dr. Rosenthal lifted a burden off his shoulders. His hasty movements brought your bag of clothes from beneath your hospital bed to plop against your legs. “These yours?” He pried the drawstrings open.

“No, they’re the lady’s who gave birth before this became my room.” Eddie deadpanned, continuing to rummage through your belongings.

He snorted. “Psh, no pregnant lady would wear an Anthrax tee.” Something that very much still belonged to him, as he threw your t-shirt to your chest.

“Did you stay here after I told you not to?” Your eyes glared in a deadly squint that challenged his snarkiness.

“N-No.” A big, fat lie. His gaze was avoidant of yours, as his hands worked hurriedly to empty the bag of your pants… a brown flannel… your right Reebok… then the left, of course… an earring that stabbed him… the other that didn’t, because he learned his lesson… and some pretty, pretty pink panti-

“Stop looking at those!” You snatched the lacy material from his hands, as he threw his arms up in defense. “And if you didn’t stay, why are you still wearing the same clothes?” You prodded further.

“Oh, my god, I didn’t stay.” He huffed. And you hated the portion of your heart that allowed his words to hurt you, because how come he didn’t stay? “Just headed back to the hotel, took a nap, and came back here early.”

You allowed your hurt to bite back. “That’s gross, you smell.” But he’ll permit your chastising insults if it meant you wouldn’t be angry at him for going against your wishes.

“Can you just hurry up and change, so I can take you home.” He rolled his eyes. “I arranged a car to have us picked up, and take you home.”

“I hope you know how pretentious that sounds.” And Eddie Munson stared and stared, as you balled your clothes into the sanctity of your lap. “Well, don’t look, turn around.”

Eddie’s mouth gaped, laughing in disbelief. “Please, sweetheart, I’ve been staring at you naked for the past seven years of my life.”

“You know what? Just for that, you can go to the bathroom and wait, until I say so.” You smiled, so pleased to watch Eddie scoff incredulously.

Eddie turned on his heels with an exhale of exasperation to match, as he strutted his way into the tiny bathroom. “Can just close my eyes, and picture you naked.” Luckily with his back turned, he wouldn’t dare notice the small smile that cracked your face.

Eddie’s mind had been buzzing with thoughts for the entire forty-five minutes it took for the chauffeur to pull up and parallel park in front of your townhouse. Like clockwork, your brow arched upon seeing the movements that followed yours: Eddie clicking his seatbelt. “Look, don’t give me that look, I already know what you’re about to say, but please, just let me come in, and help you.” You huffed, letting your eyes bounce from the window to his face that was hardened with determination. “C’mon, let me make it up to you this one time.”

Another defeated ‘fine’ was murmured under your breath, as Eddie made the quick trip to help you out of the car. “Just head back, man, I’ll call you when I need to.” Numerous bills were discreetly slid into the hands of the driver, before he took his cue to leave the neighborhood.

“Hey, Y/N!” The blizzarding winter left the precisely planted trees along the sidewalk to lose their green shrubbery; your one shield from the sun that still blazed its light down the Demember wind. But through the glares, you matched that voice to the friendly neighbor who lent you his ladder… and subsequently took you to the hospital once you fell off.

“Oh, hi, Trevor!” You waved to him from atop of his stairs, as you caught sight of the reusable bags of groceries in his hand.

“Hm, Trevor.” Eddie hummed quietly beside you.

Despite the cold, he took the needed steps down to speak to you at a volume that didn’t require yelling. “Hey, I’m sorry for leaving you at the hospital so suddenly, Andreas’ car broke down when she tried to leave from work, and I had to go help her-”

“Oh, please, don’t worry about it, it’s okay!” You reassured him from any guilt. “Seriously, I was out for most of my time there, and you already helped so much with bringing me there.”

“Yeah, and I was going to head back to check on you, but they told me your partner-”

“Yeah, me! Y’know…” Eddie interjected with a wave, as you suppressed the roll from your eye, watching him proudly identify himself as such with an eager point of his finger.

“Yeah, hey, Eddie, been a long time since I’ve seen ya, man-”

“Oh, Y/N! Trevor told me all about you!” Andreas' voice echoed from the front door, as her robe clung closely to her body in an effort to house any warmth she could. “How are you feeling? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, nothing to worry about, just a couple stitches and a concussion.” As polite as they were, your flannel was only doing so much to shield you from the cold, which was already in hand causing that throb to return from the sharp blinding of the sun. Why wouldn’t they shut up?

Eddie watched the twitch of your eye succumb to your expression. If anything from the last seven years taught him anything, it was that you were two sentences away from a fully engraved scowl chiseling your face; always so unaware of how blatant your emotions showcased. “Speaking of which, I should probably go get her to lay down, and rest!” Eddie smiled, as he took your hand up the stairs to your front door.

“Of course, no problem.” Trevor kindly smiled. “And, hey, keep my ladder as long as you need, don’t worry about it.”

An exchange of ‘thank you’s’ finally allowed your neighbor to leave you be, as the key slid into the lock of your door. “That was Andrea, his girlfriend. Are you gonna be jealous if I speak to her, too?”

His laughter warmed the chilled air that smoked his breath. “Fuck off, sweetheart.”

Your house had been all but welcoming upon the first steps. A puddle of blood had stained your wooden floor with the injuries of your head, as fallen garlands messily draped down your walls from your lack of skills with a hammer and nail. You’d never admit to him in a lifetime, but Eddie Munson was surely right that you, personally, were too dimwitted to use tools with no guidance. Turns out a leveler and stud sensor were actually quite useful in keeping your house from being hammered with the countless holes that now decorated your walls. You watched Eddie take in the amateur scenery, his will working overtime to stifle the chuckle that quivered his lips thin. “You make any comments, and I’ll kick you out.”

His hands flew up in defense. “I wasn’t going to say anything- although, how gnarly would a photo of your blood be as our next album cover?”

Giggles of shock coming from you rang in his ear like a catchy melody. “Listen, you came here to help, so please do. I want to shower, and sleep-”

“And eat. That hospital food was shit.” He prioritized. “Go shower, I’ll make you some breakfast,” his watch proved otherwise, “or lunch, I guess, and you can eat before you sleep- oh! And take your medicine, as well. I’ll switch out your bandages when you’re done showering. Don’t worry about anything here, okay? Just relax for me.”

And you did just so, following the words of his advice brought you to the warmth of your shower, where your limbs fell slack from destressing. You worked around the stitching of your head that stung under hot water, as you maneuvered your hair through the rainfall of the showerhead. But too much steam was beginning to blur your vision, and your shower was cut unfortunately short after you swiftly rid your body of any lingering antiseptic smell that clung to you.

“Ow, Eddie!” Your hand squeezed his, as your forehead became cushioned by the tone of his torso, where he stood before you.

As you sat on the toilet, he looked down, and caressed your head gently. “Sorry, sweetheart, just gotta get it clean, ‘s all.” A new square of gauze concealed your wound, before a long strip of bandage secured itself around your forehead. Your head lifted from the comfort of his belly, and he bent at the waist to examine your face. A smile grew so naturally. “There… beautiful as always.” There was no denying the lunge in your heart that soared at his words, but your stubbornness withheld the swoon that would have usually followed with a new inure look to your face. Eddie guffawed at your pertinaciousness. “Fine, I hope you know you have a bald spot on the back of your head.”

And he devilishly smiled at your sudden movements to feel around your hair. “It’s only because of the stitches.” You gruffed in protest. “Plus, what the back of my head looks like is none of my business.”

“Still, you’re balding before me.”

And you wanted so desperately to wipe that smirk off his face. “Push back your bangs right now.”

Touche. “You should really eat your food before I spit in it.”

