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literalgrill · 1 year ago

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Do NOT Support Hard Drive On Patreon

You might see friends today suggesting you support Hard Drive on Patreon today. You know, the funny video games version of The Onion? As a journalist, I will firmly tell you DO NOT GIVE THEM A DIME.

The CEO has pushed out all former staff that have built the site up to its current greatness and has been pushing the use of AI. The staff begged to have a Patreon before basically all being pushed out, but the idea was refused until now, when it will only line the pockets of a single person instead of hard working writers.

I know they might have provided laughs before, but Hard Drive is a shell of what it was once. Let it die and support the people who actually made those moments of joy possible. Don't believe me? Check out what former employees are saying below:

Kevin Podas: Okay you know what, I would feel bad saying nothing about this, so here goes:🚨SAVE YOUR MONEY🚨

We passionately advocated for a Patreon at Hard Drive & were aggressively shot down. The talent & people who built the site were pushed out. To see this now is beyond upsetting. For the past few years or so I put a lot of myself into this website. I pitched a ton of jokes, got over 120 articles published, & met a lot of great people. I'm sure if you've been following me for some time you could easily see this.

However, there is a lot of misinformation. I was eventually promoted to Managing Editor of the site & was ecstatic. Grateful for the opportunity. Felt like all of my hard work in the comedy mines was finally paying off. But things took a turn for the worst, & each day there were new surprises that affected our livelihoods. These were all very avoidable surprises, mind you.

A patreon was going to be our hail mary, but alas, for some reason, the power that be did not want it. Causing us to leave a dream job behind. "At least we did all we could," we consoled ourselves afterwards. I put a lot of myself into this project. I pitched all sorts of ideas that could have helped-- we all did. Merch collaborations, Patreon-integrated YouTube content, so much more. And most of them were shot down out of sheer stubbornness and nothing more. To see lie after lie spread, and multiple big publications and YouTubers that I am a fan of promote this Patreon under these pretenses is incredibly upsetting. There are so many receipts.

Please share this and consider pulling out if you've already put money into this. On Hard Drive using AI, also from Kevin Podas: I can't personally confirm that part aside from some of the recent header images for articles on both Hard Drive and Hard Times are being made with AI. As far as writing, it's been mentioned in the past, but I personally do not know. Maybe others do, maybe not. MORE From Kevin Podas suggesting the owner denying a Patreon being set up earlier cost an artist a job that was replaced by AI: We had a social media person who was awesome! He made the images until this AI implementation. He had to leave because ad revenue was low and a Patreon was aggressively refused.

Luca Fisher: at the risk of burning some bridges, i have to back up kevin here. i've only been part-time, in-and-out of hard drive since i got in last year, but i can corroborate that management doubled and tripled down about not hosting a patreon/crowdfunding and that many other suggestions and ideas, including mine (and ones much smarter than mine!), were shot down in really long, apocalyptic threads of everyone left on deck desperately trying to come up with ways to keep the lights on. managerially it has been messy and sad

i've written for multiple publications that have long since died, ones that were in the process of dying, and ones that, in this case, are soon to be put in the ground. it is sad and sucks every time. i don't know what could have been done differently, but i do know that a lot of great writers and content creators were left shorthanded and unhappy by the way things have gone. and it is sort of puzzling to see the sudden championing of patreon after we were all told plenty of times that it couldn't work and we should move on also, just to add my own personal two cents here, i was really disappointed by the shuttering of many different article sections on the site over the past 6-8 months. i understand cutting corners in a deficit, and i know it had to be done. that said…

all in all, i'm really sad to see this all happen. i don't fault anyone, if only because i don't really know enough about how this all can happen to make sense of it. games journalism is in a sad, sorry state, and will likely no longer be a thing in the next decade

VideoSealMan: I'm gonna say this because I think I deserve to. For months, MONTHS on end I was bugging Hard Drive management about a Patreon. Often I got ignored for a week+, but when I actually got a response I was encouraged to - of all things, write up a Google Doc pitching the concept I did it regardless. I wasn't the only one trying to sway management on a Patreon, but so fiercely was I fighting for it that last night, I was accused of making this comment directly by the CEO! With no evidence whatsoever! After I'd been gone for over a month.

I vouched so hard for Patreon because I wanted all the writers and creatives working with Hard Drive including myself to get paid better. When I actually got a response, the idea was often shut down. Eventually due to the state of my company, my pay was cut for a second time I confronted management alongside a couple other important figureheads at the org and told them that if we couldn't do a Patreon - I could no longer financially justify staying there. The answer was still no, so I left. Baffled at the decision, but whatever.

It is unendingly frustrating to know that myself and many other people who put their soul into Hard Drive LEFT because of management's absolute refusal to compromise on a Patreon, to then see them launch one anyway a month later and get over 1000 people pledging money. I'm seeing a lot of things float around about greed and people being fired. No one was fired. Everyone who left, left because they were sick of management's decision-making. And honestly, management is a lot of things but I would not call them greedy. (From my experience.) They did genuinely make an effort to pay people as much as possible. I found the pay very fair for a while. I am not disputing that I was paid what I was owed - yet management frequently feels the need to remind critics of that. Lmao, yes. I was paid what I was owed. No one is disputing payment. You did the bare minimum a business owner should do and paid everyone their due, very well done. I make no allegations of greed, cheating or foul play. I make allegations of poor management and incompetence that has fucked over other people.

Basically the only people left at Hard Drive have been there for about 2 months. They will reap the rewards of this successful Patreon I and so many others passionately fought for for so long. We will not see a dime.

I do not know the new people at Hard Drive, But I feel bad for them. They were haphazardly thrust into Hard Drive's workplace with little to no explanation on how anything works, or given any context on the state of the place. Even now managements feeds them half-truths and misinformation about other people's grievances. I am broke and have been for a while. I had to move out of my flat in Reading and back with my family because of how little money I was making. This has basically doomed my flatmate to moving back in with abusive parents, which is something I feel guilty about every day. If we had gone with the Patreon I worked myself hoarse over back then, this could have been avoided. Some of my other good pals could also not have been fucked over.

It was a bad judgment call, but it's not a crime. It's just management getting it wrong.

So should you give to the Hard Drive Patreon? I don't know! I don't think any of the new people working there to patch up the holes left by the recent mass exodus have any bad intentions. Maybe they deserve it! But it is not the same site you knew a year ago, or even a month ago. Myself and many people who were there far longer than me and did far more for it than I did are all gone now because we could not deal with management's terrible decision-making and dogass communication any longer. That's what you should know, imo

I had an agreement in place with management that I would receive the next 8 months of revenue from the Hard Drive YT channel from my leaving in November. This was a deal I appreciated, and thought was very fair on management's behalf. So far, the deal has been honoured for 2 months. However as of last night I was removed from the Hard Drive Slack without warning, and as an editor for the YouTube channel. This means I no longer have any way of verifying how much I am owed, I just have to take their word for it. I'm sure management will make their own statements full of half-truths and weird language on the many cases being brought against them - I'd take everything they say with a pinch of salt if some of the screenshots I've seen of them talking about me are any indication lol

To management; I do not want to talk to you. I want you to DM me a screenshot of how much I'm owed every month and then send me the money per our agreement until June, then we can go our separate ways. Do that and admit to your mistakes, and maybe you can recover your reputation! That's it from me, lol. If they pull out of the deal and fuck me over I'll have more to say, but most of what I know is other people's stories of incompetence and poor decision-making, lol. I genuinely get no pleasure out of doing this; I do not think management is evil - I just think they're really bad at what they do and it's cost other, more talented people, lol. You should believe the writers imo

One last thing I wanna say btw, management did often stress that no one should try to make Hard Drive a full time thing. They were transparent about that, and that is fair. I was working on it because at a few points, I was lead to believe we actually were doing a Patreon. Many other ppl have similar stories of being strung along by management changing their minds and stop-starting shit every 2 weeks. We all made the fatal mistake of overestimating our manager - who would tell you one thing one day and something totally opposite the next week lol

Hunter R. Thompson:

I'm not your dad, but speaking as a Hard Drive writer, I don't know that funding Hard Drive on Patreon is worth it

The driving talent on the back end—behind the kickass site I joined in 2019—have peaced out over the years as the site's been (in our view) increasingly mismanaged. Mismanagement like, not setting up crowdfunding before the ship sank and all its best crew failed; or publishing a screenshot of Andy Ngo pedojacketing a trans writer, complete with her deadname; or a disgruntled ex-writer getting falsely accused of shit-talk, by actual staff. I'm grateful for the writing I've gotten to produce for HD (and will forever be kicking myself for not writing even more, in the four years I've had to do it!! i'm a dumbass!!!) but it is very much no longer the site I signed up for.

I don't want to resign as a contributor altogether, because I'm open to the idea of the site recovering and bad practices being retired as finances level out-- it would just be dishonest for potential backers to not be Aware Of The Circumstances, I think.

Jeremy Kaplowitz: i truly don't want to start shit, but feel compelled to say: i want to see Hard Drive succeed w/o resorting to throwing former writers & editors, myself included, under the bus. surely there's a way to save the site without building it over the corpses of those who left. my $0.02 i don't blame anyone who wants to sign up for the HD patreon and i support the website, but that includes those who worked on it for years, have complaints, and don't deserve to be treated like bitter assholes like this kind of stuff is just objectively true, meanwhile there's these new writers who joined the site after i left (meaning, in the last ~3 months) claiming people are liars. decide for yourself if you care, but this is what happened! [Quotes this Tweet]

Seth Finkelstein: Writing for Hard Drive has been a privilege the past few years, and it makes me so angry to see people I looked up to get jerked around behind the scenes. The amount of grenades the editors jumped on our behalf is immense, and I don't think the way they're being treated is right.

Other Bits On AI: We do know for sure however that AI art has been used by the site. Its fucking owner confirms it here:https://twitter.com/MattSaincome/status/1743040541603123622. Seems the owner pushed AI written articles as well! TayFabe: My vaguetweet is making the rounds & these made me apoplectic. - owner regularly lobbied using ai. Once he tested it & said ai was writing better satire than 25% of the HT/HD writers. - ai images were used on the site & socials w/o consulting the team or disclosing it publicly I found the ai bit relevant to include bc 1) it illuminates a stark change in HD's current direction & leadership, 2) ai images have previously been used on the site and (since deleted) ig posts, 3) ai content fucking sucks, and repeatedly pushing to use it is a telling quality The "handful of writers who chose to leave" includes 2 editors-in-chief (both cofounders who wrote a combined total of >1,000 articles & defined the voice of HD), & at least 3 other editors. These guys put in WORK since 2017, so cool to be corrected by ppl who joined in Nov 2023 [Link to mentioned vague tweet from post.] More from TayFabe: owner continuously lobbied for using ai in every possible way. No one else wanted to do it, but he kept on, saying ai was writing better satire than 25% of the HT/HD writers. Also, ai images were used on the site & socials without public disclosure or consulting the team.

The owner has responded now multiple times in a private discord... Thank you for people sharing screenshots! First Screenshot:

Kevin's Response: He banned me from the server for speaking out, so no, I didn't see it. And he gave no indication of a timeline, it was just "we'll do one when *I* say so" and gave every inclination he was totally against it. It bred an environment that pushed our hands to have to leave. Screenshot Round Two:

Kevin's Response: "Starting one in 3 months" is an absolute lie. He denied it, I have screenshots and others who can confirm. No timeline was given. Just "this is what it is now" and like, I couldn't live off of that. I wanted to do more but he was allergic to good ideas from others around him.

Matt, owner of Hard Drive, responds publicly on Twitter.

Matt: Kevin, the patreon launch was delayed because I didn't think it would work. Everyone is happy that it did work. Everyone who left the site because we didn't have money to pay for creative content which didn't revenue is welcome to return home. But unclear why the hostility.

Hard Drive paid out literally every dollar it had, then a bunch more, to creative people who worked on the site. When we ran out of money, we couldn't pay anymore. We did our best.

Kevin: Right, and my point of this thread was that it was completely and totally avoidable. This is reasonable to be upset about. How could I have been any more clear?

Matt: If we knew with 100% certainly that the community would have supported us via patreon, we would have done that. We didn't know. We had tried 4 years ago and got no support. We were wrong this time. We did our best to figure it out. We paid all the money we could.

Kevin: So you knew with 100% certainty this time? Or you took a leap of faith?

Matt: It was a last gasp panic effort after ad rates got cut in half on january 1st due to seasonal spending changes. We didn't know it would work. We were embarrassed to ask for support. We wanted to figure it out.

Kevin: Every site has a Patreon. Every YouTuber, comedy group, etc. But you insisted that nobody cared about Hard Drive. Which is wildly untrue. I know you see that now, but again, I think you can see why I and many others are pretty upset. A last ditch panic effort was long overdue. A couple more things from Matt:

It was about the size of the hole we needed plugged budget wise, the time I had left of personal resources, and the past data I had about us trying a patreon (which turned out to be a bad indicator). I didn't think the Patreon would help us fast enough. I made a bad estimation

aka "if we make $1000 more dollars a month via patreon, which would be 10x what we got last time, we will not solve any of our problems. If instead we try to plow down path B, we might make it out in time." That was the thinking. I chose the wrong path, but didn't mean to Kevin also retweeted this comment from the user Matt was responding to: So you're saying that you're bad at running the business, didn't listen to any of your employees until after they were forced to leave their jobs, and now you're going to get more of the money from the Patreon that was their idea in the first place? Matt's Response: Respectfully, I made a mistake delaying the patreon decision. But keeping a comedy site alive for 9 years is not easy, there are lots of potential ideas, and think overall we've done a good and honorable job. Will leave this thread in peace now to allow people their space.

Sorry for linking to Elon's hellsite (derogatory), but sources need links so...

#video games #patreon #hard drive #ai critical

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aurumalatus · 3 months ago

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𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 (𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔)

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.4k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers (yes kinich literally invented this trope okay. sue me), mini-drabbles, childhood to university, modern!au, fluff and slight angst, lots of bantering but it's light-hearted i promise

summary.

you've always been a sore loser—kinich is just the only one brave enough to say it. or, you and kinich fall in love over the course of your lives, and one thing never changes—you're both idiots

author's note. credit to @/scythidol for the header images! a bit of a different fic format this time (who is she....). i'm sick over kinich, i have nothing clever to say or excuses to make. that's all, thank you for reading! i'm finishing this at 5am so i'll fix any errors later lol. reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

“You’re annoying.”

The old TV in your backyard treehouse buzzes with static and the constant thumps of Kinich’s fingers against the controller buttons.

It’s a summer evening—crickets chirp merrily in the grass and lightning bugs float lazily through the air, glowing among the stars. You’re sitting next to him, knees pulled to your chest and the straw of a Capri-Sun settled between your lips.

His reaction (or lack thereof) to your words leaves you less than entertained, a sour pout fixed on your lips as he sighs.

“You’re a sore loser. We said whoever got up here first got to play first.” Despite the intense game occurring on the screen in front of him, he diverts about half his attention to watching you out of the corner of his eye. “And I got up here first.”

“But you always win,” you whine. Kinich nudges at his own juice box with his knee, and you roll your eyes before picking it up and holding it to his lips—he drinks gratefully, still focused on his game. You’re not sure why you keep agreeing to this bet; you don’t think you’ve ever won.

“Then you need to get faster.”

Both of you know that such a feat would be impossible—Kinich has been the fastest kid in your grade since you started school. His athleticism affords him a bit of popularity, still at the age where winning a playground race is essentially the deciding factor between the cool kids and the lame ones. But he’s not interested in any of that, and he makes that quite clear in his actions.

After all, all the popular kids avoid him since he started a fight with them last year.

“They were saying things about you,” he’d shrugged, like it was no big deal. The school seemed to think a bit differently, and his suspension felt like the longest week of your life.

The screen flashes then, a loud and colorful display that shows the words “you win”. Kinich leans back in his seat, a pleased half-smile spreading across his face.

“Okay, now you can play.”

He tries to hand you the controller, but you huff, crossing your arms and turning away.

“I don’t even wanna play anymore.”

Kinich is far more mature than you at this age—even your own mother tells you as much—so he merely sighs, accepting of your tantrum.

“Okay, what do you wanna do then?”

You ponder that for a moment. There’s a lot of things you do often, but many of them are things that Kinich is much better at than you. Playing video games, climbing trees, riding bikes—he’s far more talented at them all. It’s one of the reasons you even became friends in the first place—you’d practically begged him to teach you to beat the final boss of Super Mario Galaxy, and the rest was history.

“I don’t know,” you mumble noncommittally, blowing your straw wrapper at him. It lands right on target, bouncing lightly off his forehead as he rolls his eyes.

“Come on, whatever you wanna do, we’ll do it,” he says, poking at your cheek. “I’ll even play house.”

And you know Kinich hates playing house—he has boundless amounts of energy most days, and house isn’t “challenging” enough of a game for him to expend it. But he does it occasionally, just for you.

You brighten at the prospect.

“Really?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighs, already descending the treehouse ladder, waving you along. “Let’s go inside first, though. I’m hungry.”

Scrambling to your feet, you jump down to meet Kinich, already standing in the grass.

“Last one inside is a rotten egg!”

II.

The rainstorm ends just as classes dismiss—when you walk out the school entrance, a slight drizzle is still letting up, fresh puddles lapping at your toes. Kinich’s gaze finds you instantly as he slinks out of the school gates, bag tossed loosely over his shoulder.

“My socks are wet now,” you whine, patting down the edges of your skirt to look down at your shoes. You’d only just bought them recently, and your mom likely wouldn’t be pleased with the prospect of you ruining them so soon.

Kinich chuckles at first, a snarky sound as thick as the gathering clouds, only to sigh when your pout persists.

“Alright, alright,” he relents, squatting to the ground and gesturing for you to get on his back. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

He’s a bit frail, still in his growing phase—his bones and muscles shift rhythmically under his skin as he walks—but he’s so distinctly warm. The heat makes you curl closer, nose brushing against his neck.

He walks you home most days like this, spending the day at your house until the sky grows dark with dusk. His home life is something he rarely discusses, but you know enough, and you’re happy to welcome him to yours.

“You’re slow,” you mumble into his shoulder. The steady thump of his steps is comforting, nearly putting you to sleep.

“You’re heavy,” Kinich replies teasingly, adjusting your weight atop his back. His words are biting, but he’s being careful with his steps nonetheless, taking each one lightly so as not to jostle you.