You had the liberty of delving into Eddie Munson’s personally made lukewarm tomato soup, and a sandwich so untimely perfect, the burnt bread did little to match the cheese that surely did not melt. And yet, it did everything to fill that little hole in your heart, as one bite brought you back to the cozy trailer, where endless nights were spent concocting meals from ingredients that scientifically went together, but for some reason refused to work when Eddie touched them.

He left you alone in the comfort of your bedroom that was once shared with him, as you quietly endured enjoyed your meal, and sat with the events that came about. Seeing Eddie had tumultuously screwed with your already bruised head, and set you back a mile on the path to peace. Where you blamed yourself over the rise of bubbling feelings, you also gave yourself the grace of remembering this man had been the love of your life for seven years. Facing him would be anything but peaceful, and yet, his stupid, round face managed to conjure that settling tranquility of deep contentment within your heart that only ever built under his hands of love and care. But he also managed to tear it, and that was something beyond the repairs of five months apart. No matter how brutal. Your pillow still stained with the tears of endless cries over the insecurities of no longer being good enough for him. But if you sniffed deep enough, his burrowed cologne would fume into your nose at night that allowed you to gain a safe sleep during the dark hours.

How polarizing he could be was beyond the study of any scientist.

Between the last slurp of your soup, your eyes succumbed to the heaviness of your eyelids, as what was intended to be a half an hour nap prolonged into a five hour doze, until the sun decided to rest for the evening, bleeding its red into a darkening sky. As advised by your doctor, a couple pills were to be popped to alleviate that ache that would haunt you for days to come, so with a march to the kitchen ahead, you called for the man you needed most. “Eddie!” Drowned by your tiredness, your voice did little to amplify his name from the second floor. “Eddie!” But a second call of his name proved to be useless when nothing followed in return.

Dr. Rosenthal surely hadn’t been lying about the aftermath of dizziness, as the simple event of walking down your staircase had turned into an olympic sport that nearly caused another blow to your head if it hadn’t been for the obscene tightness of your grip on the railing that descended. “Eddie, seriously! I’ve been calling you, can’t you hear?!”

The quietness of your home answered back, as you approached the bottom steps of the stairs, where suddenly soft lights straightened the blurred lines of your eyes to the clarity of a beautiful glow. Warm lanterns and sticks of candles kindled your chimney and center table, where red bows of various sizes decorated themselves along your living room to match the ribbon of your Christmas tree that had not been put up prior to your waking. Sweet scents of cinnamon and pines worked magically to calm the agitated nerves of your head, and your eyes dragged in awe to the breathtaking display of green garlands that dressed your home to the Christmas perfection you always dreamed of.

Your eyes watered, and though you knew he wouldn’t answer, you still quietly spoke. “Eddie?”

So simple, yet so fulfilling, your heart soared at the work of his hands that ached for your happiness. While it did not amount to the pain he once dragged you through, a meaningful smile that hadn’t been flashed in months finally etched its place onto your face where it perfectly belonged.

And much to your dismay, but simultaneously your biggest hope… it was because of him.

While it broke your spirit for his efforts to take so long to return, you smiled through your hurting cries, as you finally gained the wish for your Eddie—once lost, now running through the wooded path to be found—to return. And with it, a note to keep your heart content with the soundness of peace. Whether it be with Eddie. Whether it not be with Eddie.

At the very least, you got your Christmas spirit.

Management wants to bitch me out, I’m sorry I had to leave you :( but I’m gonna convince ‘em to let me stay in Indy for a while. Kinda hard to say no to a face like mine, you know? You know. Call me to make sure you’re okay, sweetheart, or I’ll break into your house! - Love, Eddie

P.S, gave Trevor his ladder back, so don’t speak to him :)

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader

554 notes · View notes

jennystudios-blog · 6 months ago

Text

Bat fam x batsis

Chapter #1

It was a cold snowy night in Gotham City and the batfamily were on patrol in different parts of the city and Nightwing and Jason just got finished beating up some of the Riddler's goons and was reporting back to Oracle , when nightwing heard a strange sound and went to investigate as he got closer he realized the strange sound was a baby crying as he got closer it heard it getting louder anf then he stopped in a alley. Inside the alley there was a big box and when he opened the box. Nightwing found a bundle of blankets and peaks in the blankets to see a crying baby and a note and a locket he heard the note:

"Please take care of my baby I can keep her safe please keep her safe for me please

I'm sorry I had to leave my little owlette be safe I love you and I will always love you I hope one day we will meet again in the future ~ mama owl"

Nightwing picked up the baby, the note and the locket and went to find Jason and called Oracle and lets her know they are heading back to the cave with another person

(Time skip)

Back at the cave everyone was in the cave before Nightwing and Jason got back. Jason went to stand to the side and Nightwing walked over to the others

Damien: Grayson where is the other person why are you bringing random people to the bat cave

Everyone started lecturing dick and Jason when they heard cooing and they realized Dick was holding a bundle of blankets.

Batman got up from his chair and walked over to see what dick was holding and moved a piece of the blanket that was covering the baby's face and he realized it was a baby.

Bruce: dick why do you have a baby

Dick: she was in a box in an alley abandoned in the snow, she came with a note and a locket

Bruce took the note and the locket and looked up the people in the locket it was a woman and a man holding a babygirl with a owl stuffed animal in her little hands smiling a adorable baby smile. When he ran a facial scan he found out that the father was a firefighter but died when the joker blow up the hospital and the mother it looked up she disappeared from the face of the earth she is no where to be found but they did find the baby's birth certificate:

First Name:y/f/n

Middle name:y/m/n

Last name:y/l/n

Father:Markus thorne

Mother: Cassidy newman

Weight:7 pound (3.2 kg)

Race: mexican

Gender: female

Birth place: Gotham general hospital

Birthday:09-28-XXXX

Time:01:31 am

When Bruce was done reading and looks over at the baby who was babbling nonsense so he thought the baby should probably be around 12 months old. Bruce didn't want the baby to go though the system since it was pretty bad so Bruce decided to adopt the child. Bruce quickly send the adoption agency a adoption form filled with his signature and send it to them minutes later the agency finalized the form and send congrats to Bruce for the kid.

Hey i hope you liked it I might suck and I'm sorry if it does but I have been reading a few batfam x toddler reader and etc and I really wanted to make my own

#batfam x batsis #batfamxbabysis #batfam #batfam x reader #Spotify

197 notes · View notes

bellasprettywords · 7 months ago

Text

A different way to say I love you (Spencer Reid x Reader)

As always, this is not proofread because of who I am as a person

My masterlist

Warnings: Little mentions of alcohol and overall fluff

Word count: 1,037 (ish because there are emojis)

y/n – your name

Gender-neutral reader

The first time Spencer Reid told you he loved you, he didn’t do it with words…

It was Penelope’s birthday and the whole gang went out clubbing. You were a little more drunk than you normally would’ve liked considering you were out with your bosses, and your best friend who at the same time was the man you loved: Spencer Reid. Spencer was on y/n watch duty, considering he has always been protective of you, that he didn’t drink much, and that public settings like clubs made him on edge.

“We should get going, sweetie” you heard Spencer whisper in your ear

“I don’t wanna go yeeeet, I feel like daaancing” you said standing from the barstool and pulling Spencer’s arm into the dancefloor

“Woah woah, I’m not much of a dancer” he said nervously

“Just relax, let me lead you” you said as you placed his hands on your waist and danced wrapped around the arms of the man you loved from a distance. After a couple of hours, you were beat, so finally agreed to Spencer’s suggestion and accepted to share a cab with your best friend.

The two of you were in the back of the taxi, your head leaning on your best friend’s shoulder and you could perfectly smell the intoxication scent of wood, musk, and a little of alcohol that more than one person had spilled over Spencer at the club. You were holding hands, which wasn’t weird, as you pretty much had gotten Spence used to physical touch, and since he had become comfortable with it, the two of you were always touching some part of each other

“Is everything okay?” Spencer asked, tilting his head so he could get a better looked at you

“Yeah, I’m just a little tired” you said giving Spencer a small smile, there was something conforming about being there, next to each other, just softly caressing each other, without saying anything. At that moment, you felt Spencer squeezing your hand softly three times.

Spencer helped you up to your apartment, you were still tipsy from the night out, and he wanted to make sure you got safely to bed. Stumbling, Spencer opened the door of your apartment, and helped you in

“Let’s get you to bed, sweetie” Spencer said chucking at the sight of you walking through your furniture, trying not to stumble

“Thank you for taking such good care of me” you said, gifting Spencer a lazy smile

“Come on, we have to tuck you in” Spencer said leading you into your room, the same room he had been at least a thousand times, at the end of the day, being your best friend meant constantly coming over

“Wait, I have to get on my jammies” you said pulling away from Spencer

“Alright, I’m going to leave you for a while, so you can get changed” he said, leaving your room, closing the door behind him, and feeling his cheeks getting red and hot at the thought of you changing.

You were taking off your pants, when you stumbled and fell to the side of your bed; and with the sound of the stumble, Reid entered your room swiftly, helping you up

“Are you okay?” Spencer looked concerned, scanning your body trying to make sure you were alright after the stumble

“I’m fine, you shouldn’t worry too much, mighty Doctor Reid” you said, burying your face into Spencer’s neck and chuckling at the situation. Spencer was now sitting on your bed, with your pantless body plastered over his, at this moment, you were just inches from his lips, and you could feel his eyes, scanning your face, and body

“Come on, let me help you get changed” Spencer said gulping loudly, feeling his cheeks burning up

“Fine, you can help me, but no peaking” you said and both of you shared a laugh, as Spencer helped you get into your pjs

“I’m going to head out” Spencer said standing next to the door frame of your bedroom

“Don’t leave just yet, lay down with me for a little while” you pleaded Spencer making room on your bed for him

“I’ll stay, but only for a little while, I have to get back home” he said, taking off his shoes and getting into bed with you. You could feel Spencer’s arms around you, caressing you and making you feel safe

“Can I ask you something?” you said, turning to him so you could face him

“Of course, anything for you” he replied fixing a strand of your hair

“Why do you squeeze my hand three times? It’s not the first time I feel you doing it” you asked, and you felt Spencer’s hand reach to you

“It means: I. Love. You” Spencer said, squeezing your hand one time per word

“In that case: I. Love. You. Too” you replied, squeezing Spencer’s hand four times

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Life was great for Doctor Spencer Reid lately, his social abilities had increased, you were finally a couple after quite a while of pining over each other, and he was finally feeling like he fit in somewhere. Nonetheless, anxiety was an immense part of Spencer Reid’s life. Especially because working at the BAU, his genius mind would constantly speed, and sometimes, without even realizing it, he would spiral into horrific scenarios. Sure,

You were on a briefing. JJ and Hotch were explaining the details of the new case you’d work on, and you could tell something was off with Spencer. When cases involved children, he’d get overly anxious, and as you were holding hands, you could feel his palms getting sweatier and sweatier. You didn’t want to give away the fact that Spencer was struggling with coping as the case was being revising, so you did the one thing you knew would make him feel better:

You squeezed his hand three times; and when you felt him squeezing your hand four times in return, you searched for Spencer’s eyes, and once you found them, you gave him a reassuring smile, just to let him know everything would be okay.

The meeting ended and Spencer and you left the room together, to prepare your bags as Hotch called wheels on 30 minutes. Spencer and you were picking your stuff from your adjacent desks when you heard him saying:

“I always hoped I would be lucky enough to find someone who I could say “I love you”, even when words are too much”

"I love you too, Spence" you said, placing a soft kiss on your boyfriend's lips before departing

365 notes · View notes

neuvigroove · 15 days ago

Text

𝒊 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚.

pairings. scaramouche x fem reader synopsis. scaramouche swore to himself to protect you from dottore, but in order to do so, he must abandon you. before he leaves though, he makes sure to put a smile on your face. genre/warnings. pure angst, written in scara's pov, reader is energetic and childish, she/her pronouns used for reader, mentions of blood, stabbing, and death wc. 1.1k a/n. i actually shed a tear while writing this and listening to summertime sadness. playlist. die first - nessa barrett, summertime sadness - lana del rey, train wreck - james arthur

[2:39pm]

today is y/n's birthday.

i can see her in the near distance, skipping around like an excited little kid. she's always had too much energy for me to bear, but perhaps i've grown used to it, seeing that she's always glued to my side for some reason unknown to me.

that bliss however, will change today. dottore knows about where she's from. a planet far from the depths of teyvat. a globe dominated solely by the human race with no room for elemental power. a planet currently known as earth.

very little is known about this planet, which only causes dottore's interest to peak. her origin makes her the perfect test subject for the doctor, but i will not let him lay a dirty fingernail on her.

we cannot continue to travel as one; dottore will find her if she's with me. i don't have any cards left to play.

i do worry that leaving her alone would put her in another danger. she carries no vision, nor any strength that could compare to the creatures of teyvat. however, nothing is more dangerous than becoming an experiment of the second fatui harbinger. on the inside i know she'll be okay. she can find-

she can find my replacement. a new companion.

my only option is to watch over her from the shadows. that is the only way i can protect her.

sometimes i can tell that i hurt her feelings when we converse. but my personality is something i can't change, and she's never seemed to want change from me. perhaps that's why i've enjoyed her company more than i could ever enjoy another human being's. she understands me more than i think she does.

since i made her cry on her last birthday, i've decided that i could attempt to make her smile this time around. in my defense though, the cookies she made for us to share together were truly detrimental. but... maybe my words were too harsh. i forget what i said exactly... "you wanna poison me? are you so dumb as to have forgotten that i'm not human?"

my eyes trail back to ms. craziness and my eyes widen when she trips over a tree branch. i actually have no idea how i've been traveling together with a girl who has two left legs without dying. i don't notice the tears streaming from my eyes until she looks my way and spots me.

she runs over to me, and i quickly wipe the useless, hot tears. when i see her happy expression, i need to make an effort not to let the guilt eat me alive. i think i've admitted it to myself a while ago, but i love y/n. i'd presumed just as everyone else that i'm a puppet incapable of anything close to love, but if what i feel for y/n isn't love then i'm not sure what it is. i am positive that it is love. when you experience pain, you don't doubt it and assume it's something else. you just feel. and when i'm with her i feel.

"SCARA!" y/n exclaims as she topples me over in a hug. i nearly fall to the ground, but i'm able to catch us before it's too late. gosh, can she even contain her energy for two rational seconds?

i shove her off of me, but before i can say anything, she excitedly holds up a compass-like trinket in my face. "look! a sweet young boy gave me this lovely compass! it's supposed to lead you to wherever you'll be the happiest! and~ it led me right to you! we are just the perfect little duo, aren't we scara?"

i scoff, "and you believe that? it led you towards me because i'm standing north from where you were earlier."

y/n's excited expression drops.

"oh..." she pouts. "well... we can still pretend, right?"

pretend. maybe i can pretend she'll always be with me.

"pretending won't get you anywhere in life," i respond flatly.

"oh, but you pretend all the time," she responds. "i know you sometimes pretend that you can't hear me when i ramble about random things. although it hurts my feelings, you're still my best friend, scara."

what she said is actually not true. i in fact remember everything she rambles about in great detail. like that one time she was complaining about how she hates her hair because the wind blows it in an unattractive way. it was just so annoying because she needs to set her priorities straight. her appearance should be the last of her worries.