“You’re rude,” you scoff back. His nose scrunches in annoyance when you loop your arms tighter around his neck, pretending to choke him as punishment. “You’re not supposed to say that to a girl.”

He blows his bangs out of his eyes, peering up at the newly visible sun that starts to dip low in the sky. You watch a cat scurry through the bushes to your right, golden eyes peering through the foliage before disappearing into the darkness.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m saying it to you.”

Kinich is always a bit wittier than you, a bit quicker to the punch, but you like that about him. You like a lot of things about him, and you’re sure he knows it, too. A weighty silence settles between the two of you, unnatural—it’s usually you who fills the silence, and Kinich who patiently listens.

But something bigger sits at the back of your mind, and the words are having trouble surmounting the obstacle of your tongue.

You’re still floundering for something to say by the time your house appears in the distance. The sight lights a fire under you—you don’t want to discuss something like this with your mother in earshot. You force the words out, voice weak and small.

“I heard Mualani confessed to you yesterday.”

The rumor had flown through the school like wildfire. Mualani is popular with the boys after all, so there’s bound to be quite a bit of heartbreak if she ends up in a relationship. Someone had seen them together at that sakura tree behind the school, and it instantly became a hot topic—it’s all you’ve heard about all day.

And though you know it’s not really any of your business, you can’t help but be curious, and the thought fills you with dread.

You manage a glance at his expression, searching for any sort of unrest, but he doesn’t show any at all. In fact, he seems wholly uninterested in the topic.

He shrugs. “Yeah, so?”

You take a deep breath for courage—you’re not sure you want to hear his answer.

“So? What did you tell her?”

And it’s nothing against Mualani, really—she’s kind and beautiful, and you wouldn’t blame Kinich for falling for her. She’s never done anything wrong to you at all. But a beat passes, and you’re already halfway through mourning the end of your long-time crush when he replies.

“I told her I was flattered, but I wasn’t interested.”

A sigh of relief escapes you then, but you reel it in quickly—he can probably feel you relax against his back at his response.

“Oh,” is all you say, as aloof as you can manage. Kinich latches onto your hesitation instantly.

“Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” comes your hasty reply. “...Is there any reason you said no, though?”

He frowns. “I don’t know. She just isn’t my type.”

“...Then what is your type?”

You’re going too far, you know—even just speaking the words has your chest twisting painfully, and you want to crawl into a hole and disappear. If Kinich isn’t an idiot, he can surely tell why you’re practically breathing down his neck over the whole thing.

But maybe Kinich is a little bit of an idiot, at least about these things, because he merely shrugs.

“Not sure. Never really thought about it.”

A frost unfurls in your chest, bitter—of course Kinich wouldn’t know, he’s never thought about anyone that way. Including you.

“Right.” You attempt a laugh, teeth gritting. “It’s all stupid anyway.”

You drop your head into his shoulder, trying to hide the pained expression on your face, and only then does Kinich’s stare flicker to you, soft.

“Right,” he says, a quiet rumble from his chest. “It’s really, really stupid.”

III.

Walks turn to drives when Kinich turns sixteen and buys his own car.

He’d saved up for months, working part-time jobs on weekends and after school, until the day finally came when he pulled up into your driveway, keys in hand. Your mom had been overwhelmingly proud—bought a cake and everything—and you’d merely been grateful that you no longer had to beg her to drive you places.

It’s nothing crazy, just a simple sedan, but it represents a freedom that the two of you have never experienced together before.

That’s how you end up parked underneath the flickering streetlight just outside your house, excitedly recounting a story to your best friend. He’d driven you home from your club after school, an errand that always ended in several other stops—today, it had been fast food and boba.

His eyes seem to glow in the fading daylight, a pretty jade and amber that you’ve always thought was beautiful. It feels a bit more intense with his stare trained on you—Kinich isn’t the talkative type, sure, but he always ensures that you know he’s listening.

“So then she was asking me about you.”

“Mhm.”

“And get this,” a nervous chuckle escapes you then, “she thought we were dating.”

Everything falls still.

It’s times like this that you really start to hate just how unreadable your best friend can be. Despite how much you tease him for it, you actually enjoy how difficult it can be to force an expression out of him—it’s a little challenge every day. But now, when you’re on the precipice of pouring your heart out, his impassive expression stings.

Nothing on his face changes, save for a slight tilt of his head—he’s considering your words. The silence feels endless; a lump starts to form in your throat, humiliation burning at your cheeks.

“I know, it’s so ridiculous,” you assert hurriedly, trying to avoid the rush of shame. “I mean, we would never—”

“Tell her we are, then.”

You’re sure that in that moment, your heart stops.

Truthfully, you hadn’t planned to get this far—you were planning on brushing over that part of the story and moving on, but something deep in your heart had forced it out of you. Now, you aren’t sure what you really want to happen.

It’s always been your underlying fear, that once Kinich finds out, everything will change. Or even if he does return your feelings, it’ll all go up in flames eventually and you’ll never be the same. It’s terrifying enough to have kept your mouth shut all these years.

A tense laugh erupts from your throat, cutting through the silence. “I—I mean, it’s not that simple—”

He arches a brow. “Do you not want to?”

That’s another difference between you and Kinich—he’s far more straightforward about getting things that he wants. It’s one of the reasons that people misinterpret him as cold, but he sees it as being logical.

You gnaw at your lip, fingers tracing over the car door. Do you?

If the countless daydreams and romantic notebook doodles are anything to go by, you do. You really do. You’re just not sure if you’re brave enough to take that step.

When you look at him again, he’s observing you carefully, a delicate fondness lying in his stare. You shrink under the weight of it.

“No, I do,” you admit quietly.

The moment falls still, and your eyes are drawn to the only movement within your line of vision—the quick bob of Kinich’s throat. Then, his hand advances toward your face at a measured pace, giving you endless opportunities to retreat.

Of course, you don’t.

“Can I…?” he asks, barely a brush of a whisper. The tension runs thick in the air as his tongue peeks out, swiping over his bottom lip at a tantalizing pace. It’s nearly enough to drive you crazy, but you know he’s just as anxious.

“Yes,” you breathe, wincing at the sound of your own voice—it sounds almost too eager.

But Kinich presses his lips to yours all the same, soft and wanting, and your heart flutters in your chest. It’s a chaste kiss, nothing like the fireworks-exploding-making-out-with-tongue types you’ve seen on TV, but it’s just right—it feels like him, and that’s all that matters. He pulls away slightly, lips still millimeters away from yours.

“I like you. If I’m not wrong, you like me too. I think it’s that simple.”

You almost want to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Though you’d never admit it, you’ve practiced this scenario thousands of times in front of your bedroom mirror—what you would say to him, what he might say to you. Leave it to Kinich to not follow the script.

But he’s always done things his own way, so really, you should’ve expected this.

Gently, he reaches for your hand, fingers slotting through yours with ease. You sigh.

“I guess it is.”

IV.

“...that far, huh?”

Kinich stares at you upside down, head dangling off the edge of your bed as you sit at your desk, laptop keys clicking rapidly. He knows you’re serious about your future goals; you both are. He just never imagined it would bring the two of you so far apart.

You pause with one hand resting on the mouse, still staring at the screen. The map looks so daunting, too daunting, and you can’t imagine being that far away from him.

An awkward, weighted silence hangs in the air, and by the time a few seconds pass, you’ve already foreseen eighty different bad endings for this situation. Clearing your throat once, you force yourself to speak.

“Kinich, I—”

“I get it.”

He doesn’t mean to interrupt you so suddenly, but he does. He couldn’t stop himself if he tried. Because while he does understand—he really does—he also can’t help the stinging sensation of tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. It feels pathetic. It feels selfish. Here you are, chasing your dreams and supporting his, and he’s caught on the fact that there will be a little space between the two of you. And it’s not like it’s anyone’s fault, but maybe you’ll get tired of waiting and—

“You’ll come back to me, right?”

There’s an unmistakable thickness to your voice, evidence of the steadily growing lump in your weary throat. It grows larger with every passing second, an insurmountable mass dwarfed only by the impending distance between you and him.

That question catches Kinich off-guard, and he nearly wants to laugh then; not because he doubts you at all, but because he doesn’t, and he finds it ridiculous that you would ever think otherwise. Here you are, worrying about him.

Kinich doesn’t have any doubts or fears. He never does when he’s with you.

Maybe that’s why.

With a light laugh, he lets his eyes flutter closed, finally allowing an uneven breath to fill his lungs. The natural light outside is slowly dimming, the fluorescent lamps dotting your street flicking on one by one. He knows he should go home soon. His car is sitting outside, the same one the two of you have had endless adventures, fights, and make-ups in. It’s the same one he will use when he moves an unfathomable distance away from you. The same one he will use on the day you will cry, clinging to him like your life depends on it, before watching him disappear into nothing but a mere dot in the distance.

His fist clenches at his side.

But you’re still here, the closest feeling he has to home, and you’re still in love with him, and he is still in love with you.

Maybe that’s why this is enough, for now.

Turning onto his stomach, Kinich sees you right-side up this time, and it’s like nothing has changed.

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

A knock echoes on your apartment door in the middle of the night.

You raise a brow at the sound, a bit unnerved—a lone college girl answering the door in the dark isn’t the safest thing, you think as you peek one eye through the peephole. But there’s a familiar figure standing outside, and it has your hand turning the knob immediately and flinging the door open.

He’s here.

“Kinich,” you breathe, in disbelief. Last you’d heard, he was somewhere halfway across the country, and certainly nowhere near your front door. But he’s here, in a black hoodie and grey sweatpants, looking like he’s just walked out of your dreams.

“Hey,” he says simply, as if his appearance hadn’t been totally shocking. He takes advantage of your shell-shocked state to invite himself inside, curiously looking through your apartment. “Nice place.”

You step aside in a daze. “Kinich—you—what are you doing here?”

He’s holding three flimsy bags in his fist, grocery store logos and restaurant labels stamped over the plastic, keys hanging off his pinky finger. He’d come prepared, clearly, but for what you’re not sure.

He towers over you a bit more than he used to, hair a bit longer, and everything about him feels so grown up. It reminds you of all the moments the two of you have missed over the years, how much change has occurred beneath your nose, maybe without you realizing.

He spreads the bags over your kitchen table—the mouth-watering smell of Chinese takeout filters through the air, and your stomach grumbles in reply. But it’s your tear ducts that react initially, a sting at the corners of your eyes as you squeeze them shut.

Kinich doesn’t notice at first, absorbed in inspecting the photos displayed on your wall—photos of you, photos of him, photos of the two of you together. It makes his chest warm that you still think about those times. He does too—after all, it’s rare that you leave his mind.

But he turns back to you, tears running rivers down your cheeks, and his breath hitches.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, carefully cupping your face. A lilt of panic laces his voice. “Does something hurt? Are you sick?”

“You’re here,” you sob, curling into his shoulder. None of it feels real. He’s warm and firm beneath your fingers, and you clutch at him tighter, half-expecting everything to disappear. It’s so much different than FaceTime or calling or anything else you do when he’s away. Because right now, he’s completely within your reach, and everything falls into place.

“Of course I am,” he murmurs. You cry into his hoodie, soaking the fabric with your tears, but he holds you close all the same. “Because you’re here.”

You spend a few minutes that way—you crying until your tears dry over your skin, and him comfortingly rubbing at your back. Air slowly returns to your lungs, and you sniffle, glassy eyes meeting his.

“But why? I mean, it’s the middle of the semester, isn’t it?”

A rare half-smirk graces his lips.

“We made a promise. I came back to you first. So I do believe that means that I win,” he says. If you weren’t so emotional, you might have rolled your eyes—of course, all he ever focuses on is winning.

He drags you over to the couch, laying down and pulling you on top of him, safe. You draw closer to him, tangling your limbs together until you’re not sure where he ends and you begin.

“You’re annoying,” you whisper, muffled into his chest.

Kinich shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“You’re still a sore loser. Thought you’d grow out of that by now.”

You grumble a few choice words at him, and he smiles—a sight that only you and the stars can claim to have ever seen.

And he’s right; you are a sore loser, and he’s been right just about every time he told you so. But you find it doesn’t matter, not really.

You could never win against Kinich anyway.

(Maybe you never wanted to.)

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #kinich x reader #kinich #kinich x you #genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #adeptus ink

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muxshwriting · 1 month ago

Text

coming home

Max Verstappen x reader

summary: max makes the decision no one thought he actually would. and he made the decision for you || word count: 950 || masterlist

You’re screaming as Max crosses the line. Yes, it’s P5 but it’s a championship secured. The team around you erupts as their dreams come true. There was a huge sense of anticipation as you ran through the pit lane towards parc ferme and towards him. You watch as he jumps out of the car with a weight visibly off his shoulders. He runs towards you, not a glance at anyone else.

“I’m so proud of you!” You’re shouting over the noise of the crowd but Max only hears you.

“I couldn’t have done it without you Schatz. For a second I didn’t think I would.”

“You made it. You won.”

He tears his helmet off, crashing his lips into yours and he finds himself home. The rest of the night is a blur as you watch Max receive his well earned celebrations for a season hard-fought. There’s nothing that could sour yours or his mood as the night burns on and Max goes from interview to interview, waiting for the time he can drink so much he forgets.

“Max, congratulations on the championship win. Would you like to speak about how much this means to you after this year?”

Max rubs a hand through his hair and adjusts his hat, a nervous tick he’d always had as he brought the microphone to his jaw. “Yeah. This championship means a lot because we weren’t sure it was going to happen earlier in the season. Of course it wouldn’t have been possible without my amazing team working so hard to make the car as good as it could be. It’s the people around us who push us to be the best versions of ourselves.”

Max can’t hope to get away sooner, to his team waiting to celebrate and to you. There’s always a choice in the back of his mind that tells him to abandon everything and run for the hills with you. Except this time, with the championship tucked in his belt, he’s not sure what’s stopping him anymore.

The triple header came to a close in Abu Dhabi, Max closing his season out with a glorious win but there’s a feeling in your gut that tells you Max is going to say it. You’d discussed his retirement before, and you’d always tried to persuade him to stick out his contract. You would tell him that you both had time to live your lives after his career. The last thing you wanted was for Max to throw his dream away for you.

A champagne-drenched Max finds you after the podium hiding in his driver’s room. “You’re going to announce it, aren’t you?” You quietly ask, not wanting to ruin the joy but needing an answer.

Max grinned, stripping his race suit from his body. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to me.”

“Then you know I am.”

“Max-“

He calms your worries with a simple declaration. “I love you. I know this is what I want. I’ve had my time, I don’t need anything more than you.”

You bite back the sting of tears and pull Max into a hug, pressing your lips against his.

“Is that a yes?” He whispers to you. “You’re okay with this?”

”Yes. I love you.”

With a kiss to his cheek, you send him to the hounds of journalists in the press conference and promise you’ll be right here when he’s done. It takes a moment for the right time to arise but when Max is asked a question about his hopes for the future, he only knows one answer.

“The future? My future? I’m retiring from formula one... effective immediately. I will be taking no more questions at this time. Thank you.”

And with that, Max put down his microphone. He stood and carefully removed his red bull hat and took a moment to simply look before he placed it where he had been sitting. He ignored the journalists practically screaming at him and the cameras that sounded like static. Without a word, he walked out of the door and promised himself he would never return.

The second he walks out of the door, your arms are wrapped around him and he falls into your embrace. Your words flow through him without being absorbed as he remembers and realises exactly what he’s done. A part of him will miss this life but most of his heart is grateful he stopped before it consumed his very being.

He had proved himself, set records for the ages and done what any formula one driver aims to do: win championships. Was it so unfair to want a different life than the one he had grown into? Was it so unfair to want that perfect family with a beachfront penthouse in Monaco or even a country home in the Netherlands? A house that always had spare bedrooms for guests to drop by, a house with love radiating from its walls and beauty running through it’s floors. Was it so unfair to want that before life slipped past him and he was a 40-year-old driving for a bottom ranking team trying to keep the dream alive?

But Max had a different dream now, a dream nothing could stop him from achieving.

Four years later, that dream is most certainly in progress as you sit in the window of that Dutch country home watching Max as he runs after your eldest daughter. There’s a babe in your arms and a feeling that nothing will ever be as perfect as this. There have been no regrets about leaving racing and no regrets about leaving that whole world behind.

Who knows what the future will bring? That’s the best part, it’s your future.

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #muxsh #muxshwriting #formula one x reader #formula 1 #formula one #f1 x reader #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #abu dhabi 2024

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fairyysoup · 11 months ago

Text

his hands

pairing(s): hairdresser!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: How do you make getting a haircut an erotic experience? You have Eddie Munson as your hairdresser, of course.

cw: explicit, smut, unprotected piv sex, mirror sex, workplace sex, hand kink, choking, dumbification, dom!eddie, touch-starved!reader, semi-sort-of subspace happenings, referring to genitals with gendered pronouns, slight body worship, getting weirdly horny over a head massage, sexual tension, negative self talk, hair cut/style mentioned but no description of hair color/type, the aftercare is the haircut lol, implied 90s au, eddie's like 30, reader's age unspecified, eddie is employee of the month in my heart, not proofread, no beta we die like men

a/n: this is weird. and came from an interesting experience i had at the hair salon. and yes that is corpse's hand in that pic i didn't want to spend all day looking for a header pic shut up shut up shut up

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

Your hands twitch on the copy of Elle magazine in your lap. The familiar waiting area of your local salon has new furniture, which still smells a bit like the cellophane it came wrapped in, and hasn’t been worn out by patrons just yet. You’d asked for your usual stylist, Melissa. Except, you haven’t been here in so long, and apparently Melissa doesn’t work here anymore.

“We have a new stylist in her place,” the greeter at the front desk told you kindly. “I could fit you in if you’d like that same station?”

The station doesn’t matter to you; they all look the same and have the same tools. Obviously, when it comes to getting your hair cut, the stylist makes the difference. But, since you’re a couple months too late to catch up with Melissa, a new stylist is who you’ll be working with.

The PA still plays some sort of weird pop-rock fusion that mixes Nat King Cole with Billy Idol, but you just try to focus on it to keep your leg from bouncing. You always get anxious like this when you come in for an appointment, even though you always tell yourself the same thing. It’s just hair. If you don’t like it, it’ll grow back. Or, if worst comes to worst, you could always shave it.

You hear your name being called, and you look up to the person who’d just approached the waiting area around the partition that blocks off the styling area. You blink, your mind going fuzzy as you try to make sense of what you see.