"give me your hand," i say. my voice is softer than i intended it to be. when she extends her hand, i slip a diamond bracelet around her wrist. on it is a charm with her nickname for me engraved in the center: scara.

please don't forget about me.

"oh, scara... it's beautiful! I'll never take it off. i promise."

"i have a matching one," i respond as i hold up my wrist for her the see.

she smiles when she sees the nickname engraved on my bracelet: princess.

there it is. her smile.

i sigh. "human, i know that you have your other shenanigans to deal with today, as do i. but meet me up that hill in the forest at sunset."

"oh, okay? scara, why are you being extra nice today?"

"um," i attempt a half smile. "it's your birthday, isn't it?"

[6:03pm]

i pick up the sword from the wet grass of the forest mountain beneath me. it's raining hard tonight. y/n is going to catch a cold, and i won't be there to care.

i walk over to the puppet standing across from me. my puppet. the puppet i've created to fake my own death. isn't it funny? the puppet of a puppet. both abandoned by their creators.

i take my bracelet off and slip it on its wrist. she has to believe it's me.

"i'm sorry," i whisper before stabbing my clone in the chest. i close my eyes when i hear my own voice cry out in a short-lived pain. it falls to the ground, lifeless as i walk away into the forest.

the bloodshed spreads with the heavy rain, and moments later, i see y/n approach the dead body. there she is.

and i feel as if my nonexistent heart has cracked in half when she screams. my eyes close in a sort of pain i've never experienced before. i'm sorry. i'm so sorry, princess. it's the only way you wouldn't look for me.

i wish that a day will come where we can be partners again. but on the inside i know that her human lifespan is not long enough to fulfill that silly wish.

scaramouche fanart credit: X (Twitter) : llxx88103769

132 notes · View notes

thesassypadawan · 8 months ago

Text

Like Rabbits *part 1* (Hayden x FemReader)

Summary: After realizing that Hay and you share the same desire, you two have been acting like a pair of horny rabbits. ‘Hopping’ all day and night long. (Hope you enjoy the sequel, Maple Flavored Sausage ❤️)

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there sooo much of the smut. Breeding and, as always…Hayden’s big dick.

Notes: Hoppy Belated Easter, my lovelies! And Happy First Day of Hayden's (And Mine) Birthday Event! In honor of the man, the myth, the legend; I will be posting nothing but Anakin, Vader, and Hay stories all of April!

- Thirty-two hours. Thirty-two hours of nearly non-stop raw passion, of carnal desire. All in the hopes of…successfully knocking you up.

- After the whole ‘milk someday’ affair, as it came to be known, Hayden and you have a nice long chat. One that makes you both quickly realize that you’re clearly on the same page.

- And, well, since that’s the case, you two have been, um, rather busy. Especially during those magical thirty-two hours when you’re at the peak of your fertility.

- Yeah, let’s just say you’re like a pair of horny rabbits. ‘Hopping’ all day and night long…

- Eyes flutter open and a soft moan escapes you. You’re awoken by his cock pumping slowly into you, fingers playing and teasing your clit. “Haay…sleepy.”

- “Nope, rise and shine, angel. Nap’s over; it’s baby making time,” he chuckles in your ear. Free hand slides to grasp your ass firmly. Pulling your hip over him, so he can thrust deeper.

- You whine a little in protest, but, nonetheless, happily accept your fate. Hand moving up his throat, coming to rest on the back of his head. Fingers tugging his hair gently, causing him to growl…the sound rumbling in his chest.

- Cunt clenches hard in response, which only spurs him on. Pace picking up, dick practically bottoming out with each plunge. “Fuck. How are you still this tight?”

- Whimpering, your face grows flush. Orgasm approaching embarrassingly fast, overwhelming your brain. “Hay… Hay…”

- “Cum,” he mutters. Pinching your clit, sending you soaring. Head tilting upwards, crying out. Chest pressing against his while you clamp down around him.

- Hayden stills, gripping you as your body goes limp in his hold. Face burying into his neck, the fog in your mind rolling in. All you can think of is… “Sleepy.”

- A good smack to the butt jolts you back to reality. “Not yet, babe; we’re not finished.”

- Grasping your sides, he pulls you fully on top of him. Knees instinctively parting, setting on either side of his thighs. Upper body laying flat on his, you let out a small squeak. “Haaayden!”

- Arms wrap around your waist, and he starts to move again. Almost rapidly, eagerly pounding into your soaked cunt. Hips bouncing off his while he smirks. “What? I haven’t given you more of my baby batter yet.”

- Fingers dig into his shoulder; whines fly from your mouth. He’s stretching you out so deliciously, slapping against you so wonderfully. Both sensations overstimulate you further, another release quickly building in your core.

- His grip on you tightens. Rocking back and forth, he bucks up into you wildly. Grunting, voice low and gravelly. “Going to pump you so full…to the absolute brim. Going to stay in this perfect, little pussy…all through the night and into the morning.”

- Walls flutter at his words. Whines now more high-pitched and needy. Clawing and scratching at him desperately. “Yes… Please…”

- “You’d like that, huh?” Hay growls, slamming into that sweet spot deep inside over and over. “Me cumming in you until it takes…until you have your own cute bump to show off.”

- Nails sink deeper into his skin and his hips stutter. Hands grabbing your ass harshly, holding you firmly in place. Cock twitching, shooting rope after rope of hot cum into you.

- While you mewl and pant. Quivering and trembling, back arching in ecstasy. Milking him greedily for every last drop…before collapsing.

- Stroking your back, his heart racing underneath you. He kisses the top of your head, muttering. “You okay, angel?”

- Spent, your body is so spent. Totally exhausted from cumming back-to-back, not counting all the times prior to this lovely session. “Sleepy…so sleepy,” you mumble into his chest.

- Eyes grow heavy and just as you’re drifting off…you feel him start to lazily thrust. “Come one, we only have like twelve hours left until you’re done ovulating. Don’t want to waste a single minute, do you?”

- You hate it when he’s right. Groaning and grumbling, your hips begin to move in sync with him. “Better make it twins then.”

- “Can’t guarantee that,” Hayden chuckles, speeding up a bit. “But I promise to have you round…those tits milky and swollen soon enough. My adorable baby mama.”

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @wifeofasith, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16

365 notes · View notes

koqabear · 1 year ago

Note

Hiii congrats on 2k sol obsessed with everything you write!!!!💓 Could I request revisiting emo boy? Like what their relationship is like after and dates and how sex is like? Maybe beomgyu’s band really blows up and he’s quite busy, how does oc respond to this? And with smut? Tysm!!💝

playlist // beomgyu's encore outfit hehe // cont. of hey emo boy!

“The day of your one-year anniversary with Beomgyu was expected to be spent away from each other— but not if either of you can help it, far too in love to let anything get in the way of you two.”

bassist!beomgyu x fem!reader // wc: 6.6K (everyone stfu rn) // genre: band au, opposites attract trope, established relationship, smut, tooth rotting fluff tbh, MDNI.

warnings: they are in love and it’s fucking GROSS!! barely edited, the two have hella piercings hehe (bg: snake bites, tongue, eyebrow // mc: smiley & nipple piercings) pet names (sweet thing, pretty, etc.) use of the L word bc they are literally obsessed w/ each other.

smut warnings: hard dom! gyu, sub!mc, needy sex sorry 😖, marking, manhandling, dry humping, biting, breast play, possessiveness, unprotected sex, bg picks the mc up, scratching, dacryphilia, dumbification, a lot of kissing lol, degrading, slight praise, fingering, creampie, cum eating…? lmk if i should add anything !

Notes: happy (late) birthday to the fic that’s probably my peak… this story single handedly changed the course of my blog me thinks. thank you to everyone who was just as affected by emo gyu as i was.

Being in a committed relationship with Choi Beomgyu, bassist of Tomorrow x Together and an absolute unattainable heartthrob, was not very easy.

It was at first; with their blossoming career, it was more about the music than their looks. Fans were loyal simply because they liked their sound, their message, the way their concerts were filled with such energy and passion it left their hearts beating with adrenaline after— but of course, it’s hard to not notice the absolute eye candy on stage; low-lidded gazes, dark stage lights that barely highlighted their stunning features, and clothing that was just as alluring and flattering as the rest of them; inevitably, their popularity sky-rocketed, for better and for worse.

Beomgyu was left with more money than he knew what to do with. Most of the time, it was used to spoil you, his pretty girlfriend he brought with him everywhere because he was just too obsessed with you— it made his band members wonder if he simply had attachment issues by how much his world revolved around you. But no, you were just as bad as him; present during rehearsals, always in the studio to cheer them on or give them a second opinion on a new song; it wasn’t long before you ended up befriending the rest of them as well, a tight bond forming simply because of all the things you went through together.

As unfortunate as it was, they weren’t the only ones forced to bear with negative and hateful encounters from the public; while they had their experiences of being mistreated early in their career, you had to deal with immature or creepy fans that had taken a liking to harass you— inboxes on all social media platforms flooded constantly, your number even leaked once as you were forced to buy a new phone all together from how badly you were being spammed— Beomgyu had been quick to lash out and tell them to leave you alone if they didn’t want a lawsuit on their hands.

Overtime, they adjusted to their popularity. Schedules slowly became filled to the brim, their dream now a reality as they spent months on tour— and while you were more than happy and proud of them and their flourishing career, it’d be a lie to say it was all one happy and perfect life.

You hadn’t seen Beomgyu in ages— decades, centuries, eons— in other words, two weeks.

The band had more interviews and performances than you could keep up with; if they weren’t on some random talk show, they were at a photoshoot, getting interviewed for the next issue of a magazine you’d undoubtedly have on your coffee table the day it came out. Promotions, nights at the studio, it all added up— and before you knew it, your one year anniversary began to creep up, and all hopes to celebrate it properly dwindled down in your heart— but, having him here with you today was enough.

You didn’t blame Beomgyu; you weren’t angry or upset, because it was simply something neither of you could control. And though it did suck knowing you wouldn’t be able to spend such a meaningful day together, it felt a little better to know that you weren’t the only one hung up on it.

On the contrary— you think Beomgyu might be handling this worse than you.

“Baby, baby please,” he cries, refusing to let go of you and cuddling closer to you instead, a mess of tangled limbs and blankets as he cups your face fondly, “pleaaase I know you said I shouldn’t feel bad but please come on tour with us this week, I think I’ll seriously die if you’re not here this time.”

“Gyu, baby, I really shouldn’t—” you say quietly, only to get cut off by his excessive whining and teary eyes. His bottom lip is jutted out in a ridiculous pout, squeezing your cheeks and holding back a smile at the way your lips puff out as a result; you attempt to push him off you, only for him to retaliate by rolling entirely on top of you, a loud squeal escaping you at the feeling of his weight pressing you into the mattress, his stupid face hovering over yours as he continues to plead you quietly.

“Pleaaseee?” he whines, pressing his flat palms against your cheeks and getting your lips to puff out again; he ignores your half-hearted protests for him to get the fuck off, choosing to punctuate his every word with a kiss instead, his piercings a sharp contrast to his plump lips that crash against you with every word.

“Please?” kiss. “Won’t you,” kiss. “come with us?” another kiss.

“Please. Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease—”

He’s practically suffocating you at this point, refusing to pull away and mumbling the words against your lips, laughs breaking between the two of you as you yell at him to get off, that you can barely breathe with him on top of you; you’re pushing at his shoulders weakly as he continues to tease you, your unabashed laugh contagious as he quickly finds himself smiling as well— he only pulls away once he hears you yell a loud fuck, okay! Hovering over you with bright eyes and a wide grin.

His arms snake around your waist before he’s rolling over, successfully switching so that you’re the one on top of him— he ignores the loud and exaggerated sigh of relief you let out.

“It won’t make much of a difference though,” you say quietly, hiding in the crook of his neck as you confess your doubts, “You’ll be too busy and exhausted the whole day, I really don’t want me to be added to your list of concerns.”

You went on tour with him, once— but you learned it was better off to not be anywhere backstage with him during those times, the boy too concerned and constantly doting on you to remain focused; any mistakes he made hitting much harder, a subconscious pressure to be perfect and give his all only trifolded by your presence.

“What? No,” he says immediately, sitting back on his elbows and causing you to look up at him in response; his brows are furrowed and he seems a bit baffled by your comment, shaking his head adamantly to emphasize his point, “I like having you there. I know you like being there, I want you there— I wouldn’t be asking you to come with me if I thought you were a burden.”

He managed to pull out the exact words you were trying to skirt around— your face heats up at his reassurance, much too intimidated by the intensity of his gaze as you bury your face into his chest instead; his chest bounces from the laugh he lets out, flopping onto his back once more and hugging you close, bodies pressed flush against each other and one of his legs thrown around your waist in a childish attempt to pull you even closer.

“Plus, don’t you wanna visit Europe with me?” he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice as he feels you nod shyly; he knows just how much you enjoy the travel aspect to his career, constantly asking for pictures or to facetime while he’s gone, “I wanna show you all my favorite spots this time, and not through some glitchy facetime— I wanna spend time with you, sweet thing.”

“Ugh, shut up,” you groan, hitting his chest weakly as he simply laughs at you softly, “you’re so corny.”

“You love it,” he coos, rubbing a soothing hand up and down your back, biting back a smile at the way he can feel your breath even out— you remain silent. Partly because you’re falling asleep from his touch, and partly because he’s right.

⤬⤬⤬

Europe is breathtaking— you’ve never been so grateful for Beomgyu’s stubborn, persistent mind.

The tour has gone as perfect as always, spending a few days at their shows before you simply resigned to stay at the hotel instead; after seeing that Beomgyu was so distracted trying to look for you during a show that he missed his cue (and played the notes wrong to another song) you found it better to wait for him and see him after instead— ready to help him wind down and relax after another energetic, adrenaline-inducing show.

Most nights consisted of you practically carrying him to the bathtub; cooing soft reassurance as he whined about how tired and sore he felt, shampooing his hair, massaging his scalp and tense shoulders— most of the time, he’d fall asleep then and there, and it’d be another hassle to wake him up and get him out. You’d lure him out of the tub and wait for him to change into your matching pajamas— hello kitty ones, his idea, not yours— and greet him in the bed with a warm embrace and lips that peppered kisses all over his face.

It was during these moments you found humor in the contrast of his stage persona to his true self; from his usual attire, chokers and ripped clothes, wardrobe consisting of black and multiple piercings that decorated his ears and face, your thumb brushing over his newest eyebrow piercing fondly— versus the man that slept soundly in your arms now, long hair tied back and cute pink barrettes clipping back his bangs, donned in hot pink fuzzy pajamas— and you’re sure that if his band members saw him like this, they’d never stop teasing him.

You didn’t have to wait long to confirm that thought; Beomgyu didn’t bother changing as he met up with the others in Yeonjun’s room for breakfast the next morning, tugging you along and remaining unfazed at the way his band members burst out laughing the moment he entered the room— you felt a bit bad at the way you found yourself laughing as well, even more so because you’re the only reason he’s found himself dressed like this. (But again, he was the one who bought these clothes in the first place.)