“Looks like I’ll be cutting your hair today,” the man standing at the end of the row of chairs says, with a grin that puts boyish dimples on his cheeks. “I’m Eddie.”

Eddie the Hairdresser is a bit more than you can handle right now. Between his long, curly hair, and the shirt he wears that gives you a view of the tattoos crawling up his arms, you think your knees might already be made out of jelly as you try to stand. But then he sticks out his hand for you to shake, and he’s wearing big, chunky rings that glint in the light, and you think you might swoon like a Victorian damsel.

“I’m, uh–” you begin intelligently, as you fit your hand into his big one. He squeezes just the tiniest bit and smirks at you. “I– I’m trying to, uh–”

“First time?” Eddie asks you with a tilt of his head. His brown eyes crease at the edges with mirth.

“Oh, um, no,�� you mutter, looking everywhere but at his dimples. He has a tattoo on his neck of a dragon. You stare at it for a moment too long. “I used to come and see Melissa, forever ago.”

“Oh! Yeah, Melissa was great. She trained me,” Eddie starts jabbering as he tilts his head and leads you around the partition. You’re met with the smell of hairspray and the sound of blow dryers getting louder. “She’s a hard act to follow, but I hope I can do well enough. Let’s get you started with a wash, hm?”

You smile as he winks at you conspiratorially. You always feel a little bit awkward as you sit in the chair for the wash sinks, but Eddie ushers you into it with a little wave of his hand and gently– more gently than you can remember even Melissa being– lifts the ends of your hair and places a soft towel around your shoulders.

“What kept you away all this time?” Eddie asks pleasantly as he tests the water temperature. “Melissa’s been gone for a while.”

“Yeah, I, uh, I was working a lot,” you stumble into an explanation, your cheeks heating up a bit. It’s hard not to feel like you need to repent for not coming in to get a trim every month. “Last time I came in, I got my hair cut really short, so it wasn’t like I needed to come in for a trim for a long time, and by the time I really needed one it was long enough that I could do it myself… so, I just kept doing that.”

“So, what are we doing today?” Eddie inquires as his fingertips brush along your temples to tuck your hair back behind your ears and into the wash basin. With gentle prompting, he tilts your head back into the bin and begins to wet the ends of your hair.

“I figured it’s time I go short again,” you tell him, more confident than you really feel about it. It was a split second decision, one that you made because the reflection in the mirror was looking back at you with such a dead expression that you decided you needed a change in a bad way. For a lighter note, you supplement, “I’m tired of brushing tangles out of my hair every morning, and the other day I had a whole bird’s nest at the back of my neck, y’know.”

“Pssh, I know all about tangles. You saw my hair,” Eddie chuckles as the lukewarm water touches your scalp. Goosebumps rise on your arms while he rambles on, “I have to comb my hair wet or else I look like I got electrocuted. I never used to care about that sort of thing before I went to school for this, but once you start learning about proper treatment it’s kind of hard to ignore. I used to wash my hair with bar soap. Dry as hell, no conditioner. I’m surprised I got it long to begin with.”

You find yourself smiling just thinking about it. “Bar soap? With those curls?”

“Don’t tell anyone, my reputation will be ruined,” Eddie leans down and whispers to you while he reaches for a bottle of shampoo. You hear a crack of a bottle cap, and then his hands are in your hair again, working the sweet smelling soap into your roots. “I’m trying to get employee of the month, but they’re never gonna give it to me if they know I used to sabotage my own hair with Irish Spring.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you tell him sweetly, but you’re barely paying attention to his words anymore. His fingers are pressing into areas on your head that haven’t had a proper massage in forever, and months of tension headaches are being brought to the forefront of your mind.

You never consider how oddly intimate having someone wash your hair is until you’re in the thick of it. Eddie’s thumbs massage circles into your occipitals with just a perfect amount of pressure, and the muscles down the back of your neck slowly melt and relax, moving with the swell of his fingertips. You suddenly feel very relaxed and very sleepy, and your eyelids drift closed as Eddie’s thumbs trace the line of your skull up to your hairline.

It even takes a moment for you to tune into the fact that he’s humming. Under his breath, he’s singing along to the notes of the song on the PA. He’s doing it in such a way that you’re sure he’s not even aware of it, himself, and you’d comment on it if you weren’t afraid that you’d embarrass him. His fingers are massaging circles around your temples now, and while you’re trying to focus on the sound of him harmonizing with the music, your mind is again trying to distract you with the feeling developing at the base of your spine. A ticklish, warm feeling spreads between your hips, disrupting the lull you find yourself in and forcing you to blink your eyes open.

Oh, no. We’re not doing that right now.

You can’t say you’re surprised that this is your response. His hands are all over your head and you haven’t been touched by anyone in… well, a very long time, to say the least. You’re probably a little starved for it, all things considered. But this is really the wrong time and place to be getting turned on by a guy’s touch.

You shift in your seat, trying not to be too obvious about it when Eddie pulls his hands away and begins rinsing your hair again. Crossing your legs would be a dead giveaway, but the warm feeling is turning into a subtle throb between your legs, and Eddie’s hands are back on your head, now gently combing the conditioner through the length of your hair as though he’s petting you.

After a few torturous minutes of trying to ignore the blooming arousal deep in your gut, Eddie cuts the water and wraps your hair in the towel to secure it.

“Now comes the hard part,” Eddie says, probably not meaning to make it sound so suggestive, but your mind seems to be taking its sweet time loitering in the gutter.

You stare dazedly up at the ceiling. Now is the hard part?

Eddie leads you to what used to be Melissa’s station, and swings the swivel chair around for you with a flourish. “Step into my office, sweetheart. I’ll get you all dressed up in a sexy robe and everything.”

You stifle a giggle as you slide into the seat. His “office” is one table in a row of other tables, and two feet away an older woman is getting her hair bleached by a girl with an undercut. As Eddie spins you around, the stylist shoots him a look.

“He’s a shameless flirt,” she tells you, making eye contact with you in the mirror. Eddie lays a smock across your front and buttons it at the back of your neck.

“I’ll have you know, I’ve been minding my manners very well,” Eddie huffs with feigned indignation as he unwraps your hair and tosses the towel onto the table in front of you. He still winks at you in the mirror when he leans around you to pick up a comb. “So far.”

You can’t help the way that your jaw clenches. He’s really not going to make this easy on you. You wonder if he knows where your mind has been for the last ten minutes.

Eddie moves around to the back of your chair and presses on a lever to raise it up, but nothing happens.

“Dammit,” Eddie curses under his breath, and turns to his coworker, who’s still loading tinfoil into the woman’s hair until she looks like something from Close Encounters. “I can’t believe you gave me the crap chair.”

“Early birds get the good chairs,” the stylist replies.

Eddie sighs and turns back to you, and finds you looking at him curiously in the mirror. “This is the only broken chair in the whole salon, and everyone hates it, so it tends to move around. You never know if you’ll get the crap chair.”

“That’s sabotage,” you giggle.

“I know! So I have to bend down to style you, I’m sorry.”

“I think I can handle it.” You watch him give you a look in the mirror that makes you shift in your seat again.

“So,” he begins, looking down at your head as he begins detangling your hair. “We’re going short?”

“That’s the plan,” you say with a puff of your chest. Please, god, don’t let it be horrible.

“How short?” he prompts, eyeing you in the mirror. “Shoulder length? Close cropped?”

You reach up a slightly shaky hand and pinch the length that you want between two fingers. “Here’s good.”

Eddie nods, looking somewhat pleased. “Are we doing layers?”

“Yeah, I think layers would be good for the long term.”

“Gives you more flexibility,” he agrees. He picks up a pair of scissors and begins measuring out the length that you want. “I’ll start with the length and then we’ll move to bangs, all right?”

“That… sounds good.” You’re temporarily discombobulated by Eddie taking the sides of your head and tilting your head down just the slightest bit.

“Stay just like that for me, okay?” he says quietly.

You blink down at the table in front of you, feeling your mouth go dry. “No problem.” Your hands nervously twitch beneath the cover of the smock across your body.

He goes back to humming along with the music on the PA, and you don’t have the heart to interrupt him. You’re trying to focus on anything but the nerves in your system and the way his touch keeps making you want to jump out of your seat.

After a moment, he stops humming and dusts a bit of hair off of your shoulder. “There we go. Good girl.”

You blink up at Eddie in the mirror, and then see the transformation from long hair to short on your head.

“How does it feel?” Eddie asks, leaning down to pinch the ends of the front and measure the evenness of the length. You stare at his fingers, and the tattoo of a bat just above his thumb on his left hand.

“Ten pounds lighter,” you joke. It feels like you’ve swallowed a lump of hot coal, but he doesn’t need to know that. Eddie grins, and his dimples make a glorious reappearance.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he murmurs, and again positions your head where he wants it, staring directly forward. “Honestly, even if you wanted to stop here, it would suit you. I don’t think there’s a way to make you look bad, sweetheart.”

“You’ve never seen me with a hangover,” you scoff, trying to ignore how your heart skips a beat.

Eddie smirks at you in the mirror while he starts working on giving your hair layers. “My guess is that you still look just as cute, but with a bit more of a grumpy look around here.” He gestures to your brow with one finger, and reaches over to set aside the texturizing scissors.

“So, what I’m hearing is, you think I’m cute?” you say, still trying to play up the confidence that you don’t really have. Your hand squeezes your thigh under the smock you wear, your nails digging in for purchase.

“No, I think you’re gorgeous,” Eddie says swiftly, like it’s just a matter of fact. “But, I think you’d also be cute when you’re hungover. Plus, with this hair, you’d probably look all unkempt and I love the mental image that’s creating.”

His hands fluff the layers that he’s put into your hair, ruffling them gently and carding his fingers through them to measure their length. You’re sure that he’s not aware of the moon-eyed look you’re giving him in the mirror.

Except, then he moves around you to start working on your bangs, and the smirk that comes across his face when he looks down at yours is enough to make you lose your composure. He knows everything that’s going on in your head, you’re sure of it.

Cocky bastard.

“I like your tattoos,” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear over the music and the sounds of blow dryers all around you. He’s face to face with you, so close that you can count the freckles on his pale face.

Eddie’s eyes light up. “Yeah? What about ‘em?”

“Well,” you lick your lips, your eyes flicking down to the one on his neck, and the one peeking out of his collar. “They’re colorful, and they look like you put a lot of thought into picking out each one. They’re pretty.”

“Hmm. You flatter me,” he remarks, trying to hide his grin and failing. If you look closely, there’s just the slightest pink tint to his cheeks that wasn’t there before. He finishes trimming your bangs, and just before he stands up, he chucks you lightly under the chin. “Keep it up and you might get a freebie.”

A free what? You’re imagining he means some sort of a free hair wash or something, but you can’t keep your mind from going to unprecedented places.

“All right. Bear with me, I’m gonna blow dry you now.” He turns your chair away from the mirror to get you a bit closer to the blow dryer, and for a few minutes, there’s a lull in the conversation.

Then, all at once, the blow dryer shuts off, and Eddie leans down towards you. “Ready, sweetheart?”

“Eddie, you’re gonna make me nervous.”

“Well, we don’t want that.” You just barely turn your head to look at him; just enough that your noses barely brush. You steal a breath that comes from his mouth, and then, Eddie turns you to the mirror. “Like I said,” he murmurs, “There’s not a way to make you look bad.”

“Holy shit,” you breathe. And holy shit is right– he’s done a complete number on you. Your hair is voluminous, framing your face in a way that you haven’t seen it before.

“What do you think?” he asks, and for a moment, you think it’s a rhetorical question.

“I think you’re way better than Melissa,” you tell him, once you realize that it’s not rhetorical and he’s really asking you what you think. You’re sure that he’d make adjustments if you needed, but you don’t need him to. He’s read you like a book. He’s made you look better than you could ever have hoped for.

“I’m gonna need that in writing,” he tells you, with the most serious expression you’ve ever seen. “For employee of the month, and all.”

“Tell me where to sign.”

He jerks his head, and all at once the fog lifts. You follow him to the front desk like a lost puppy, feeling like you don’t actually want to leave. You want to sit in his chair while he cuts your hair until you have none left. You want to keep his attention on you and stare at his smile, his hair, his eyes, his tattoos, for the rest of time.

“I look forward to next time, princess,” he tells you, but you’re hyperfocused on the touch of his hand to your lower back.

You watch him telling something to the girl at the front desk, his hand wrapped around the edge of the table and distracting you for the umpteenth time. You watch his silver rings glint in the light, and you think about them weaving through your hair; you think about his fingers and how they’d feel on places besides your head.

“So, when did you want to schedule an appointment?”

You blink a few times, and in a dazed glow you come back to where you are. At the front desk. Paying for your haircut. “Sorry, what?”

“The… next appointment? For your trim?” The secretary tilts her head, smiling at you kindly. “When did you want to come in?”

“Oh,” you murmur, looking down at the keyboard that she’s typing on. Eddie has disappeared back around the partition with a sweet smile and a wave cast in your direction. You just want him to come back again. “What would you suggest? Y’know, for this kind of a cut?”

“Hmm,” the girl hums, and sizes you up. Not in a way that makes you doubt yourself, but in a way that tells you she’s taking your question seriously. “Probably about four weeks. See if the length is something you’re happy with?”

“Great. Four weeks from now. With Eddie.” You peer down at the rack of business cards on the deck, and pick up the one farthest to the right.

Eddie Munson, Stylist. Set an appointment today!

By four weeks, your hair has already reached your shoulders, and the ease of maintenance is starting to wear off. When you get a call reminding you about your appointment with Eddie, your head reels with the knowledge that you’ll see him again.

You calmly assert to yourself that this time, there will be no mooning over him. He’s just your hairdresser. You figure he just has a job to do, tips to earn, and so on. You don’t know if he’s available, you don’t know if he’s single or if he even likes you the way that you like him. You don’t know anything about him, really.

False. You know that he used to wash his hair with bar soap.

You snicker to yourself as you sit in the waiting area yet again. The only available slot for him today was 6:30; pretty close to closing time, but for a Wednesday you figured it was best for you to come late, since you’d have time to get yourself together after work.

You’ve never been in the salon so late. It’s getting dark outside, and the overhead lights cast a semi-yellow glow around the waiting area. Business is dying down now. Not as many people love the idea of getting their hair cut so late, you suppose, but it was either this or wait another week to get an appointment with Eddie, and with the rate that your hair is growing, you’d probably be going insane by then.

“Hey, you,” Eddie says, popping his head around the partition with a grin that makes you nearly melt in your seat. His curly hair hangs in a curtain out in midair, and his long neck stretches out for you to take a gander at. “Just couldn’t stay away, huh?”

You smile at him. “Well, you’re the only person I trust with my head.”

What the fuck did you just say?

Eddie smirks, glowing pink around the ears. “I’ll keep that in mind, princess. Let me clean up my station real quick and I’ll getcha goin’, all right?”

You swallow back the lump in your throat. “Yeah, sure, no worries.”

When Eddie disappears again, you slide down in your seat and clap your hand across your eyes. You’re sort of glad that nobody was in the waiting room to see that ridiculous exchange, but you still have to sit with your embarrassment while Eddie cuts your hair. Again.

There will be no pining. There will be no getting weirdly turned on by him washing your hair. Nope, not happening this time.

This time, when Eddie ushers you back behind the partition, there’s only one two other stylists who are there cleaning their stations. The PA has been turned way down, so you can barely register what it’s playing at all.

“You actually came at a good time,” Eddie tells you as you trail after him toward the wash station. “You’re the last person for the night, so I can really take my time with you.”

“O-oh.. really?” You beat back your perverted thoughts with a stick. “To do what?”

“Oh, y’know,” Eddie shrugs as he lays a towel around your shoulders again, just as gentle as he was the last time. “We could do something totally crazy. Who knows what’ll happen?”

His voice is animated, pleasantly filling the empty space where your thoughts might become too much if you let them wander.

Over the past month, after you’d recovered from your last meeting with Eddie, and as you were preparing for this one, you came up with a few things that you could ask him about– just to keep your mind from going to places you didn’t want them to. To save yourself the embarrassment and the ordeal of having to play whack-a-mole with your libido, and all.

“Did you get employee of the month?” you begin with.

Eddie laughs, and then sighs. “No, our manicurist got it. I’ll get it this time, I just gotta stay on my A-game.” His blunt nails rake your hair away from your forehead and temples, and a lukewarm stream of water hits the crown of your skull.

You nearly want to jump out of your skin at the feeling. “Was it because they gave you the crap chair too many times?”

“Probably. But I got here early today, so the good news is you don’t have to sit in the crap chair this time.”

“Aww, I kind of liked the crap chair. Kept me grounded.” You hear him huff a laugh as he starts lathering shampoo through your hair. Trying to keep your mind running so you don’t focus too hard on how good his rings feel scraping against your scalp, you ask, “How’d you get into this line of work?”

“Honestly, it’s kind of a weird story,” Eddie starts, beginning to massage his fingertips into your skull in a way that makes your toes curl in your shoes. You tighten your hands on the arms of your chair and take a deep breath. “So, it took me three tries to graduate high school, right? I was terrible at it. And, y’know, I figured I’d only end up working in a garage or something for the rest of my life. But I was cutting my mane all on my own, and eventually I started cutting my friends’ hair too, because they were all in college and it’s cheaper than going to a salon. I mean–” he chuckles, and begins rinsing your hair– “believe me. I know all about it. And it just came to me really easily, ‘cause I used to be great at drawing and crafting and stuff. And it’s kind of the same thing– once you learn the medium, it’s smooth sailing from there.”

The salon has gone eerily quiet, and by the time Eddie wraps your head and sits you up, you realize that the other stylists have gone, and you and Eddie are the last people in the building. You’d be a little nervous about it, but you got Eddie on a roll, and honestly, he makes it so easy to listen to him.

“Anyways, one day my friend Robin says to me, ‘You should totally get your credential for this,’ and I said, ‘You have to go to school for this shit?’” You blow a raspberry of a laugh, no longer feeling anxious as he sits you down on his not-crap styling chair. He drapes a smock over you, and cracks a grin at you in the mirror. “I know! So, I’ve never been great at school, and I can’t afford to pay for beauty school tuition on the pay I was making at the time, so my friends… they pooled together some money to at least pay for my first semester. And then– get this– I got on the fucking Dean’s list.”

“No way.”

“I did! Yours truly!” He does a little bow, and while you’re still giggling, he begins detangling your hair. “So, I got grants. And I finished top of my class, because as it turns out, when you don’t hate what you’re studying it’s really easy to do well. I got my certification framed and everything. Show that to my damn high school principal.” He shakes his head, but the smile is still on his face when he says, “But now I just have to get that fucking employee of the month.”