“Happy anniversary, you two,” Yeonjun muses, smiling at the way you’re the only one who seems to process that, chirping out a cheery thank you! as you proceed to drag Beomgyu to the couch, “I feel bad that we have a concert today, ___. As vomit-inducing as it is seeing you two, you do deserve to spend the day together.”

“It’s okay,” you immediately say, brushing his teasing comment off and holding back a smile at the way Beomgyu is still struggling to gain consciousness, more tired than you thought as he simply stares at his waffles for a moment before finally digging in, “at least he’s spending the day doing something he loves.”

“Gross,” Hueningkai says, scrunching his nose playfully before laughing at the glare you send him, “you two are so mushy, it’s painful.”

The rest of the day leading up to the concert is spent peacefully; once Beomgyu has gained enough coherence to fight back against the member’s jabs, he’s pulling you away to show you new sights and stores he discovered from his previous visits, spoiling you beyond belief and buying anything you look at for a second too long; you end up with more bags than you know what to do with, and Beomgyu refuses to let you carry a single one as he proceeds to take you one of his go-to restaurants, as he told you; saying he’s been wanting to bring you here since the moment he found it, smiling brightly when he sees you enjoying the food as much as he did.

To say he’s reluctant to leave you to go to the concert venue is an understatement; you think he might start crying at any given moment as he stares at you with shining eyes, unable to let go of your hand as he stands by the door of the hotel room— not quite ready to leave yet, but knowing that he must eventually as he chooses to bring you in for another slow, loving kiss instead.

“Are you sure you’re not coming tonight?” he asks you, trying to hide the sadness in his voice and failing miserably.

“And make you fuck up your setlist? I don’t think so,” you try to joke, only to panic slightly at the way his eyes gloss over; your hand immediately jumps up to cup his face, laughing softly at his expression as he simply pouts at you ridiculously.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” you grin, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips before you lean over to his ear, voice dropping to nothing but a whisper as you let your lips brush against his ear, “I’ll have a nice surprise for you tonight, so you better give your best show out there, okay?”

The low lilt of your voice is enough to have him perking up immediately; mouth parted slightly as he stares at you, unsure of what else to do but nod pathetically, knowing he won’t be able to control himself if he thinks about what you might have in store for too long.

With one last chaste kiss, he’s leaving— and only because Soobin was pounding at the door, telling him they’d be late if he didn’t go out this instant— you think he might start crying as he gives you one last pouty glance, waving to you sadly before he slips out the door.

You’re left alone, the room suddenly much lonelier and quieter than it was a few seconds ago— and you laugh, checking the time and running to your suitcase to get your makeup and outfit for tonight.

A revealing shirt, a mini-skirt that’s a bit alarmingly short— you’re pulling out a sparkling, pink outfit like it’s nothing, throwing it all on and doing your makeup as you check the time absentmindedly; your phone lights up while you’re in the middle of doing so, and a notification reads that the staff are waiting for you outside to take you to the venue once you’re ready.

Beomgyu loves performing knowing you’re in the audience more than anything; it’s something he’s made blatant to you, knowing that despite his mistakes, despite his small distractions, his energy always goes out the roof the moment he spots you there. So you knew how distraught Beomgyu would be to hear that you’re not going to the show tonight despite being able to, but the thought of surprising him is much more enticing than you’d like to admit.

With one last check of your appearance in the mirror, you grab a jacket before you go; Beomgyu’s favorite oversized zip-up, the clothing item a stark contrast to the rest of your feminine and bright attire— and you smile, adjusting the purse on your shoulder before you’re off to the hotel lobby, where the staff are waiting and ready to escort you safely.

The venue is almost full by the time you get there; you’re escorted straight to your barricade seats front and center, smiling shyly and waving at fans that seem to recognize you; your face feels hot and you walk faster at the way they get excited at the sight of you, not used to the fame that comes with being Beomgyu’s girlfriend— hell, you really don’t know how Beomgyu does it.

You’re more than relieved once the concert begins, any attention that still lingered on you immediately getting stolen by the boys that appeared on stage; you winced slightly at the loud screams all around you, unable to help the way you eventually joined in— morphing into another fan in the crowd, the venue much too dark for any of the boys to recognize you just yet.

They looked stunning in their concert outfits; the professional, matching and dark outfits tailored perfectly to each member, intricate with chains and rosaries and pretty layers. Your eyes widen as you watch Beomgyu walk to his position, taking note of his hair that has now been dyed back to black— you hadn’t realized how long it’d gotten until now, the layers framing his face and falling into his eyes as he goes to push back his bangs with a delicate hand.

There are no introductions tonight— the music begins immediately, loud and abrasive and making the crowd jump along excitedly, screaming the lyrics and reaching out to try and get one of the members to pay attention to them— on the contrary, you try to remain hidden, looking away and bowing your head every time Beomgyu’s gaze sweeps around your area.

God, you wish Beomgyu didn’t turn into such a ditz whenever he spotted you in the audience— because then you’d be able to enjoy more of their concerts, addicted to the borderline euphoric feeling you get from attending them, only for it to be multiplied as your eyes catch onto your boyfriend performing, your heart pounding against your chest at the sound of his voice ringing out into the venue— a surge of pride and love fills you as a grin spreads on your face, and it isn’t until you notice a member walking around that you’re able to look away from him.

Looking up, you make eye contact with Hueningkai.

His mischievous smile and raised brows are immediately returned with a violent shake of your head; telling him to not say anything to Beomgyu, rubbing your hands together pleadingly the moment he glances back at the said man— then he turns to you, sending you a playful wink before he’s off to another section, not without sending you one last teasing grin and a wave; you’re glancing at Beomgyu in a panic, unsure if he’s spotted you, only to be relieved at the sight of him too concentrated on playing to even look up at the crowd.

It isn’t until the encore that they’ve all begun to move around, (save for Taehyun and Soobin, bound to their instruments as they’re resigned to simply wave at the crowd when they can) changed into more comfortable outfits during a small intermission— Beomgyu is decked in baggy jeans and an equally baggy shirt, long hair messy and makeup smudged as he walks along the stage, smiling and waving at fans that reach out for him— he plays his bass so effortlessly as he does, truly mesmerizing as he stops a few times to interact with fans; the sight has your heart fluttering hopelessly.

But the closer he gets, the more you’re buzzing with nervous energy. Gripping onto the barricade tightly, having stood up long ago with the rest of the fans that are eager to get their attention. Beomgyu’s eyes scan through the crowd thoroughly, smiling cutely and returning hearts until he spots you.

He freezes entirely.

He’s no longer playing bass— he’s just standing there, in complete shock as he stares at you. You can only muster to give him a sheepish wave, an uncontrollable grin on your face as you laugh at his dumbfounded expression, trying to yell at him to go back to playing. But he doesn’t, and you’re jumping slightly at the way he takes off his bass and jumps off the stage, security frantically following behind as he rushes over to you.

His hands are on your face and he’s pulling you in for a kiss quicker than you can process; you hear the screams of the crowd around you, but Beomgyu’s got you in his hold so tightly that you’re unable to pull away, left to give in and melt against him as he kisses you for a little longer. Your face feels as though it’s on fire by the time he’s pulled away, his own alight entirely with joy as he grins at you, your head still in his hands as he leans against the barricade excitedly— you think he might just jump over it any moment now.

“You’re here?” he says exasperatedly, eyes scanning you frantically as though he were imagining you, “why didn’t you tell me, you should’ve— I would’ve—”

“Beomgyu,” you cut him off, placing your hands over his and laughing at the way he can only stutter stupidly, brushing his hair behind his ear fondly— watching the way his eyes crinkle cutely as he smiles, your own sweeping over the array of piercings that decorate him, hello kitty earrings glinting under the light— and pry his hands off your face, ignoring the pout he sends you as you scold him instead. “Get back on stage!”