“Anything I can do to help?” you offer, admiring his face in the mirror again without even realizing you’re doing it. You love seeing him grin, showing off his dimples and the smile lines around his eyes.

“Oh, you know,” he shrugs with a cute scrunch of his nose. “Just make sure you write my boss a letter saying how fantastic and amazing I am and how there’s no other hair stylist like me and how you’ll never find anyone as cool and sexy anywhere else. Something subtle like that oughta do it.”

“Shouldn’t be difficult,” you tell him smoothly. “I already had that one drafted.”

He chuckles, his eyes sparkling when he reaches for his scissors, but you still notice the faint blush on his cheeks that he tries to hide behind his curtain of hair. “Flattery. You know what that gets you with me.”

A freebie. You hear his voice echoing in your head, and you swallow past the dryness in your throat. “Like… what? A mohawk?”

“Would you want a mohawk?” he asks you, pausing his movements to peer at you. “Because that’d be metal as hell, I’d be so down.”

You laugh. “I appreciate it, but I think… probably not today.”

Eddie hums, and returns to smoothing your hair back away from your face. “So we’re just doing the same as last time?”

“Yeah, not too flashy.”

“Gotcha. It’s a shame, though. I’m always up for a challenge.”

“Well, I think that short hair is just easier to maintain,” you tell him, at a loss for what else to say. He glances up at you in the mirror, and locks eyes with you. “And it doesn’t make my neck look as stumpy as it is.”

Eddie tilts his head with a confused pout, and then he reaches down and wraps his hands loosely around your throat. Your breath stalls in your chest, your eyes focused on the sight of his hands on you, his thumbs gently stroking the nape of your neck and his ring clad fingers pressed just below your chin. His fingers link and hold you, creating a necklace that you’ll never be able to find anywhere else.

Oh, shit. Oh, fucking hell. Everything below your waist draws up tight and hard, your thighs clamping together like that’s going to somehow will away the hold that Eddie has on you.

You lift your eyes and find his in the mirror, dark and focused in on you. You hold each others’ gaze for a prolonged moment, not saying anything, you barely even daring to breathe. You can’t imagine what the expression on your face looks like. You’re too busy staring at the one on his– like there are a million thoughts running through his head, and you’re desperate to know every single one of them.

“Nah, I think you’re perfect.” And just like that, Eddie moves on like nothing happened, picking up his scissors again. Like he didn’t just fry your brain. Like you’re not halfway to cardiac arrest.

You’re dumbstruck as he starts trimming the ends of your hair. You told yourself there would be no mooning over him. No pining. But here, you are, turned on beyond belief, and having to deal with the heartbeat pulsing between your legs, and not shift around, because you don’t want to fuck him up.

When he pinches the ends of the front to see if they’re level, you’re staring directly at him in the mirror. Not even trying to hide it, either. If you did try, you’d most certainly fail. Eddie frowns in concentration, a bit of a crease to his brow as he peers at his hands.

Eddie tuts. “I’m trying to figure out– is it–?” He grabs the back of your chair, and suddenly you’re being swiveled around to face him. “Sometimes these mirrors don’t even help a guy out at the worst goddamn times…”

Your breathing is way heavier than it needs to be. Is it hot in here? Did they crank up the heat in this place specifically to spite you? Eddie’s face is so close to yours, and you’re not sure if the fact that you aren’t in the crap chair is helping. You’re higher up now, and he doesn’t have to bend down as far to get level with you, and his eyes are the color of dark chocolate, and you–

Eddie’s hand comes up and snips the tip off the right side. “There we go. One side was all fucked.”

“Well, we don’t want anything getting fucked, do we?” you mutter under your breath. What’s left of it.

Eddie pauses and his eyes flick up to yours. His eyelashes are long and flutter as he holds your gaze again, while you try hard not to look away. There’s that unreadable expression on his face from earlier, morphing slowly into something like amusement, but that could also just be your mind playing tricks on you. Don’t look at his lips. Don’t look at his lips. Don’t look at his li–

“Screw it.” Eddie tosses his scissors to the ground and his hands come up to grip your face, smoothing your hair back tenderly before he kisses you.

You open your mouth and Eddie is in it, searching, feeling. His hands hold your head firm and you feel the metal of his rings digging into your cheeks, and you’re splitting apart at the seams from the way he’s completely invading your senses. He smells like warm, spicy cologne and hairspray. He tastes like cigarettes and cherry coke. He moans into you, and the sound is like heaven.

You lift your legs and wrap them around his waist, and he grunts before he pulls away just the tiniest bit to give you breathing room.

“This is highly unprofessional, Mr. Munson,” you whisper to him, as if you don’t have him caged in with your thighs.

“I don’t… actually fucking care,” Eddie admits, his nose just nudging against yours. “Got so fuckin’ hard the minute I saw you. What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

“Dunno,” you murmur against his mouth, “I’m waiting for you to tell me.”

“C’mere.” He pulls you out of your seat, and you practically trip over the smock he clipped around your neck.

“Get me out of this thing,” you giggle, letting your forehead fall onto his shoulder. You inhale a deep breath of his cologne, feeling his chest shake with his laugh.

“Aww, but you look so cute,” Eddie coos, but his hands come up to undo the button at the back of your neck. The fabric slides to the ground, and Eddie kicks it aside as he crowds you back against the table. Your ass hits the edge of it and your hand falls onto a comb when you try to steady yourself. He pulls you flush to his body, his hands caging you in. Eddie’s tongue dances over your bottom lip and you moan, lifting your hands to tangle in the fabric of his shirt.

He ducks his head to help you pull his shirt off before he tosses it somewhere to the side. You’re distracted by his tattoos, each one of them beautiful and detailed, standing out against his pale skin.

Then, you remember something that he told you earlier, and you connect some dots that you hadn’t even realized were there. “Did you draw these?”

Eddie’s grin could blind the sun. He blushes pink down his neck and shoulders. “Yeah, I did.”

“They’re gorgeous. I meant what I said before– I really like them.”

He sucks in a deep breath, and then his lips are on you, everywhere they can manage. On your face, your neck, trying to get at your collarbone but your shirt is in the way. He fists it in his hands, making a petulant noise in the back of his throat. “Help me out here, sweetheart.”

Your shirt lands somewhere near his. You don’t see exactly where, because he’s pulling the straps of your bra down your shoulders so that he can mouth kisses across your breasts, pulling down on the cups until he can graze his teeth over your nipple. It takes you so off guard that you bite back a squeal, tugging at his hair and rubbing your thighs together to stave off the incessant throbbing between them.

When you look down at him, his eyes are so dark that they’re almost black. Your heart thuds erratically in your chest, your breath not coming even though you gasp and pull at the air with everything you have. You can’t really fathom why he has you so worked up– just that it’s been so long since anyone touched you like this, and now that you have it it’s like every little point of contact is on fire.

Eddie grazes his teeth across your breast, and your knees nearly buckle out from under you. You grab his face, guiding him back up to you.

“What were you thinking when you grabbed my throat?” you ask him, your voice hoarse in the back of your throat.

His hands are on you now, grabbing at your waist and hips, squeezing like he’ll never let go. “I can show you, if you want,” Eddie answers, and he sounds just as wrecked as you. Maybe more.

There’s absolutely no way you’re going to refuse that. Not with the way you’ve been lusting after him since meeting him. You nod. “Eddie, please–”

He kisses you hard again before mumbling against your lips, “Turn around and take off your pants.”

You do what he asks without a second’s hesitation. You watch him in the mirror as he follows your movements, undoing his own belt, and you kick your jeans and underwear off without thinking about why you’re here, without wondering about the repercussions. You figure you can probably do that later.

Right now, Eddie’s smoothing his hand up your spine, and the feeling of his fingers dancing along your skin sends shivers through your body. His fingers weave through the hair at the nape of your neck, and he pulls just slightly, until you bare your neck.

Your breath hitches in your throat. Your heart hammers as you watch him, dark eyes and hair and rosy cheeks in the mirror, his carnation colored lips twisting into a wicked grin at you. He kisses your shoulder so gently it’s like the fluttering of a feather.

“‘Stumpy neck,’” Eddie scoffs under his breath, and you tremble. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

He bends you forward until you’re face to face with yourself in the mirror– but you’re looking at him, gazing into your eyes while he teases himself at your entrance.

“Oh my god,” you groan, dropping your head almost immediately at the feeling. Your head is spinning, your body rigid with anticipation and breaking out in a cool sweat already.

“Mm-mm,” Eddie hums condescendingly, and a hand clamps around your throat, hoisting your head up again. A gasp tears from your lips. In the mirror, his eyes are blazing. “You look at me while I fuck you. That’s the only way this is gonna happen. Got it?”

You nod. You want to shrink away from the heat in his gaze, but you want him to fuck you way more than that. You shudder as he leans forward, pressing in until his chin nearly rests on your shoulder.

“I need to hear you say it, baby.” His thumb strokes lightly along your pulse point, and you make a soft noise in the back of your throat without thinking. “Tell me you understand.”

“I understand,” you tell him, barely a whisper, but he hears it all the same.

“Good girl.”

Eddie grins, kisses the nape of your neck, and pulls back. When he does, you’re barely able to take a breath before he pushes his hard cock into you, and the noise you make is almost embarrassing in its volume.

“Ohhh, you’re absolutely soaked, baby. She’s practically dripping– is this just for me?” Eddie murmurs in your ear, grinding his hips up against your ass for emphasis. The lewd noise that it makes has your toes curling and the tips of your ears burning.

“Fuck,” you moan, ginding back against him to push him deeper. He’s so thick and you’re so sensitive that your mind is completely blanking at the feeling.

Eddie notices, and he chuckles as grabs your waist with one hand as he thrusts his hips forward. “I’ve barely gotten my cock in you, princess. Don’t go getting all dumb on me already.” His voice goes straight between your legs and your cunt pulses around him, making him hiss through his teeth. The hand on your throat tightens just slightly. “I asked you a question.”

You keen, your mind reeling as you search for words. You manage to nod, babbling out, “Yes, it’s– it’s all for you, Eddie, been wanting you so bad, s’all I can think about–”

Eddie coos, grabbing your chin to shut you up while a particularly hard thrust of his hips knocks the wind out of you. He turns his head and grazes his lips against your cheek, eyeing you in the mirror as he says, “I knew it.”

Your eyes are on him, on his hand around your neck, on his rings pressed into your skin. All that your fucked-out mind can think is that it’s hot, and you like him and his strong hands and his pretty eyes and the way his cock is reaching places inside you that make thoughts really difficult to come by.

Eddie whispers something against your skin, and you miss it because you’re hooked on the way his eyelashes flutter for just a moment while his lips are pressed against your cheek. You lift your hand, until it rests over his against your throat, his fingers just barely laced with yours.

“Again,” you say– it comes out like a command, but you mean it like a question. You don’t know what the fuck he just said.

“You’re so beautiful,” he repeats, and his voice nearly cracks with the desperation in it. His sweat slick chest is pressed against your back, his thrusts rocking your hips into the table and jostling it into the wall, but his voice is so tender. “So perfect for me.”

Your mouth falls open, your hand tightening on his. You pull, until he loosens his grip and his hand comes away with yours. You kiss his palm, then his fingertips, holding his gaze in the mirror as you slowly, gently swirl your tongue around his middle and forefinger.

Eddie’s eyes narrow coyly at you, while his thrusts make you mewl and clutch at the table with your free hand. You suck his two fingers deep into your mouth, earning a pleased groan from him in your ear– a sound which you want to hear again and again, no matter what it takes.

“Look at you, sweet little thing, gettin’ my fingers all wet like that,” he whispers to you, biting his lip as you grind back against him. “Wanna do something with ‘em?”

You moan, letting his fingers slide from your mouth with a wet pop. You guide his hand down your chest, down your stomach, until his fingers slide between your legs.

“There you go,” Eddie coos, taking over from your guidance as his fingers start rubbing small circles against your clit. “Atta girl, showin’ me what you want. Just needed me to fuck you stupid first, hm?”

Your cunt pulses, and you cum with a loud moan that echoes off of the mirror in front of you and around the empty space. Eddie cries out, and you feel his warmth fill you as he cums. He slows until he stills inside you, and then he holds you, panting against your cheek, his arm wrapped around your middle and his hand on your throat.

You haven’t moved your hand away from his, you realize, after a few moments of bliss in the aftershocks. You drop your hand to the table with a thud, earning a soft, breathless chuckle from him.

“Can I take you out to dinner?” Eddie asks you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

“I think you can do whatever you want with me,” you murmur dazedly, just barely shifting and making him hiss. He’s still inside you, trying to hold you steady while he calms himself down.

“Good.” There’s a kiss to your cheek, and Eddie grunts as he slowly eases out of you. “I still need to finish your goddamn haircut.”

“Eddie, we’re naked.”

“And?” His hands are moving quicker than your mind is, yanking a kleenex from the table so that he can bend down and wipe the insides of your thighs. You jump at the sudden touch, but he clamps a hand around your hip to hold you still. “The sooner I finish your hair, the sooner I close up, and the sooner we go get dinner. You like Italian?”

“I didn’t think your pillow talk would involve finishing my haircut,” you grumble, but there’s a smile worming it’s way onto your face even as you say it.

“That’s the name of the game, sweetheart,” Eddie says, tossing the tissue into the trash. He picks up your underwear, and the smock from the floor. “Now, sit your cute ass down. I’m not gonna get employee of the month by dishing out orgasms and not bangs, y’know.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #roses*#eddie munson x you #stranger things #stranger things fanfic

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sergeantbarnessdoll · 4 months ago

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New Truck » Tyler Owens

Pairings: Husband!Tyler Owens x Wife!Reader

Summary: Tyler buys you a brand new truck after your car gets damaged in a tornado.

Warnings: Fluff, language, kissing, pet names

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creator.

“Where are we going, Ty?” You asked, turning your head towards your husband.

“I’m taking you to look for a new car.” Tyler answers.

You sighed and turned your head towards the window to look out it. Your car got damaged in a tornado a couple weeks ago and it’s not fixable. You know it’s silly to be upset over a car that’s damaged, but you really loved that car. Not more than you love Tyler. He’s the love of your life.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” He asks softly, taking a quick glance at you.

“It’s just-” You paused and sighed. “I had that car since I was 16 and I really loved it before it got damaged in the tornado.” You say.

Tyler reaches a hand over, grabbing onto yours.

“You have to remember that cars are replaceable. People aren’t.” He says, kissing the back of your hand softly.

“I know.” You muttered.

“Now, show me that smile I love.” He says.

You looked at Tyler and gave him a smile. Tyler smiles back, knowing you always smile when he says that. At a red light, he gave you a quick kiss on your lips before focusing back on the road.

“You really loved that shitty car more than me? Your husband. Do I need to be jealous of a car?” Tyler says, pretending to be jealous.

“That car was not shitty. I mean, yes, it got fixed a lot, but I love you more, cowboy.” You say with a smile.

You leaned over the center console and kissed his cheek, making him smile.

“You better love me more than a shitty junker car.” He says teasingly.

“That car wasn’t shitty and a junker!” You say with a pout.

“Sweetheart, that car broke down every three months. It’s time for you to get a new car.” He says.

You opened your mouth, but closed it, knowing that he’s right. You leaned back in the seat with a pout on your face. Tyler chuckled lightly and patted your thigh.

When you guys pulled into the car lot, you sighed to yourself before getting out of the truck. You met Tyler at the front of his truck and walked around the car lot hand in hand, looking at cars.

“Can I help y’all with anything?” A car salesman asks, approaching you and Tyler.

You have the salesman a smile, but didn’t say anything. Tyler wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“My wife’s car got destroyed in a tornado a couple weeks ago and I bought her here to look for something new.” Tyler tells the salesman.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” The salesman said. “Is there anything particular you’re looking for, ma’am?” He asks you.

You looked around the lot before answering him. Your eyes quickly found the pickup trucks, specifically the Rams.

“The trucks look pretty cool.” You finally answered.

“What kind of truck are you looking for?” He asks. “We have Chevys, Dodges, Rams, Fords.” He lists off.

“Rams.” You answered. “That’s what my husband has.” You say, looking up at Tyler with love in your eyes.

Tyler smiles down at you. He also knew you would finally give in and get a Ram pickup truck like him. The salesman took you and Tyler to the area where the Ram pick up trucks are.

“Here’s the Ram trucks we have.” The salesman says. “Is there a color you have in mind?” He asks.

Your eyes scanned the trucks. All of them are cool, but the red ones and blue ones caught your eye the most.

“I can’t decide between the red and blue ones.” You say.

“That’s ok, sweetheart. You don’t have to decide right now.” Tyler says.

“I think we’ll come back another time and check them out.” You tell the salesman.

“Sounds good. Have a nice day.” The salesman says before walking away.

You and Tyler walked back to his truck. Tyler being the gentleman he is, opened the passenger’s door for you. You got in the truck and he shut the door. Tyler walked around to the driver’s side of the truck and got in.

“The red and blue trucks caught your eye, darlin’?” Tyler asks, putting his seatbelt on.

“Yes.” You answered, putting your seatbelt on.

“Hmm.” He hums to himself, starting the truck.

Over the past couple of weeks, you’ve been driving Tyler’s truck when you had errands to run. He didn’t go with you, which you find weird. Tyler loves running errands with you. You assumed that he had tornado wrangler stuff to do so you didn’t think much of it.

“Sweetheart, you home?” Tyler asks, walking in the house.

“In the kitchen!” You say.

You were putting the last of the groceries away when Tyler walked in the kitchen.

“I have a surprise for you, honey.” He says, grinning happily.

“What is it?” You asked curiously.

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you.” He said.

Tyler covered your eyes with a bandanna so you couldn’t see anything.

“What’re you up to, cowboy?” You asked with a giggle.

“You’ll see in a moment.” He says.

Tyler walked you to the front door of the house. He carefully helped you walked down the porch steps to the driveway.

“Take the blindfold off.” Tyler says.

You took the blindfold off to see a brand new Ram pickup truck parked next to Tyler’s truck in the driveway. It was customized in the colors red and blue. A surprised gasp left your lips.

“Tyler, what- how-” You turned to face your husband to see him holding the car keys to the truck.

“Surprise!” He says with a smile.

You squealed excitedly and happily, grabbing the keys from his hand and ran over the truck. You got in the driver’s seat while Tyler got in the passenger’s seat.