Your words seem to snap him out of his reverie; his head is whipping back to look at the stage, at the way his friends can only laugh at him teasingly and yell at him to get back here— the way Yeonjun yells directly into the mic is slightly embarrassing, shrinking at the way all eyes are on you as the man’s words ring out the venue— Beomgyu, get the fuck back here!

He’s only able to leave with one last chaste kiss— the crowd is screaming at the sight, and you’re resisting the urge to cover your face in weak hopes that it could take all this attention off you— but you’ll bear it, especially with the way Beomgyu mouths a cute I love you! before he’s jumping back on stage.

The poor boy is unable to take his eyes off you for the rest of the night— but on the bright side, there are no missed cues or wrong notes played. He’s just entranced with you for the rest of the encore, his energy seemingly replenished with the way he jams out to the music; mouthing the lyrics even when it’s not his part, maintaining eye-contact with you during songs he knows you’re particularly fond of— and suddenly, the idea of spending his anniversary at a concert isn’t as depressing as it was earlier tonight— because now, he had you by his side.

⤬⤬⤬

“Beomgyu— Beomgyu please, not here…” you whine, unable to do much but bite your lip and swallow back whines that threaten to escape you, left to Beomgyu’s mercy as he immediately led you to his dressing room after the show— the said man is much too focused on kissing and marking your neck to listen, soft hair brushing against your face as he pulls you flush against him; back pressed against the wall, arched prettily from the way his hands snake around your waist and press your lower half against his— you’re holding back a groan at the way he’s already hopelessly hard against you.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d be coming? Hmmm? Just wanted to be a tease? Was this your little surprise?” he asks, biting at your skin and huffing out a laugh at the whine that escapes you; your hands are gripping onto his shirt tightly, fisting it in your hands and wrinkling the material as he lets his teeth sink slightly near your collarbones, “god, you look so good tonight, you’d really expect me to be able to hold myself back?”

His hands are wandering down your waist; over the swell of your ass, fiddling with the hem of your mini-skirt before he’s venturing under it— feeling the way you shiver against him the moment his hands squeeze at the soft flesh, fingers decorated with rings cold against your skin as he comes back up to kiss you. It’s rough and desperate, lip rings scratching as he kisses you with such hunger it leaves you breathless; he grinds his cock desperately against you, eliciting a small gasp from you and allowing him to slip his tongue inside— the piercing that decorates it scrapes along your mouth, unable to help the way your knees weaken at the feeling of him— his touch is everywhere, leaving you dizzy and lightheaded as you can only melt against him, allowing him to press you flush against the wall with his own body; your miniskirt is riding up along your hips as he situates himself between your legs, panties already a mess as he begins to rut his cock into you.

“Are you sure you want to wait now, pretty?” he asks, looking down at you with low-lidded and fucked out eyes— he punctuates his words with a particularly harsh thrust, laughing at the way you yelp and tighten your hold on him, “I could stop everything right now, send you back to the hotel like this and make you wait, just like you said— is that what you want?”

Oh, he’s cruel— even more so because you’re left shaking your head no deliriously, your mind fogged with such need that your eyes are glossing over at the very thought of not having Beomgyu inside you right now; your voice is pathetic as you plead Beomgyu to finish what he started, throwing a hand over his shoulder and entangling your fingers into his hair as you pull him back into you— he’s more than eager to return the kiss, tilting his head and pressing himself more against you as a hand reaches down to your thigh; grabbing the back of your knee, guiding you to hook it around his waist as he begins to rut into you mindlessly.

“So cute, my pretty girl,” he mumbles against your lips, eyes trailing down your low-cut top to spot his favorite zip-up, a smile tugging at his lips as he merely sends you a cute smile, “did you miss me that much? Already so needy from a little bit of kissing— god, I love you so much…”

You think he’s mostly talking to himself at this point— spewing nothing but filth as his hands shove your shirt over your chest, grinning as he remains impatient enough to not take off a single item of clothing, choosing to push tug your bra down harshly before he’s swooping down to mark your breasts with a cruel smile.

“Looked so fucking hot out there, just made me wanna take you backstage and fuck you there,” he confesses, listening to the choked whine you let out, his pierced tongue playing with your hardened nipples, leaving them swollen and sensitive. He’s looking up at you with doe eyes that contrast greatly with the way he sticks his tongue out for you, letting you watch the way he circles and toys with the cute jewelry he bought for you earlier today, pulling away with a coy smile and leaving them soaked with his spit— he blows softly on them, watching with tentative eyes as you keen at the feeling.

“God, you know I’ve been wanting to do this every time I see you at one of our shows? To make sure that everyone that looks at you knows just who,” he rolls his hips into you, nice and slow and letting you feel the length of his cock press against you as you flutter your eyes shut from pleasure, “you’re here for?”

“Fuck, gyu,” you pant out, snaking your hands under his shirt and up his back, grabbing at his shoulders and pulling him into you— as if there’s still space between the two of you, as if you’d die if you weren’t touching him at all times, “‘m only yours, only want you…”

He’s sneaking a hand down to move your panties to the side, the two of you much too desperate to shed off any layers— and as you listen to the clinking sounds of his belt, undoing his jeans and pulling out his hardened cock, you busy yourself by sucking and biting at his neck, listening to his stuttered breaths as you suck and tease at the joint of his neck, his most sensitive spot as you bite at it playfully— you’re only pulling away at the feeling of Beomgyu grabbing at you hair and tugging you away, letting out a baffled laugh at the satisfied look you give him in return.

“Want everyone to know you’re mine,” you coo out softly, grinding your pussy slowly against Beomgyu’s tip that teases your entrance, your mouth falling open at the feeling of him mirroring the action, running along your folds and swiping at your clit, “all mine, my pretty boy…”

He laughs fondly against your lips at that— bringing you in for a slow kiss, feeling the way your mind goes blank the moment his tip slowing enters you; he’s swallowing a soft moan from you as he bottoms out slowly, keeping himself deep inside and grinding his hips slowly against yours— and he stays there, a tease like always as he watches your brows furrow and your lips pout, telling him softly to move, to do something.

“Mmmh, all yours,” he mumbles softly, pulling out slowly to let you feel the way every vein runs against your walls, clenching and fluttering against his length as he hisses at the feeling, “I’m yours, belong only to you, fuck…”

He’s not able to keep this agonizingly slow pace up for long— as much as he wants to tease you, to have you crying and pleading for him to fuck you stupid, he isn’t fairing that well himself— so it isn’t long before he’s beginning to snap his hips into you, cock curving and aiming for that spot that has your knees buckling, pretty nails digging into Beomgyu’s shoulders and biting at the skin in order to try to stabilize yourself.

“Such a perfect cunt— fuck, ah, just wanna fill you up, wanna see it dripping down those pretty thighs— stupid fucking skirt can’t hide anything, ugh—” his voice is deep and breathy as he continues to talk into your ear, his hands sliding down to the swell of your ass before he’s holding it there— lifting you up, forcing you to hook your legs around his waist as you’re left to his mercy; his chest is pressed flush against yours as he fucks you, and you can only bury your face into his neck to try and muffle your sounds, the rough way you bounce from his thrusts causing your nails to slip and scratch down his back— he hisses at the feeling, only to be spurred by the stinging sensation it leaves behind.

“So loud, shit,” he laughs meanly, grinning at the way you only bury your face into him more to try and muffle your sounds, “want everyone to hear you? All the staff, the members— I’m sure they’d like to see what a pretty doll you are for me.”

You shake your head at that— but your body gives you away as your cunt clenches around him pathetically, the wet sounds of skin against skin filling the room and undoubtedly filtering outside— but you remain persistent to keep your moans to yourself, choking back on sounds of pleasure as Beomgyu only begins to fuck you rougher; your silence is a challenge, one he’ll gladly take as he begins to roll his hips into you just the way you like it.

“Come on pretty, I wanna hear you,” he purrs into your ear, a hand snaking around to rub at your clit while the other remains firm on your ass, “don’t you feel good? I can make you feel even better— so, so so good, just let me hear your cute little sounds.”

You’re playing hard to get. And Beomgyu takes absolute pleasure in it, watching the way you shake and dig your nails into him helplessly, your body being wound up from how good he fucks you; your thighs are sticky and shining from your arousal, poorly concealed pleasure only fueling Beomgyu’s ego further as he reaches up to tug your head out from it’s hiding spot.

He thinks he might just cum on the spot; your makeup is ruined, tears of mascara running down your cheeks as you merely let out soft hiccups of moans, your lips parted and brain completely empty as you stare at him— he smiles at you in return, capturing your lips in another kiss as his hand begins to trail down; toying with your breasts, nimble fingers pinching and rolling your nipples as you jolt and whine into his mouth at the sensation.

“Gyu— gonna— need to, ah…!” the choked whimpers you let out aren’t enough for Beomgyu, and he only slows down at your request; fresh tears stream down your cheeks as you plead softly, breathy voice barely above a whisper as you whine quietly to keep going, don’t stop, please gyu, pleeaaase….

“Hmm? What’s that? I can’t hear you, baby,” he murmurs softly against your lips, slowing to nothing but a grind as he presses himself against you— pelvis grinding against your clit, the feeling making you tremble as you dig your nails into his shoulders once more. “Come on sweet thing, tell me what you need.”

You’re telling him— begging, pleading, breathy whimpers and soft cries escaping you as you roll your hips into him, biting your lip and sighing exasperatedly at the way he simply watches you with dark eyes, slowing down until he’s simply bottomed out inside you.

“What do you want?” he asks softly, breathy voice intertwined with a lilt so sweet you’d almost think he pities you— and by the way he’s looking at you, he just might, swollen lips caught between his teeth to try and suppress a smile. You’re still weak and quiet as you try to voice your wants, looking at him through wet lashes, a pout on your face as your hands run absentmindedly up and down his back.

“Wanna cum?” he coos, pretty hand reaching down to circle and pinch your clit teasingly, “Want me to fuck you? Fill you up? Hmmm?”

All you can do is nod along to his words stupidly— and obviously, it’s the very last thing your boyfriend wants, abandoning your clit and reaching up to grab your face roughly; fingers digging into your cheeks, forced to look at him as he merely glares at you and speaks through gritted teeth.

“Tell me,” he says, voice sharp and dangerous as he narrows his eyes, “use your words— or, don’t tell me I’ve fucked you dumb already.”

He’s unhooking one of your legs from his waist at that; you’re stumbling slightly, leg too weak to let you stand as you merely cry at him to wait, bringing him closer to you in fear that he might pull out and leave you like this— his fingers still dig into your cheeks as you speak, drool building up at the corners of your pouty lips as you stutter out exactly what you want— what he wants to hear.

“Want you to fuck me, use me— wanna cum, please,” you cry out, eyes squeezing shut as he shakes your head teasingly, as though to say and what else? “Want you to cum inside, baby please, just wanna feel good—”

You’re rambling at this point. But Beomgyu enjoys it nonetheless, telling you to keep going as he begins to move again; slowly at first, allowing you to feel the drag of his thick cock against your walls as your words become stuttered through weak moans, the sight making your boyfriend laugh as he slowly begins to pick up his pace.

“Like it when I fuck you like this, yeah?” you’re nodding in confirmation to his words; staring at him with pleading eyes, whimpering a soft harder, faster, that the man is immediately obliging as he coos at the way you yelp at the sensation. “Want it harder? Hmmm? Want me to fuck you ‘till you can’t even walk—? Have to carry you out of here, let everyone see the way your sweet cunt is filled up by me?”

All you can do is nod to his words at this point; whimpering a weak yes, yesyesyes, want you to fill me up, use me, more more please—

Everything crashes down on you unexpectedly; your eyes are shutting tight and you think you might just black out as your orgasm hit you suddenly, cunt squeezing and fluttering around Beomgyu’s cock as he groans at the sensation— he lets you ride it out, cooing soft praise into your ear before he’s pulling you in for another kiss; you’re barely able to kiss him back, moaning into his mouth and letting him do whatever he wants with you.

It isn’t long before he’s cumming inside you as well; you’re so tight he can barely move, your cute whimpers and warm cunt guiding him through it as he fucks into you slowly, making sure none of his release slips out as he continues to fuck you, even after he’s become horribly sensitive. Then he’s still, lips still on yours and arms wrapped tightly around you as though he’s afraid to let you go.

“You okay?” he asks quietly after a moment, still lingering close to you, taking in your appearance with tentative eyes. You nod softly, still attempting to catch your breath as you chest heaves against his; he huffs out a soft laugh, caressing your cheek fondly before he’s going to fix your clothes— your mini-skirt remains up on your hips, his cock still bottomed out inside you as he coos about how good you were for him, caressing any skin he can get his hands on (which is a lot, considering your wardrobe) with a smile.

“Pretty girl, so perfect,” he coos, finally pulling out and tucking himself in before he’s going to fix your clothing; not without slipping his fingers inside your cunt one last time, watching with hungry eyes as you curl into him and cry that you’re sensitive— he’s only satisfied after his cum is left snug in your pussy, smiling darkly at the way he brings his fingers up to your mouth for you to clean— you do it without any hesitation, and Beomgyu swears he might just be getting hard again.

“Love you so much, thank you for coming to see me today,” he says instead, bringing you in for a warm hug and a loving kiss; you merely hum tiredly in response, hands slipping out from his shirt only to be thrown over his shoulders leisurely.

Your face feels hot the moment he’s trying to get the two of you to leave back for the hotel— because your legs are absolutely not cooperating with you.

“Holy shit, I was joking about that whole fuck you till you can’t walk thing,” he laughs, only to get cut of by the way you hit him in response— he’s letting out an exaggerated whimper at that, rubbing his arm and telling you sorry, sorry baby, with a cute pout.

“Ugh, I don’t want anyone to see me like this, fuck,” you mourn, only for Beomgyu to pull you into his side firmly, sending you a smile that’s not as reassuring as you wish it was.

“I’m sure no one will notice,” he says simply, swinging the door open and immediately being met with Soobin passing by.

He slows down at the sight of you two, glancing at your appearances briefly before he keeps walking.

“Try to keep it down next time please,” he yells out, turning the corner and disappearing from your sight before you can retaliate. You feel slightly mortified by his words, but Beomgyu isn’t affected in the slightest as he leans over to murmur softly into your ear.

“Should we continue this at the hotel, pretty?”

You don’t answer his question. But he already knows the answer, sending you a giddy smile and intertwining his fingers with yours as he leads you to where the staff car is waiting for you two— and you hold back a smile of your own as you trail (limp, kinda) behind him. It’ll be a long night, but you couldn’t ask for a better way to spend your anniversary, no matter how unconventional it is.

#txt fanfic #txt fanfiction #txt imagines #txt oneshots #txt ff #txt x reader #txt smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #beomgyu smut #beomgyu ff #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu oneshot #beomgyu x reader #[2k event!]#[nsfw]#[revisiting stories]

834 notes · View notes

sunsetchicane · 5 months ago

Text

cowboy like me [LN4]

lando x fem!reader

word count: 8.2k

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And just like that the work day starts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t give me attitude,” I tell him.

He just blinks at me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Belonging.

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

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

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

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

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

“Lando?” Wyatt laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

144 notes · View notes