“You like it?” Tyler asks.

“I love it!” You said with excitement in your voice.

“Let’s take it for a spin, cowgirl.” He says, putting his seatbelt on.

You smiled widely and put your seatbelt on and started the truck. It started right up with no trouble at all. It took at least three tries to start your old car. It drove smoothly compared to your old car. You were so speechless that you didn’t know what to say. After a few minutes of driving, you pulled over into a random parking, putting your truck in park and shutting it off. You turned to face your husband and gave him a kiss with so much passion that it took yours and his breath away.

“I have the world’s best husband.” You say, leaning your forehead against his and looking in his eyes.

“I better be the world’s best husband for this.” Tyler says, making you giggle.

You kissed him again.

“I got it painted in red and blue for you, because you said you couldn’t decide between the two colors so I got both colors on it for you.” He tells you.

“Does it have those cool things your truck has?” You asked curiously.

“If you’re talking about the spike that goes into the ground during tornados and the metal bars around it, then yes.” He answers.

“Good.” You pecked his lips softly. “My truck is ready to take on tornados with yours.” You say with a smile.

Tyler chuckles and kissed you once more before you two headed home.

“Oh! I have to call Kate and tell her that you bought me a brand new truck!” You said excitedly, getting out of your truck. “I love you so much, Ty. I don’t know how to thank you.” You say, hugging him and kissing him.

“I love you too, darlin’. Your love is more than enough to thank me.” Tyler says softly.

🌪️🌪️🌪️🌪️🌪️🌪️🌪️🌪️🌪️🌪️🌪️🌪️🌪️🌪️🌪️🌪️🌪️

Glen Powell characters tags: @cevansbaby-dove

#tyler owens #husband!tyler owens #twisters #twisters 2024 #glen powell #glen powell characters #tyler owens x female reader #tyler owens x wife!reader #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens x y/n #tyler owens x you #tyler owens fluff #tyler owens one shot #tyler owens imagine #wife!reader

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melannen · 2 years ago

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How To Make Your Own Fanfiction Archive, In Just Ten Easy Steps

As the go-to "person who knows about AO3" for quite a few people who read fanfic but aren't really linked-in to wider fandom culture, I've fielded a lot of questions about how to do certain things on AO3 to which my best answer is "you should really start your own archive!" I think, in general, more fans starting their own small archives would be a net good for fandom. AO3 was never meant to be the only archive for all fandom, or even the main archive, and the more spread out and backed up we are the more resilient we are.

But of course I have to be reminded that a lot of fans these days don't really have any idea how little "you should start your own archive!" really involves. (Also, that I should practice what I preach.) So I am now making my own fanfiction archive, and writing up this post as I do it to tell people how to make theirs!

Go to https://neocities.org/ and sign up for an account. It only needs a username (which will also be your website address), password, and email. Pick a username that will be related to your archive's title!

Choose the free account option (if you ever need more than what the free account offers for a text-only archive, you should probably look into graduating from neocities.) This should take you to a menu of "how to make a website" tutorials. You should do them! They're useful skills. But let's get your archive running first.

Hit the big red Edit Site button, or open the menu under your username and select "Edit Site".

Select the "Index.html" file to edit. You're now in an HTML Editor. Congrats, you're a web developer c. 1999!

Find where it has text between the < title> tags. Delete the filler text, and put in the title of your new archive. This text will be what shows on the tab when people go to your archive.

Find where it has text between the < h1 > tags. This will be big header text at the top of your page. Put the title of your archive here again. If you have no experience with HTML, you should read over the other sample text. It covers the basic basics very well! Once you've done that, you can delete everything else between the < /h1> tag and the < /body> tag. Save your index.html file.

Get an HTML file for a fanfic you would like to add to your archive. If it's on AO3, you can use the html download option built into AO3. If you have it as a word processor/google docs file, you should have the option to save as an html file. Save that html file to your computer.

Go back to Edit Site on Neocities and go to "upload". Find the html file you saved and upload it. (You can also drag and drop files to upload.)

The file you uploaded should now be showing with your other neocities files. Right-click on the title and select "copy link".

Go in to edit index.html again. Under where you put your header text, type < br> < a href=" . Then paste in the link you copied. Then type "> Then put in the title of the fic. Then type < /a> . Then save the index page again when you're done. You can do this for every fanfic you have.

Congratulations! You now have your very own personal private fanfiction archive that you are 100% in charge of and make all the rules for. It's at least as good as half the ones I was reading on when I started reading fanfiction and will serve its function well as a way to let people read your fic. You can link to it from anywhere you want! (Including your AO3 profile.)

Blogpost version, with FAQs and discussion

Anyway, here's my beautiful new fanfiction archive made using this tutorial:

Melannen's Fanfiction Archive

(I am honestly way more disproportionately proud of finally making that than I expected to be. It's nice to have your own archive.)

If you make one, share it here ! I want to see!

#ao3 #archive of our own #fanfiction #fanfic archive #how-to #tumblr what are you doing to my angle brackets #why would you do that what's wrong with you

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ctimenefic · 25 days ago

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I'm going to need everyone to go look at this picture please

Done that? Thank you. Now you may understand why I was gripped by the need to write 3k of landoscar fisting in the middle of the night. If that's your cup of tea, please enjoy!

“Mate, I thought you said you’d prepped already?”

“I have-”

“I can barely get two inside, Osc.”

Oscar had got to four. Four of his own fingers, crammed inside himself in the bathroom of his stale flat, teeth locked on the sleeve of his hoodie because Lando had leaned over in the McLaren jet and said-

Said they could try it. What Oscar wanted. What he knew Oscar wanted, because he’d fucking nicked his phone and looked at his PornHub history like a cunt.

Well. They’d done it the other way round, first. Because Lando had assumed and Oscar- Oscar didn’t know how to want out loud, like Lando did. To bitch and beg and coax his way into things and somehow come out charming at the end of it.

It’d been fine, anyway, the other way around. Oscar had come. Lando had come, with a bit more pizzazz. Ticked off, sorted, not one for the repeat list but good to have tried it.

Except. Lando had looked across at him, when they’d taken up strategic spots either side of the wet patch, and that lax, open face had tightened up. It was still astonishing, how much Lando’s face moved when he was thinking.

“That wasn’t how you pictured it, was it?” he’d asked, quiet. Oscar can’t remember now, which hotel it was – after all, it wasn’t a night for the scrapbook. It’d had soft lighting, the kind that made Lando look improbably handsome, even when he was curled like a speech mark towards Oscar, all his softnesses on show.

There must’ve been some kind of tell. Oscar’s not sure what it was; wants to know, so he can train himself out of it. Practise in the mirror until it vanishes into his smile. Whatever it was, Lando had reached out and wrapped his big hand round the top of Oscar’s thigh where his bent leg kept him from toppling into the space between them. The tips of his fingers stretched far enough to graze against swell of his arse, pinky at the line of his taint.

Oscar had shut his eyes against the noise he’d made.

“Alright,” Lando had whispered. “Good to know.” He’d squeezed, then retreated; rolled onto his back. “Triple header soon, but after the season? When I- when we’ve won.”

So. Four weeks, and one FIA gala later: Lando whispering in his ear on the flight back from Rwanda, shirtless and slutting it up as Oscar squirmed. Getting a separate car to his fucking hotel, like he wasn’t going to hop straight back in another car to get to Oscar’s. Telling Oscar to start without him. To send pictures.

And now he’s pussying out.

“Osc, I’m not sure we should.” Lando’s mouth is twisted in concern, even as he slides the pads of the two fingers he’s managed to squeeze inside back and forth over Oscar’s prostate, faint and damning. “What if it’s, like, proper- nah, that’s not it. Propriat- Proportional?”

Oscar is breathing too heavily to gape at him, but it’s a near thing. The leftover lube on his hands has gone tacky, but he’s sweating; his fingers slip on the outside of his own thighs. “What?”

“You know. Like how you’re not meant to put stuff in your ears that’s smaller than your own elbow. Or, like, up your nose.” Lando puts his spare paw over where Oscar’s still holding himself open for him. His pale palm disappears entirely under Lando’s hand.

“Do you think my arsehole is directly proportional to my hands?”

“Could be! I mean, could be anything, like George has big feet and he’s eight feet tall, and I’ve got big hands and a massive cock, and you’ve got-”

“Also a massive cock,” Oscar says, firmly, because Lando has tried humiliation kink out of the blue before, even if he can’t remember it didn’t get him fucking laid. They’re not even that different, really; it’s just the perspective, when Lando’s hand is on him, versus his on Lando. It’s what had got him thinking about it all in the first place. “That’s not how it works, we’ve got different feet and we’re the same height, you fuckwit-”

“Yeah, but maybe it does for arseholes, I can google.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, if it worked like that you’d be gaping-”

“Took all of you, didn’t I?” And he’s looking around, distracted, like he doesn’t remember dropping his phone on the sheets when he came in, a blown up picture of Oscar’s wet fingers still on the screen.

“Lando, if you fucking touch your phone,” Oscar growls. Lando makes worrying movements towards it, even though he’s still knuckle deep in Oscar’s perfectly normal-sized arse. His wrist jostles; Oscar grunts, and suddenly Lando’s frozen, eyes back to where they should be, on the spot where his fingers slip a few fractions further inside.

“Three,” Oscar bargains. “You’ve done three before, it’ll be fine.”

Lando abandons his phone to scrabble for the lube instead. Oscar just about avoids clenching his fist in victory. Lando’s always generous with lube, hates a chafe, but now he slathers it on; when he cranes his neck to look between his knees, Oscar can see it run down his wrist, bright and shiny.

The stretch of the third is real, past the point he’d reached on his own. Four, he’d managed, four to the second knuckle, and just the tips of three of Lando’s is more. He loses the ability to shut his mouth, has to let his head fall back to the pillow and just take. Breath through it, find the place where he can relax and still hold onto the heat of it, the way every millimetre makes his cock twitch against his stomach.

The flare of pressure as Lando eases in his knuckles makes his eyes roll back. “Jesus, Osc. You really like it.”

“Fucking love it,” and he means to sound flat, maybe chuck a mate on there for good measure, but he’s breathy, voice cracking. There’s a hint of dampness at the back of his throat, past the drool building under his tongue. Lando groans, high and whiny, in response; shuffles forwards, so his shoulders can help hold Oscar’s legs up and apart, give Lando room to stretch him out.

“Lemme-” He wiggles, slightly; one finger drums on Oscar’s prostate and a thin spurt of precome stains his belly. “Just this, for a bit? And then, if you’re up for it…”

Oscar couldn’t be more up for it. But Lando’s eyes are still a little apprehensive, a little wild. Oscar can play the long game. “Sure. It’s not a sprint.”

Lando, inexplicably, snickers. “Kinda like one though. Cause, you know. You gave it to me-” He slides his fingers out, until it’s just the tip of his middle pressed where Oscar’s body valiantly tries to close up “-and now I’ll give it to you.” Oscar’s tongue cleaves to the top of his mouth for the push back in; the noises he makes can’t strictly be called words. Lando drops a kiss to the side of Oscar’s knee, just a soft one, lips together. He gets sentimental about sprints now.

That’s why Oscar brings them up.

The ache of the stretch eases with each steady move, in and out. Lando reaches for the lube again and Oscar almost wants to stop him, chase the burn – but he’ll never get to four without some compromises. When he can trust his voice again, he tries his best to be encouraging. “It’s good, Lando, it’s really good.”

“I know,” Lando groans, like he’s in pain, face twisted up. “Fuck, if you could see yourself, Osc, you’re fuckin’ dripping everywhere.”

It’s easy now, to bear down against Lando’s thick fingers. “More,” he pants. Rephrases. “You can- if you want-”

“Oscar.” Lando’s head drops forward, curls bouncing as he stares at Oscar’s arse. At his hole. It must look like a hole now, dark and wide. Not a furl, not a clench, or a pucker. A hole. Open. “Oscar, Oscar, Oscarrrrr.”

It works though. Another slosh of lube – not even cold now, warm from where Lando’s keeping the bottle close at hand between his knees – and that’s Lando’s pinky joining the rest, all four sliding inexorably in, all the way down past the first knuckle, the second, on and on and on.

Oscar loses his grip on his legs, but Lando keeps him splayed open with the span of his shoulders. Oscar scrabbles at the sheets instead for something to hold onto. It’s brutal, the ache. He wants to thrash. But Lando will bolt if he does. He locks his ankles together high on Lando’s back, just in case. Clamps down on the howl in his chest.

Lando stops moving. Oscar can’t see, couldn’t lift his neck if he wanted to, training be damned, but he thinks they’ve reached the base of Lando’s fingers. The point where all he needs to do – such a little thing, really – is draw back and tuck his thumb.

“C’mon,” Oscar- it’s not a whine. It could, perhaps fairly, be called a wheedle. He can’t quite pull off coquettish, not like Lando can when he flutters up at a camera, bites his lip. He can’t measure out his need into acceptable quantities. But it leaks out all the same. “Please, Lando. You promised.”

Lando shudders, and they both shake with it, Oscar’s body rolling like an aftershock. “Yeah. Yeah, alright.” He looks up, right at Oscar, and the fear hasn’t gone, but there’s something else there now, wildness abandoned for a softer, darker look. Oscar’s heart kicks in his chest. There’s saliva running down the side of Lando’s chin and then he bows his head again and spits a mouthful, frothy and white, onto Oscar’s arsehole.

Oscar shouts, “Jesus fucking Christ” and quite possibly some other words his neighbours won’t appreciate, and when he’s got a grip on the situation again, Lando’s panting nonsense words against the inside of his leg, and the stretch is back, the stretch is good, and it must be- he must have- It’s so slow, but Oscar thinks he can feel it, pressed up against the others but oriented differently. Lando’s thumb.

Lando rocks his way in, tiny shifts, back and forth. Past the first knuckle. The second. Down to the widest span of his hand. The palm that has sat heavy on Oscar’s shoulders, at the centre of his chest, on his throat.

Just a bit more, and it’ll be inside him.

And then Lando looks up and stops pushing. “Fuck. Osc. Are you- shit, I’ll.” He starts drawing back, careful but still too fast, Oscar’s body making sucking, needy noises around him.

In a panic, Oscar shakes his head. Not a neat side to side, but rolling his neck like a spooked horse, wild with it. Begs. “Don’t, Lando, please-” It comes out wet and squeaky and- Oh. He’s crying. That’s new. The kind of thing he might be embarrassed by, if he didn’t need Lando’s fist inside him with an urgency that borders on lunacy. “Please. I’m okay. I- Please.”

“Tell me you need it.” Lando’s hoarse with it, dark eyed. His free hand is shaking, but the fingertips still inside Oscar are rock steady. “Tell me it’s good.”

Oscar gulps for air. Beneath the howl in his chest there’s a twittering, fluttering panic. It’s too visible, his need. If he takes it all, he’ll be seen. Won’t be able to hide.

“Yes,” he offers. There are still tears sliding down the sides of his face. It’s not enough for Lando’s sudden solemnity. Oscar breathes against a sob. “It’s good. I want it. I need you.”

A sharp gasp. Lando presses forward again, eyes locked on Oscar’s face. In and in and in. And Oscar takes it.

The first time, the other way around, Oscar hadn’t been able to watch when his fist disappeared. He’d felt disconnected from it; like it wasn’t a part of his body, inside a part of Lando’s. Like it was a toy. He’d been gloved up almost to his elbow, because Lando’s latex fetish was as poorly disguised as all his other cravings, but that hadn’t been why. Lando had still been hot and tight and impossibly delicate around him. He’d still been able to feel.

But Oscar had done so much work to hide his petty jealousies. To make sure he made it good. Tutorials and magazine articles and advice forums, and watching Lando charm a room with half a smile and remembering he was lucky, he was so lucky, to get this close to what he really wanted. So perhaps he hadn’t let himself get carried away in the prep, in the build; perhaps he’d let Lando carry the conversation, goading and filthy and a little bit cliché, as he got to the point. To the fist.

And then, when he was sure he was doing it right, he’d instead been caught by the way Lando’s back had twisted, how his shoulders shook, all the strength of him pushing him down like he needed downforce to stay on the bed. He’d had the pillow between his teeth, getting it wet. Sloppy. The shine of it, of his chin, when he’d turned his head, had been the thing to rouse Oscar’s flagging dick.

Lando had asked, then, for Oscar to touch him. Said he’d needed more. Not that it wasn’t good, mind you, he’d stressed that, said it was so fucking hot, being on Oscar’s hand like a fucking puppet. But. A touch. Something on his dick. Because it wasn’t enough for Lando, to be filled. Not with Oscar’s dainty hand.

It’s enough for Oscar now. He howls. Clenches down on Lando’s broad wrist. He can hear it, the squeeze against skin and Lando’s insane application of lube. Every throb of his heart, every pulse in every artery seems to fall into time with the tiny movements of Lando’s fist. Inside him and through him and with him and all of him. He’s never been owned like this. Wanted enough for this.

When he glances down, away from the ceiling, Lando looks like he’s been fucking raptured. “Oscar, shit, that’s insane, you’re- I can’t believe-” He sniffs, just once, but obvious enough Oscar has to crack a soppy wet smile at him; gets a lopsided gleam of teeth in return. “You really fucking like this,” Lando tells him, like it’s a secret. Then: “I really fucking like this too.”

When he twists his hand, his whole fucking hand, just slightly, Oscar’s orgasm hits like a thunderclap. Lando groans through it, so loud it’s like he’s been wounded; Oscar blinks up at him, worry surfacing between aftershocks, but Lando shakes his head, his free hand pressing soothingly to the back of Oscar’s thigh. Which. Fuck. When the power of speech returns, what might be a full minute later, Oscar has to chuckle. “Imagine telling Zak I broke your hand.”

Lando swats at him. “Don’t talk about Zak when I’m about to fucking cum all over you, Christ. Fuck, you look-”

A mess, he looks a mess, cum up to his neck, his face wet with sweat and tears and spit. But it must work for Lando, because he starts working his dick with his off hand, short fast tugs, not even stopping for lube.

“In me,” Oscar hears himself begging. “Inside, please.”

“It will not fucking fit!”

It’s hard to get his tongue working round the size of the thought, the way it presses at the inside of his mouth, his ribs. “No, just- pull out and I’ll. I’ll still be open. You don’t have to fuck me, just- aim.”

“Oh, fucking hell, Oscar.” But Lando does start drawing back. He’s slow about it, watching for every shiver. It’s almost better for Oscar, coming out, oversensitive, the long drag past every nerve ending and aching muscle. If he can’t keep Lando inside for hours – for ever – this will do, this shared shaking moment. Lando’s grip on his own dick has stilled, so tight it’s like he’s staving off the inevitable; like the sight of his own hand coming out of Oscar could be enough to send him over.

There’s a final squelch of lube, and Oscar thought he’d feel empty, hollow, but his blood’s still singing with it, happy and sated. Now it’s Lando who looks desperate.

“Clench,” he orders. Begs. Oscar tries. He can feel it, where he’s still open. Cold. Lando moans, and then he’s stripping his dick, first with his left and then – Oscar’s whole body tightens and it’s still not enough to close up, but Christ – Lando switches hands, switches to the hand he had inside Oscar, hot and slick and massive, presses in close and comes, hot and shivering, against Oscar’s hole.

Oscar catches him, when he slumps forward. There’s enough coordination back in his body that he can roll them out of the wet patch. The right side of the bed – Oscar’s side, usually – is largely unsullied. He curls them both up there, bodies aligned. Lando’s dopey with the afterglow, keeps trying to run his lubed up fingers through Oscar’s hair, letting out high, contented giggles. Oscar’s pretty sure his own smile looks loopy.

“More like you imagined it?” Lando asks, eventually. There’s a smugness to it, like he knows the answer. Oscar indulges him anyway.

“Yeah.”

“Mint. You should- if you have any more ideas like that. Say. Cause we’re doing that again.”

Oscar raises an eyebrow. “Uh huh?”

“Obviously, not like, all the time. But special occasions. Championships. And- I don’t know, other shit.”

Championships, plural, sounds good. So do special occasions. He wants that, with Lando. Things to celebrate. Dates to remember.

He’ll find a way to say it, eventually. “And other shit,” he hums, for now.

#f1 rpf fic #my fic #landoscar #the season is over but my trials are unending

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f1goat · 1 year ago

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more than friends + lando norris x part four

In which your best friend wants to help you so you get more sexual experience, but he discovers quickly that he never wants to share you and your new sexual experience with others.

masterlist - playlist

warnings: smut with a plot or a plot with smut? :) minors dni! i never proofread so probably grammar or spelling errors

requested: yes, based on: something with a driver sister that’s still a virgin & lando (her bestfriend) suggests to teach her things (ofc pretending for it to bot mean anything), while he’s actually in love with her

part one / part two / part three

“Lan,” you start you sentence a bit shy, “when uh, when are we going to have sex?” You continue to ask. You feel your cheeks reddening while asking him the question. Lando looks confused at your sudden question.

“What’s with the hurry?” He asks you a bit confused.

You let out a nervous laugh. “This is going to sound stupid,” you say nervous, “but there’s this guy who asked me on a date.”

“So?” Lando asks. He already feels jealousy coming up. Someone asked you onto a date? He wonders who asked you. Fuck.

“I uh, I wanted to wait with the date for when I’m not a virgin anymore,” you confess, “I think it’s uh, it’s better for my confidence.” Is it bad that you don’t tell Lando that you want him, specifically him, to take your virginity?

“How long can you stall him?” Lando asks you, “because I don’t think it’s a good idea to rush this.”

“Uh now I already told him I would go away with you for the triple header,” you explain, “so at least three weeks.”

Lando feels a bit more relieved now. In three weeks a lot can change right? Maybe he will finally find the confidence to tell you about his crush. Maybe not. Since he has a crush on you for multiple years and all those years weren’t enough to gather the confidence to tell you…

“That’ll work,” Lando eventually says.

“So what’s next?” You ask Lando, “I feel like there’s so much you still have to teach me.”

“Relax babygirl,” Lando says, “I think we need to focus on how I’m going to pack my suitcase with stuff for three weeks in an hour..”

“You didn’t pack yet?” You ask Lando confused, “We’re leaving in an hour!”

“Oops?” Lando laughs.

You let out a soft sigh. “You never change,” you tell Lando eventually with a small smile. Then you stand up to help Lando pack his stuff. As you almost always do. It doesn’t take the two of you long. Like a couple times earlier, you secretly put some shirts into Lando his luggage. The boy is way too stubborn to pack something else then hoodies, but he never checks the weather. Something you of course already did while packing your own stuff, so you know for sure he needs some normal shirts.

“Thanks babygirl,” Lando says after he closes the zippers. He moves closer to you and presses a kiss against your forehead. You don’t know what has gotten into you, but without giving it a second thought you press a kiss onto Lando his lips. Lando smiles during the kiss. He pulls you closer to himself and wraps his arms around your body. The kiss was meant as a simple, innocent one. But Lando is quick to make it turn into a make out session. His hands are roaming over your body. Quickly he finds your ass. Softly he squeezes it a couple times. You let out a soft moan while your lips are still pressed on Lando’s.

Lando his ringtone distracts the both of you from what you were doing. You watch him pick up and say a simple ‘okay’ after a couple seconds. “The driver is here,” he informs you, you show him a small nod. He grabs his luggage and takes a couple of your backs with him as well.

“You know,” Lando tells you, “you’re a great kisser.” In the mean time the two of you walk towards the driver who’s there to bring you to the airport.

“I learned from the best,” you tell Lando with a small innocent smile.

Lando lets out a soft laugh. “Imagine how great you will be on all the other things with such a good teacher,” he tells you with the same laugh.

“We will see,” you reply.

+++

Lando sighs when he sits down in his drivers room. You don’t know what to say. He just lost a great lap time due to track limits. He would be placed second tomorrow if he didn’t lose his time. You know he’s probably mad at himself right now. Lando mutters softly. You can’t hear him properly, but you guess he’s calling himself an idiot. It hurts you to see him like this. You have been here for all his highs in formula one, but also for all of his lows. You have seen him this upset with himself many times before. It never hurts less.

“Lan,” you softly say. He doesn’t even look at you while responding, “Don’t say it isn’t my fault, I’m the one who got track limits,” he states.

“Maybe I can cheer you up?” You eventually suggest.

“Cheer me up?” Lando asks you confused.

“Distract you a bit,” you continue.

“How babygirl?” Lando asks you even more confused.

“What about another lesson?” You ask Lando, “You could teach me how to give you a blowjob.”

“But I didn’t even went down on you,” Lando quickly brings in, “you don’t have to do this.”

“What if I want to? You look like you can use something that cheers you up,” you state.

“Sure?” Lando asks you. You show him a nod. “Words,” Lando states, reminding you about his need for you to say everything. “Yes Lando,” you say, “I want to give you a blowjob.” Lando’s facial expression is quick to bright up. He’s already smiling about the idea of your lips around his dick. It even causes him to get a boner.

“But you need to tell me what to do,” you tell Lando a bit nervous. Lando is quick to nod, he grabs one of your hands and moves it slowly to his boner. You don’t wait for a new instruction, slowly you palm his already hard bulge through his race suit. Lando stays silent for a bit, he enjoys your movements in peace. You apply a bit more pressure while palming him. In the mean time you press a kiss against Lando his neck.

After a few minutes of moving slowly on his bulge, you try to grab his dick through his race suit. Lando groans when you take him inside your hand. He pulls down the zipper of his race suit. While he unzips his suit, you take a good look at him. It feels almost unfair how hot he is. His fireproof is doing all kind of things to you.

“Can I take it off?” Lando asks you. “Yes,” you reply quickly. You move your hands away from him, giving him the space to pull of his race suit. Lando grins. He kicks off his shoes and then pulls off the suit to step out of it. You keep looking at him. It feels so bare to see him in only his briefs, but then you remind yourself that he will remove those too in a bit.

Before Lando can pull his briefs off himself, you move your lips to his chest. You press multiple kisses against it, slowly moving down towards his dick. In the mean time you hold his boner in your hand, slowly stroking it. When you reach the edge of his boxers, you stop stroking his member. Slowly you pull his briefs a bit down. His hard member is quick to pop out of his briefs. Lando continues your movements and takes off his boxer.

You take your time to look at his dick. You have seen some porn movies before, so you already had an imagine from how it would look. But in a weird way, it seems more appealing to you now. Lando his member is pretty. You never thought you would think that about a dick. He watches you while you stare at his member. You notice the thick vein that is laying onto his dick, now that you think about it. His whole member seems thick. Maybe not as long as those in the porn movies, but you already guessed that those were a bit fake. You wonder how this will ever fit inside of your mouth and one day inside of your vagina.

“If you’re not sure, you don’t have to do this,” Lando softly tells you.

“No,” you quickly state, “I want to do this. Just tell me what to do.”

Lando grins happily. He’s glad you still want to blow him. He isn’t sure if a cold shower would have helped this time. In the mean time you move your hands onto his dick again. Lando feels himself hardening even more. Has he ever been this hard? You explore his dick slowly with your hands. You trace the thick vein on top of it with one of your fingers while waiting for Lando to say something.

“You uh, you can lick it a bit if you want?” Lando asks you, “Make it a bit wet.”

You are quick to take his words into action. Without giving it a second thought, you move your head closer to his member. Carefully you place your tongue onto it, even more careful you give him a couple licks. Lando lets out a soft moan. You continue your movements. You let your tongue slide over his dick. Exploring the way it feels on your tongue.

“Put it in your mouth,” Lando says after a while.

You do what he says. With a careful movement you take the top of his dick inside your mouth. You try to go as deep as you can, but you’re quick to feel some tears popping up in the corners of your eyes.

“Slowly babygirl,” Lando says, “you don’t have to take everything inside. The top is the most sensitive part.”

You remove your mouth shortly to take a deep breath. When you place his dick back into your mouth, you try to remember his words. You make sure the top of his boner is inside your mouth, there’s room for a bit more but you act carefully. You remind yourself to take your time. Slowly you lick around his tip with your tongue. It earns you another moan from Lando. Something that makes you feel good on the inside. Giddy even.

“Move your head a bit down and up,” Lando instructs you, “Try to make the same stroking movements from before, but now with your mouth.”

Again you take Lando his words into action. Slowly you move your head up and down. You let your mouth slide over his dick a couple times. Lando moans again. You feel proud that you are the reason of those moans. Without thinking about it, you take the part of his member that isn’t in your mouth into your hand. You start to stroke it, alining the movements with the bobbing you do with your mouth.

“Fuck,” Lando groans, “You’re good at this.”

His words make you feel even better. It causes you to fasten your movements. You try to lick his tip as well in the mean time. Lando is quick to start to become a moaning mess underneath your touch. You feel his dick pulse in your mouth.

“If you don’t want a taste, you should finish with your hands,” Lando grunts. You don’t act on his words, you continue your earlier movements. Maybe you do want a taste?

Lando looks at you while feeling himself getting close to his orgasm. He looks at the way you stare at his dick while making the movements that make him feel like this. He had a couple blowjobs before from different girls, but none of them felt as good as from you. How can someone like you - with no sexual experience - be so much better then others? It’s insane. While looking at you he feels his orgasm getting really close.

“Last warning babygirl,” he tells you softly. You still don’t remove your mouth from his dick. Because of his words you know that he’s close, his moans are also giving that part away. You try to take his dick a bit deeper inside your mouth. Before you know it, you notice a salty taste inside your mouth. You quick to find the reason. Lando just came.

Slowly you continue your movements from before, but you decrease your pace more and more. A couple more drops of Lando his cum are finding it’s way inside your mouth. When you think he’s completely empty you remove your mouth. While looking at Lando you swallow his cum.

“Fuck,” Lando grunts, “I could come again by looking at you doing that.”

You show Lando a shy smile. He pulls you close onto himself. Lando presses a small kiss onto your forehead before moving his lips to yours. He presses another kiss onto your lips.

“Will you believe me if I tell you that you just gave me the blowjob of my life?” Lando asks you. You are quick to shake your head, “No,” you say.

“You just did babygirl,” Lando tells you honestly, “I have never been blowed this good before.”

You laugh softly. “Maybe this says something about those others girls,” you say.

“No,” Lando quickly states, “It says everything about you. You’re really good at this babe. And you did find a really good way to distract me.”

You laugh, “I’ll remember that for the next time. Don’t beat yourself up because of it Lan, tomorrow you will fight for a lot of points. I bet you’re even on the podium.”

“If I get a podium I want to celebrate if with eating you out,” Lando states.

You laugh again. “That’s not a celebration.”

“It is for me.”

Fuck. Why is your stomach tightening because of Lando his words? This can’t be good.

part five

taglist: @booksandplushies @dinodumbass @formula1mount @words-are-cheap @allywthsr @inejghafawifesblog @chonkybonky @formulas-bitch @harrysdimple05 @vildetry06 @wherethefuckisthething @nonameishere @lauralarsen@meadhbhcavanagh @obliviatevamps @shy4turcs @fix5idiots @nightlockcornucopia @marialovesf1 @kapsylia @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @lanando4 @lauralarsen @leclercdream @agentadhd @rewmuslupin @allsouls-emma @iamshiningeuw @teenagedreams-cl @kiskso @loxbbg @vellicora @thomaslefteyebrow @avg-golden-retriever @amorydsmt @killjoynotes

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fanfiction #lando norris imagine #ln4 #formula one #f1 #lando norris imagines #lando norris smut

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airbendertendou · 9 months ago

Note

Can you make gyeongsu x reader? Fluff or something like

AFTERNOON TiCKET! ♡ han gyeongsu

synopsis : you aren’t dating. why does everyone keep asking that?

pre-apocalypse

if you have a blank blog [no bio, no user, no header or profile pic, nothing reblogged, etc] do not interact with my content. you will be blocked.

a head hits your shoulder as the noise of the cafeteria echoes around you. gyeongsu’s hair tickles your neck as you converse with suhyeok. he looks to your right and smirks before continuing to eat his lunch.

you jostle your right shoulder, only smiling at the unhappy groan you receive. “you have to eat, too, you know.”

gyeongsu lets out a huff, his chilled nose brushing against your neck as he stretches. sleepy eyes barely open, only prying his mouth open just slightly. you grin, holding the food up to his mouth so he can eat.

“so,” cheongsan eyes you both, “how long will it be now? a few months or…?”

you chew on the food in your mouth, placing some in gyeongsu’s right after. “for what?”

the table goes silent as gyeongsu sits up. he yawns, taking a sip of your drink before rubbing his eyes. “what are we talking about again?”

it’s daesu who answers despite the others telling him not to speak. “you’re dating.”

“well—“

the bell rings before gyeongsu can say more.

——♡——

you clean off the desks, eyes bouncing to gyeongsu and cheongsan as they giggle and sweep the floor. onjo nudges you as she walks by, a sly look on her face. isak trails up beside her, a damp washcloth swinging in her hands.

“so…”

you pause from your cleaning to look up at them. isak gestures to the gray hoodie you wear. “it’s official, then? this is how you tell everyone?”

your face heats immediately as you turn frantically, making sure your conversation wasn’t overheard. you pat their arms tenderly yet desperately. “shut up! shush, shhh!”

“sorry!” onjo giggles to herself as she pulls isak away. “have fun!”

gyeongsu stands behind you now, your bag and his slung over his shoulder. he looks over your figure, clad in his own hoodie with a grin. “ready to head home?”

you trek behind gyeongsu slowly, eyeing the way his empty hand swings. you ache to hold it — can feel the phantom touch of his fingers twining into your own. “date me.”

the words come out before you can stop them. gyeongsu pauses and you think you should take it back — say you hadn’t spoke at all. his head tilts and it’s so endearing you could cry.

“officially.” you pick at your nails nervously as gyeongsu stands in front of you. “be my boyfriend, please.”

gyeongsu’s mouth falls open before he snaps it back shut. he’s going to reject you, your throat closes up. you’ve ruined everything. “i— thought we were already dating.”

a confused silence bubbles around you now. gyeongsu stares at you as you stare at him. his fingers inch to yours and he grabs your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze with a smile. “the first time you held my hand on the way home. you were mine, i thought.”

you gulp, “oh.” and then you laugh, tugging him closer as your empty hand clutches onto his chest. “i think we’re stupid.”

gyeongsu deepens his voice dramatically, into a silly tone before placing his forehead to yours. “stupid in love.”

you shove him away with a grin, smile widening when he only brings you closer once more.

——♡——

he’s the perfect person for this trope me thinks <3 thank you for requesting, i hope you enjoyed!! if youd like to b tagged / untagged in any aouad content, let me know! ♡

airbendertendou © do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate my content on any platform. if you see my content under any other name than my own, let me know. i only have this tumblr and an ao3 account under the same name.

#aouad x reader #gyeong su x reader #han gyeongsu x reader #all of us are dead x reader #aouad imagine #aouad fluff #all of us are dead imagine #gyeongsu imagine #gyeongsu fluff #request! <3

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sweetbans29 · 5 months ago

Text

Warming Up - CC

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x Reader

Hesitation

Summary: Part 2 to the Hesitation series...you're welcome. You finally let Caitlin take you out on that date but it just so happens to be in New York...

Warnings: Caitlin being cute with Carson, Caitlin being in love with you - all the norms

Word Count: 3k

Sweetbans Masterlist

AN: I have heard the demand and I am offering you a MINI series. With that being said, it will be 3 parts with several blurbs attached. Also i'm using current events but in the future.

"I still don't know about this," you say as you board the small charter plane. The slow you wanted seemed to be moving very fast as the first date that Caitlin asked you out on was a trip to New York.

To be fair, you had hesitated a lot when she asked you initially. That is how Caitlin knew if she did all the right things, you and Carson would be joining her on this trip. If you had shut it down hard, she wouldn't have pushed as hard as she had.

"Too late Mommy!" Carson yells as he runs into the plan and takes the first seat he sees. It swallows him up and you can't help but smile.

You have taken Carson on several trips before, a luxury you grew up with and wanted to make sure Carson was also able to experience. But traveling in a private charter was something you would have never expected to be able to do.

"You don't have to know about this, I got it," Caitlin says as she places her hand on your lower back to guide you to the seat behind Carson. You watch as one of the attendants swivels Carson's chair to face you. You smile when you see how Carson's face lit up when he realized he would be sitting backwards.

Caitlin can see how your body eases when you see Carson's excitement. She wants to reach over and hold your hand but decides against it. She has been wanting to touch you since that night on your porch.

The trip to New York wasn't all for fun, Caitlin knew she had some business to take care of but knew that it would be 100x better than if she were doing it alone. When Caitlin found out that she was asked to make an appearance at the Yankee's double header is what sparked her to ask you and Carson to join. It helped when she had learned that Carson was a Yankee's fan and you had a hard time saying no to Carson.

The plane ride is short and the three of you color and play games. When you land in New York, you all head to the hotel. Caitlin made sure that there was a second room for you and Carson, right next to hers of course. Even went to the extent of making sure there was a door connecting the rooms, not that Caitlin was expecting anything to happen.

You and Carson part ways with Caitlin and head into your room. You put all your stuff down and watch as Carson runs to the curtains to see the view. You sit on the bed and Cason runs up to you.

"This is the best trip we have ever been on," Carson says.

"Ya? Better than going to California last summer?" You ask reminding him of the beaches he begged to go back to for weeks after getting back from the trip.

"Ya!" He says with pure excitement.

"Hey Carson," you say as you bring him to sit on the bed with you. "I need you to tell me something okay?"

He settles down and looks at you.

"Are you okay if Caitlin starts coming around more often?" You ask Carson.

"More Clarky?" Carson asks thinking about it for a second.

"Ya, what do you think about that?" You ask.

"I like Clarky!" He says with a smile. "More Clarky."

"I like Clarky too," you say and hug your little boy.

"Does that mean we can go on more adventures with Clarky?" Carson asks.

"It's a possibility," you say and fix his hair.

He nods and runs to the connecting door giving it a small knock. After a few moments, the door opens and Carson is met by Caitlin.

"Hey Little Man!" She says. Carson immediately hugs her legs.

"More Clarky!" He says and Caitlin laughs.

"Are you guys hungry? I was thinking we could go out to do some exploring," Caitlin says and Carson yells 'yes' while Caitlin looks up at you and you give her a smiling nod.

The three of you go out and find a small little local spot to eat. The time is sweet and fun. Caitlin spoils Carson to treats which earns a scold from you but she doesn't care, she thinks it's almost cuter than Carson. The night ends with Carson falling asleep on the ride back. You carry him up to your room and Caitlin asks if you wanted to come to hers to hang out.

"I don't know," you say standing in the doorframe between her room and yours.

"What is the worst that could happen?" Caitlin asks with a little smile.

"Well I can think of a few things," you say.

"What if I promise to stay on my side of the bed," she asks and you ponder the idea.

"Okay, I will come in if you stay on your side of the bed," you say as you follow her in. She does as she says and sits on one side of the bed. You sit on the other side.

"So how would you feel about me taking you out tomorrow after the game?" Caitlin asks.

"What about Carson?" You ask.

"I have a sitter lined up and it is one that I know is trusted," she says.

You sit there and think about it. Caitlin doesn't rush you.

"Okay," you say not caring to elaborate more.

"Okay?" She asks trying to calm her excitement.

"Okay," you say again. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well it's a surprise," she says with a smug smile.

You raise your eyebrow at her.

"You are just going to have to wait and see," she says proud of herself.

You nod respecting her decision to not tell you. You don't push it but have another idea in mind. As the two of you continue to talk, you slowly slide closer to her.

Slowly leaning in, you stop right before your lips connect with hers. She leans in trying to meet you but your hand on her chest holds her in place.

"Nuh-uh," you say. "What do you have planned for our date?" Your eyes are on her lips as you speak causing Caitlin's breath to shallow.

"I told you, it's a surprise," she says with a gulp, her eyes also looking down at your lips.

"Just tell me a little," you says as you place a soft kiss on her jawline, then another one on the top of her neck. She moans at the feeling of your lips on her skin.

Caitlin is lost in the feeling of you and doesn't respond. One of her hands finds your waist while the other settles on your arm.

"Tell me Cait," you whisper into her ear as you gently suck on her earlobe. She lets out a whimper and tries to get any sort of coherent thought out.

"Dinner," she says. Her eyes closed as all her other senses heighten at your touch. You drive her wild.

"Just dinner?" You ask sweetly as you move over her and straddle her. Both of her hands have been dying to feel the skin under your shirt again, she takes no time moving them there. Your bring your hands so her wrists as you guide her hands up and down your torso.

"Gonna spoil you," she gets out. Your lips are putting in work on her neck. Occasionally drifting down to her collar bone and sucking a little harder. "Get you anything you want."

You smile against her skin. Your lips still haven't touched hers yet and if you had it your way, they wouldn't.

You slowly crawl down her, leaving a trail of kisses over her shirt but all down her body until you are at the edge of the bed. You stand and make your way to the connecting door before looking back at her. Her hungry eyes, dilated pupils and breaths uneven.

You had played her. Teased the answer right out of her and she just let you.

"You are going to be the death of me," she says as she moves to get up and follow you but you put your hand up.

"Not my fault you are so easily swayed," you say and Caitlin completely ignores your hand. She makes her way to you, her hands coming to cup your face.

She looks into your eyes and the shine with something more than just lust. Before you can say anything she is crashing her lips into yours earning a moan from you which only wants her to keep you there longer.

After giving in to Caitlin, you finally push her away. Both of you needing the air being sucking into your lungs.

"I need to change up our date now," she says, her hand cupping your face still.

"You don't," you say. "I like what you have planned."

"Nope, you know now so I have to make it even better," she says. She leans down to give you a quick little peck then separates herself from you. She knows if she were to do anything more, you wouldn't be heading back to your room.

"Whatever you say," you say with a smile. "Goodnight Caitlin."

"Goodnight," she says to you before you close the door.

The next day is a busy one but none of you would have it any other way. You are currently at the Yankee's game where Caitlin's team has set up her to be on the field and meet some of the team. She made sure the arrangements included you and Carson.

When you first got there, you were all greeted and handed badges. Carson's hung low which Caitlin helped fix, warming your heart. The three of you headed to the field and Caitlin was greeted with fans. She signed some autographs while Carson was greeted by some of the players who were finishing their warm up. It was really sweet to watch.

Caitlin comes back over to the two of you and hands Carson a baseball. You stand and watch as the two of them play catch. As you do, you can't help but think about the 'what if's'. You think about how this could be a normal for the three of you. Not necessarily going to baseball games but watching Caitlin and Carson playing catch.

"Mommy! Watch this," Carson yells as he sets up to throw the ball to Caitlin. He throws it perfectly to Caitlin and turns to see your reaction with a wide smile on his face.

"That was great baby," you say with a smile.

The three of you head to your seats after spending some time on the field.

"Mommy, I'm hungry," Carson says while he adjusts himself in his seat.

"Okay sweetie, let's go check out the concession stand," you say.

"Can I take him?" Caitlin asks.

"Clarky!" Carson yells with excitement.

"Are you sure?" You ask, hesitant letting them go without you.

"I wanna go with Clarky," Carson says already out of his seat and holding Caitlin's hand.

"I got him," she says. She can see your hesitation. "But if you would like to join, you are always welcome."

"No, you two can go. Just bring me back some nachos," you say and look at Carson.

"You do not leave Caitlin's side okay?" You tell Carson and he nods. He begins pulling Cait from their seats and up the stairs. It makes you more comfortable when you see Caitlin's security follow them.

You sit and wait for them to come back, when they do - Carson is holding a hot dog while Caitlin looks to have 5 things in hers. She has two drinks, two hot dogs and your nachos.

"What did you guys clean them out?" You joke at them and Carson says no with a laugh.

The three of you snack and watch the game, Carson having the time of his life. When the game is over, the three of you decide to grab some ice cream and then head back to the hotel. When you get back, you are surprised with who is already in her room.

"Hi mom," Caitlin says as she goes to hug her.

"Hi baby, it's good to see you," she says.

Caitlin turns to you and introduces you to her mom.

"Hi there," you say with a smile and she pulls you in for a hug.

"Oh it is so good to meet you," she says giving you a nice squeeze.

"You as well," Anne says. "I have been looking forward to meeting you for weeks."

You turn to look at Caitlin because you only confirmed a week ago that you and Carson would be joining her on this trip. Cait just smiles and shrugs.

"And you must be Carson," Anne says as she crouches down to shake his hand. He is hiding behind your legs but reaches out his hand to shake hers.

"Carson," you begin but Anne waves to you signaling it is okay. She turns to look at Carson.

"I am Caitlin's mom," Anne says and Carson peaks his head out.

"Clarky's mom?" He says softly. Anne nods and smiles.

"You want to know what Caitlin loved when she was your age?" Anne asks and Carson nods. "Chocolate chip cookies."

Carson's eyes light up," I love chocolate chip cookies!" He is now fully out from behind you and is following Anne to the half kitchen in Caitlin's room.

Caitlin nods over to your room and you follow her over. Once the two of you are alone, you turn to her.

"Weeks?" You ask her. She shrugs like she did the first time you looked at her on the matter.

"I've been planning this for longer than you know," she says.

"You're unbelievable," you say. "And your mother??? It would have been nice to know. I didn't now we were in the meet the parents stage."

"She has been asking to meet you ever since she saw pictures of me bringing Carson on the floor," Caitlin says.

You shake your head.

"It isn't a big deal," she says. But in your mind it is.

"But it is," you say. "Going on trips, meeting parents - this all seems really fast."

Caitlin can see how stressed this has made you. She kneels down in front of where you were now sitting on your bed and brings your hands into hers.

"I'm sorry," she says and you sigh. "I told you that we will take this slow and I know these last few weeks have been fast. But I have no intention of going anywhere. This weekend is suppose to be fun and I believe it still can be. I asked my mom to come out because I know knew you wouldn't want to leave Carson with just anyone so I brought out the best. I wouldn't have brought her out if I wasn't serious about you. Us."

You look into Caitlin's eyes and can see the sincerity. You lean your forehead on hers, eyes closed.

"You are unbelievable," you say for the second time but in a completely different tone causing Caitlin to smile.

"You should get ready, we need to be out of here in 20," Caitlin says as she parts from you.

You get ready and tell Anne everything she needs to know about putting Carson down. She repeats everything back to you perfectly and Carson is too entertained by the chocolate chips to be phased by you leaving. You kiss his head and he waves.

Once Caitlin has you out the door, she can't stop smiling.

"What?" You say with a smile of your own.

"Just excited to have you all to myself," she says.

First Caitlin takes you to a cute little Italian restaurant where the two of you talked over dinner. Dinner is followed by an evening walk through the park. You expect the night to be done but she has one more place she is taking you before back to where you are staying.

You yawn trying to not get too sleepy.

"We are almost there," Caitlin says as the car pulls up to the final stop.

You both exit and you look up. Caitlin stands next to you holding your hand and looks at you.

"Of course," you say.

Caitlin smiles.

"This is nice but I don't think it is open," you say and Caitlin leads you to the door.

Right as you approach the door, it opens and you are greeted by an older man.

"Ms. Clark and company, welcome to the Empire State Building," the man says. Your excitement is now visible on your face as the man leads you over to the elevator.

The three of you head up. Once reaching the 82nd floor, you were ready to make your way out but the doors just open and close and you continue up to the 102nd floor.

You step out and are in awe. Caitlin watches you as you step out and take in the sight before you. You aren't huge on big cities but seeing New York from this vantage point had anyone falling in love with it.

Caitlin lets you look around before coming behind you and wrapping her arms around you.

"I don't know how you are going to top this when we get back to Indy," you say as your hands come to rest on her arms.

"Does that mean there will be a second date," she teases.

"Only if you want," you respond, too in awe of the sight still to care about Caitlin's sass.

"It's the only thing I want," she says softly in your ear. You smile.

"I'm sorry for going at you earlier. You didn't deserve that," you say.

"No no no, don't apologize," she says.

You lean back into Caitlin, loving the feeling of being held by her. You turn to face her.

"i think I like you," you say smiling.

"Ya?" Caitlin says softly, bringing her hand to come up to tuck your hair behind your ear.

You nod and lean in to kiss her.

AN: You series is here. Let me know what you think about this second part! And as always, thank you for your love and support 🤍

#caitlin clark #caitlin clark concepts #caitlin clark imagine #caitlin clark x reader #caitlin clark masterlist #Hesitationseries

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kanmom51 · 4 months ago

Text

Pool fun Jeju day 2 (Episode 5)

What JM gets up to when he has a proper wall to hide behind

JK is JM's toy - he told us so himself

Do we play the "find the couple" game again?

With those three alternative headers do I really need to write a post? 🤣🤣

Probably not. But where's the fun in that?

I guess we need to cut this into 3 parts. In the pool, out of the pool and back in the house. Or, during, after and after after, or, and this is the one I love the most, naughty JM, payback JK and double payback JM.

In the pool

There aren't enough WTFs in the world to throw at whatever was going on with those two in that pool. And yes, I am very much aware of the fact that there were actually 3 people in that pool. Not sure JM and JK were though, lol.

What strikes me funny is that we got to see way more sus Jikookery when Tae was around than when he wasn't. Maybe it was because having Tae there as a buffer made it easier to play the deniability card, maybe it was because they allowed themselves to be like that, again, because of that buffer called "the guest", lol. And maybe, just maybe, any "too friendly" activity on the first night found it's way onto the editing floor, figuratively, because, once again, it was way harder to explain it away.

Basically, with "the guest" involved in the games it's easier for all parties involved to push the boundaries without it being too much for the audiences 'allergic to queer' sensitive stomachs.

Whatever whichever, JM was in a mood. Clearly feeling MUCH better than he did the day before and out to get HIS!

Oh JM darling, your naughty naughty side is showing.

Same side a glass wall prevented us from seeing just the night before.

He was all in. Deep.

What was he up to there?

Why? Why the cut????

The amount of cuts going on. Dudes, enough with denying us!!

and this one.

Funny how there is no need to cut out the parts JK is going for Tae, lol.

And this cut here.

Once again JM getting handsy there. And if there was any kind of 'retaliation' the editors decided it was not meant for our eyes, lol.

It's bad enough those two (as in JM and JK) made sure to do his naughty behind a wall. Do they have to cut all the fun out? Well, not all the fun, but the juicy parts of it?

And then, after all those cuts this is what they decide to leave in?

Wtf was this all about?

On second thought, perhaps it's better you don't tell me, lol.

But before I do move on, do I mention that the way JK went for JM's hair like that and the way JM had no problem with it feels like this isn't their first rodeo?

Do I mention that?

🤔

Oh, and btw did JM and JK exchange their swimming trunks here? Either they did or they each got 2 pairs to start with (I'm going with option 1).

There was much more fun going on in that pool, much of which we didn't get to see. A lot of it just the two of them with their shenanigans and Tae being a spectator and some with Tae playing the games with them as well. Tae leaves the pool with the two still in it, we don't know if they stayed and for how long as that's when the editors decide we've seen enough pool play for one episode, lol.

Out of the pool

This is the JK payback part of things, lol.

See, JM needs to be punished for being such a tease.

JK locking JM out. making sure he locks every single door.

The playfulness.

The cheekiness.

For instance, what was this?

Was JM saying something? Mouthing something? Or was that him trying to flirt his way in?

And that wink.

And let's talk about this:

The 5412.

I really wasn't going to talk about it, but seeing that I've had a couple of asks about it, I'll sum it up in a couple of words.

I'll start by saying that I don't speak Korean, nor do I have knowledge of Korean slang. And as such all I can do is rely on others translations.

There are a couple of versions as to what it meant.

JM clearly signed 5412. There is no confusion there.

The question is what does it mean, or what did JM mean by it in the context of the situation?

Of course I've seen the "I love you" explanation. But other than the original account posting this explanation, not only have I not seen corroboration to it, but mostly other accounts either outright contradict it or just give another possible explanation.

Like this one:

And this is basically the same:

I can only assume that if indeed JM was saying "I love you" that the K-JKKs would be going wild (in their own cryptic way of course), which they aren't. Well, not about the 5412 thing in any case. So, I will be playing it safe here and going with it either being a way to signal JK to open the door or some other message that is for them to know and us to not.

But those two and their sus behaviour were enough to drive us wild anyway.

Back in the house

Towel battle.

And yes, JK supposedly started this.

But did he?

And I ask that because of this here:

Did you see it?

That was the full scene.

So I will tell you the 2 things I see here.

This is the 1st:

Look carefully.

JM is hitting JK's back.

When you watch the original with the sound you can literally hear the smack on JK's skin.

OMG < the abused becomes the abuser>

Bull bloody crap.

This is them being their own playful self, JM's response to being locked out by his naughty bf.

So yeah, maybe JK was the first to throw in the towel, or more so to throw the towel at JM, but he definitely was not the first to smack. And low and behold, he doesn't flinch from that smack.

And then there is this too:

JM looking JK over with intent, hands lifting towards JK and.... cut!!

Again they deprive us.

Going from JK drying himself to JK's towel suddenly all rolled up and ready to strike.

And then the 'battle' begins.

It amazes me time and time again how those two manage to find joy in just about anything, even supposedly mundane moments. Calm joy, just sitting there with each other. Chaotic joy, with their playfulness and outright chaos and mischief.

JM the trickster, lol.

And what do we make of JM commanding "STAY" to JK ?

I think I'll leave you with that. Food for thought.

I will just say one thing before I go:

People need to stop looking at them like cardboard cutouts. These are two complex human beings. Fully grown adults. Young adults, but still adults. And they are both of strong character. They know what they want and who they want. And they know how to express themselves and stand up for what they want. Even more so with each other. Those two know each other through and through. Anyone that thinks they have the right to insert themselves into those two's relationship and call out one of them for their behavior with the other need to just go...

Away...

Maybe get a life...

Maybe touch some grass...

Maybe just piss off.

Whichever it is, they need to leave these two alone. Because they can scream blue murder as much as they want, at the end of the day these two will choose each other over anything and anyone.

And let me say that once more with feeling:

They CHOSE and will keep on CHOOSING each other.

#Jikook #Kookmin #Minkook #Jungkook #Jimin #JK #JM #Are you sure? Jikook #Are you sure? Jeju

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fairyrcts · 4 months ago

Text

R U MINE ? , M.S.

by fairyrcts contents - intended lowercase , 3rd person , use of y/n , unprotected sex (not recommended) , semi-public sex ¿ , more (?)

an - just made this is 20 mins while my bf got me mcdonalds :)

taglist - @pvssychicken , @gothiccvnt6996 , @emely9274 (header by @issysh3ll )

there weren't any words to describe what y/n felt currently. at the moment, she was getting dressed to see her friend/situationship or whatever the hell he was.

he'd only texted her half an hour ago to get ready and to look nice. she had no idea what he had in store for her.

matt and y/n had met at a party around 3 months ago. to say he was amazing was an understatement. but no matter how much he acted like it, he wasn't her boyfriend.

he'd bring her lunch every day at work, check up on her constantly, compliment her, call her cute names that only belonged to her, buy her things 'just because', but putting a lable on it? no, not happening.

y/n never wanted to upset him by bringing up the fact that she wanted commitment, because she had a good thing going for her. so now, he was clearly taking her somewhere special.

usually, their dates were simple like to a coffee shop or a record store, but now he's telling her to get ready and to look fancy.

was he gonna finally ask? no, she didn't wanna get her hopes up.

she was shooken out of her thoughts by the doorbell ringing. y/n walked down the stairs of her home, her black silk dress going up her thigh just slightly.

she opened the door to matt holding a bouquet of red and white roses tied up in a black bow. her smile went from ear to ear as she saw the sight in front of her.

"well, don't you look gorgeous. here, sweetheart. put em' somewhere nice." matthew handed her the bouquet with a smirk playing on his lips.

"you seriously didn't have to get me these, y'know." she giggled, placing them in the vase just beside the front door.

"of course i did. now, c'mon. we can't be late." his voice was low as he grabbed her hand and walked her to his car, opening the passenger door for her.

after getting in himself, he turned the radio up slightly so it'd play faintly behind their conversation.

"so, what's surprise you've got planned, hm?" y/n hummed, the beach by the neighborhood playing quietly under her words.

"if i told you, it wouldn't be much of a surprise, now would it?" he obviously had a point, but the nosiness couldn't help but get the best of y/n.

"okay, but i wanna know. please?"

matt simply shook his head 'no' as his fingers tapped on the steering wheel.

"pleasee, matt. y'know i hate surprises." y/n's whiney voice only made matt harder than it was when he saw her open that door.

"you're gonna have to beg better than that if you really wanna know, darling." he turned his head to flash her a smile, only making her groan.

of course she acted annoyed, but she was more wet then ever. she squeezed her thighs together to at least make an attempt for her to stop thinking about it.

"please, matt. c'mon, it's not fair. please? i'll be good the rest of the ride."

rest of the ride? matt was damn ready to pull over and fuck her right then and there.

"keep talking like that and there might not be a 'rest of the ride'." he warned. although he didn't even try, his voice just caused a pool in her panties. but then again, anything matt did had that affect on her.

just for shits and giggles, y/n decided to keep it going by teasing him just a bit more.

"oh yeah? and what's that supposed to mean, hmm?" she moved her body so she was leaning on the middle console.

her boobs were basically in his face. he let out a shaky breath, his dick growing by the second.

his eyes wandered her body, fighting to keep his sight on the road.

as he saw the glow of a gas station sign and made the choice to pull over.

he parked his car in a spot around the back, immediately turning his head towards her.

"the fuck made you think you can talk like that? backseat, now." his tone was demanding while the soft sound of arctic monkeys filled the car.

her eyes, filled with lust, narrowed at him before making her way to the back.

matt did the same, only getting out to do so. his hands made it's way to her neck as he began kissing her aggressively.

his movements were harsh, his tongue swirling around in her mouth while she moaned against his mouth.

he took the hand off her throat and started unbuckling his pants. y/n pulled away to assist him.

she pulled his black pants down to his ankles, leaving him in his boxers while he unbuttoned his shirt. y/n took off her dress, leaving her in her black lace bra and panties.

matt's dick got hard at the girl in front of him. he started palming himself through his boxers while he mumbled compliments to her.

y/n pulled off his boxers, his cock standing up. her eyes widened as she let out a gasp.

"fuck, c'mere." matt's voice was hurried while he took off her lingerie.

the car floor was now covered in discarded clothes.

y/n moved herself on top of his dick, already lubricated in his pre-cum. matt pushed her hips down on top of him, the two moaning loudly.

he began leaving messy hickeys on her neck while moving her body up and down on his dick.

he muttered small things in her ear, making her moans gradually get louder.

"yeah, nobody fucks you like this but me, ain't that right?" he spoke as his dick unintentionally hitting her g-spot consistently.

"mm f-fuck! only you, m-matt!" y/n moans were music to matt's ears.

he kept pounding his dick inside of the girl riding him. he could feel himself getting close.

"fuck, oh yeah. who's are ya? are ya mine?"

y/n couldn't even form coherent sentences. "i- i mhm. i'm y-yours! fuck!" she knew she was about to cum. the feeling of his cock balls-deep in her cunt was almost unbearable.

her face contored as she came on his dick. her juices coating him only pushed him over the edge as he released inside of her.

"shit, 'm sorry." he panted, breathless. the two of them began catching their breath again as y/n slowly moved off his dick, wincing in the process.

matt picked the clothes up from beneath them, handing y/n hers.

"sorry i made us miss whatever we had planned." she mumbled as she shimmied back into her dress.

matt chuckled. he hadn't even thought about their date.

"it was a reservation to some fancy japanese restaurant."

y/n laughed dryly.

and the rest was a blur. all of her worries had washed away. she was happy to have him, whether he was hers or not.

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #christopher sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo fluff #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fanfic fluff #sturniolo triplets imagines #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo smut #smut #matthew sturniolo #matthew sturniolo fluff #matt x reader #matthew sturniolo imagine

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hederasgarden · 7 months ago

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Stand By Me - Part 3

Summary: When a local ranch hand’s attention evolves into something more sinister, Rhett Abbott becomes an unlikely source of comfort and protection for you. Pairing: Rhett Abbott x F!Reader Word Count: 4.8K Rating: Mature, future chapters will be explicit and 18+ only. Stalking, anxiety, and Rhett being protective. Future chapters will include some violence. No spoilers for Outer Range. A/N: Welp, here we are a year later. 😬 Sorry it has taken me so long to update. I cannot thank my beta N, @mayhem24-7forever and @whatblogisthis216 enough for their help and support putting this together. Thank you @callsignhurricane for the absolutely gorgeous header.

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed this story. Your interactions keep me writing and inspired.

Masterlist | Lewis Pullman Characters Masterlist

"I see you're in with the Abbotts now," your boss remarks, watching Rhett climb into his truck. "Got a phone call from Cecilia this morning about you not closing up by yourself anymore. That woman has a real way about her, all polite-like when she's handing you your ass."

“Mr. Anderson,” you start, rushing to explain but he waves you off.

“She was right, of course. I know you got that, er- fella who hangs around too much.”

“My stalker?” You question, your tone harsher than you intend. He looks down at you, surprised. There’s an apology on the tip of your tongue but you resist, meeting his brown eyes. Maybe it’s knowing you had Rhett and Cecilia on your side, or maybe some leftover frustration from the Sheriff. Either way, you don't back down from your statement.

“I suppose he could be,” Mr. Anderson agrees. “Anyhow, I’ve got Johnny set to close from now on. You go on and tell that to Cecilia now. One dressing down from that woman is enough.”

“I’ll let her know.”

He nods, patting your shoulder briefly before disappearing into the back office. You exhale and look back out to the empty street. It’s stupid to miss Rhett but a small part of you does. You’re safe in the store; there’s no need to have him here with you. He has a life of his own and a ranch to help run.

“Was that Rhett Abbott?”

You turn to face the owner of the voice, finding your coworker Sandra watching you excitedly. She’s got that glint in her eye, the one that means she’s not going to let this go easily. Wabang didn’t have a town gossip, but if they did, everyone knows she’d happily take the job. In high school, she was in everyone’s business, spreading rumors and ferreting out information. She never looked twice at you back then, you were too boring and quiet.

“It was. He just gave me a lift. Not a big deal,” you promise her.

“Uh, nope," she says, popping the p and stopping you with a hand on your arm. "We’re not going to breeze past the fact that you left your car here last night and now the manwhore of Wabang is dropping you off. Spill," she demands.

"We're not…," you start, an automatic denial falling from your lips before you can stop it. She gives you an incredulous look and you stammer out an answer. "It's not a big deal. We're, um, dating," you explain.

"Rhett Abbott doesn't 'date'," she tells you, eyes narrowed. "He has sex with whatever buckle bunny catches his eye.”

“He’s not like that,” you argue, defensive at the way she speaks about him. You know Rhett’s reputation, pretty much everyone does, but you saw a different side of him last night and this morning. You know there’s something more under that charming smile. He listened when no one else did and that means something to you.

“Honey, please,” she says dismissively. “That boy is nothing but trouble and trash. You best stay away from him."

“Don’t talk about him like that,” you tell her, voice warbling with emotion. “He’s not like everyone says.”

Sandra’s perfectly plucked brows disappear into her hairline. “Alright, alright,” she concedes, hands held up. “Just be careful. He might not stick around after he gets what he wants from you.”

“He’s stuck around the last two months just fine,” you fire back, only realizing after the words are out that you and Rhett never talked about a timeline.

“Really?” Sandra says, leaning in closer enough for you to catch the fruity scent of the gum she smacks noisily. “That certainty explains why he hasn’t been hanging around the Handsome Gambler lately. I just thought maybe he was getting serious about bull riding or Royal had him on a short leash after the last fight.” She leans back, looking contemplative. “Well, that was some exciting gossip for a Friday morning.”

“Please don’t spread this around,” you ask her, knowing full well she would. Although the idea of people talking about your personal life made your skin crawl, you knew if Rhett were here he’d say it was good. The more it spread, the more likely your stalker would learn of it and back off.

“Your secret is safe with me,” she promises you, crossing her fingers and winking.

Sandra spends the rest of your time together on her phone, chewing on the endless supply of gum she keeps next to the register. You’re normally not a self involved person but you’re fairly certain she’s texting about you and Rhett. During lunch, you send him a text of your own about your conversation with Sandra. He responds immediately with a thumbs up emoji which doesn’t help your anxiety. What if he was mad? What if he was with another girl at that time and you just screwed up this whole story?

You spend your shift distracted, overthinking what you told Sandra enough that you keep losing track of the inventory you’re working on. Eventually you give up and volunteer to work the till. An unexpectedly busy afternoon keeps your focus on the task at hand and you don’t even notice it’s 5 p.m. until you look up and find Rhett in line for your register, a shopping basket in hand.

He steps up to the counter and smiles. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you return, feeling unexpectedly shy. You stare at him long enough that he clears his throat and nudges the basket towards you.

“You gonna check me out?” he asks, his tone playful.

Beside you, Sandra scoffs. When you spare her a glance, you find her watching Rhett. His attention, though, is focused on you.

“What’s all this?” You question, taking out the deadbolt kit and some window locks.

“For your apartment. When I was there last night I saw they could use an update.”

“Rhett…” you trail off, embarrassed.

He seems to sense your emotions and leans forward, resting his elbows on the counter. “I think this is the part where you ask me, cash or card,” he whispers.

“Will that be cash or card?” You ask, thankful for how easily he dispels your discomfort.

After you’ve finished checking him out, you clock out and let him walk you to his truck with an arm around your shoulder. Once you reach your apartment he pulls out a tool bag from the bed of the truck and says he’ll install the new deadbolt while you get ready. A part of you wants to protest or offer to pay him for the supplies, while another is too embarrassed to draw attention to what he’s doing for you, so instead you say nothing and disappear into your room.

“Pretty sure they’re doing line dancing tonight,” Rhett calls out in between the sounds of the power drill. “You got some boots you can wear?”

“Uh…I think so," you half yell back, staring at the contents of your closet.

You have to get on your hands and knees and pull aside a few boxes to find a pair of brown boots. The last time you wore them was for high school graduation, back when your grandfather had been alive. You trace the delicate lines of embroidery around the calf, pale pink and periwinkle flowers connected by green vines. There hadn’t been a reason to wear them since, all you did was go to work and come home.

Tonight seems as good as any and you stand to finish getting dressed. The sundress and jean jacket are a little dated but they’re comfortable and look nice enough. Once you’ve managed to fix your hair and makeup, you return to the living room to find Rhett replacing the old window locks.

The creak in the floor draws his attention to you briefly before his eyes return to the window. A second later they’re back on you. He blinks and stands, clearing his throat.

“I think I’m ready," you announce.

“You, ah, look real nice,” he tells you, nodding. “I like the flowers.”

“Thanks. You look nice too,” you add, touching your neck self-consciously when he doesn’t immediately speak again but keeps watching you.

“Well…we should probably get going then.”

“Yeah,” you agree, watching Rhett gather up his tools. “Thanks again for installing that stuff.”

Rhett nods. “I’ll finish up with the other windows tomorrow.”

The drive to the bar is quiet. Rhett’s fingers drum on the steering wheel as you wait at the stoplight. You cycle through potential conversation openers but discard them all. Nothing feels right, and you realize that the sour pit in your stomach only grows the closer you get to the Handsome Gambler.

Would he be there tonight you wondered? Just the thought of seeing him is enough to make your breath come quickly and your hands tremble. You exhale and close your eyes, trying to get yourself together. Rhett is here.

When the engine cuts out you look up, eyes drawn to the neon glow of the Handsome Gambler’s sign. Rhett’s quick to meet you at the curb, offering his arm. You curl your hand around his bicep and he draws you close. At this time of night, the bar is busy, humming with energy and conversation. Rhett navigates the crowd with ease, exchanging brief hellos with a few people, finally stopping at an empty booth. You slide in and he follows.

“Want a beer?” He asks.

You’re not much of a drinker but you nod anyway. Rhett flags down a waitress and a few minutes later two cold beers are dropped off at your table. You fiddle with the label as Rhett takes a long swig and leans back, shoulders relaxing. When you sense him watching, you bring the bottle to your lips and take a drink. It’s cold and a little bitter on your tongue. Your distaste for it must show because Rhett cocks his head to the side with a faint smile on his lips.

“I can order you something else,” he offers. “Wine? Something fruity?”

“Maybe something fruity… honestly though this is okay. I don’t want it to go to waste.”

Rhett shakes his head and flags down the waitress again, ordering you a daiquiri. “It won’t go to waste,” he assures you, pulling the beer toward him.

You return his smile as he rests his arm along the back of the booth. His fingertips hover just above your shoulder, not quite touching your jacket. This close to him you can smell his cologne, faint and a little musky but nice. Everything about this is surprisingly nice, including the way his denim-clad leg presses against yours, warm and firm.

“He’s not here,” Rhett announces and you look up at him sharply. He’s still scanning the bar as he sips from his beer. For one silly moment, you forgot why you were even here, something that seemed impossible earlier.

“Should we go?” You ask Rhett.

You’d only come to make it clear to the man that you were with Rhett.

“What?” Rhett’s brow furrows as he glances at you. “Why? You wanna go?”

“No.” You shake your head just as the waitress arrives with your drink. “We came so he’d see…”

“There’s more than one way to make sure he knows,” Rhett tells you, pushing up the brim of his hat before leaning in close. You can feel his breath against your cheek. “Look to your right, past the pool tables. You see those men?” You nod, watching the rowdy group in the corner playing darts as you absently sip your drink.

“They all work at the Dustin ranch, including the one in the baseball cap who keeps looking at us.” At that moment, the man in question stands up for his turn and looks back, meeting your eyes. If he is surprised to find you looking, he doesn’t show it. He holds your gaze for a second before glancing at Rhett who smirks and waves. His expression doesn’t change but when he turns back you catch a brief flash of something.

“He’ll make sure Jimmy gets the message that you’re with me.”

“Jimmy?”

“Your stalker," Rhett clarifies. "After I dropped you off this morning I paid a friend of mine a visit that’s friendly with the foreman of the Dustin ranch. That’s the man’s name. He hangs out with the guy in the baseball cap, Rick.”

“Oh.” You stare at the table, trying to process the information Rhett gave you.

When he says your name softly you realize several minutes have passed in silence. “Sorry, I….” you trail off and look back at the man with the baseball cap.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Rhett says. “This is a lot.”

You nod, lips pressed together because you don’t trust yourself to speak.

“Line dancing looks fun,” he notes, taking a swig of beer. “Might be a nice distraction and you can put those fancy boots to good use.”

“They’re not fancy,” you defend.

“Hmmm, don’t look like nothing I’ve seen at the feed store,” he teases. “Come on.” He stands and offers his hand.

You let him pull you up and follow him to the dance floor as Vince Gill’s What The Cowgirls Do fades from the speakers and a soft, more subdued song plays. The crowd thins and you realize the remaining dancers are pairing up. Rhett doesn’t seem deterred by the change in music, grasping your right hand and wrapping his left arm loosely around your body. His palm rests firmly on your shoulder blade, pulling your body close to his. After a moment of hesitation, you settle your left arm on his bicep.

“It’s been a while since I’ve danced like this,” you admit, watching how easily the other couples move around the dance floor.

“Nothing to it. All you gotta do is follow, I’ll lead,” Rhett promises, surging forward and taking you with him.

You stumble a little but he’s quick to adjust his pace for you, whispering words of encouragement. Maybe it's how Rhett guides you around the dance floor or some long buried muscle memory from high school but soon enough you’re moving in sync. Then he raises his arm to spin your body in a circle before quickly drawing you back into his arms. When he does it again a second time, a breathless laugh escapes you.

“Atta girl,” Rhett says, drawing you closer.

Your skin tingles and you feel warm all over when he speaks those two simple words. The world narrows to Rhett’s handsome face, his blue eyes dark pools in the dim light. Your chest constricts, only allowing you to pull in shallow breaths that leave you lightheaded. It’s only when someone else bumps into the two of you and the spells breaks that you realize a new, more upbeat song is playing.

Rhett’s lashes flutter and he releases you, his gaze falling away a moment later.

“Beer’s probably getting warm,” he says and you hum your agreement, letting him lead you back to your seat.

Before you can make it, two men you don’t recognize stop Rhett.

“Shit, that you Abbott?” The shorter one questions, swaying on his feet.

You watch Rhett for his reaction, only relaxing when he smiles. “Smitty.”

“Heard you’re riding tomorrow.”

“I am,” Rhett agrees.

“Damn,now we gotta go to see that,” he tells his friend before turning his attention to you. “Did you know your boyfriend's one of the best damn bull riders in these parts?" He asks.

You’re not sure what to say so you just nod.

“You guys gotta come get a drink with us,” Smitty says.

“Thanks, but my girl and I were about to head out,” Rhett says, capturing your hand in his. “Y'all have a good night.”

My girl.

Rhett uses that phrase so casually, like he’s done it 100 times before. For a moment, you let yourself imagine a world where it’s true, losing yourself in the fantasy long enough to miss the rest of their conversation. When Smitty and his friend stumble away, Rhett leads you back to the booth where your daiquiri has all but melted. If Rhett’s beer is warm, he doesn’t show it, finishing it off in one gulp.

“If you want to get a drink with your friends…,” you start hesitantly.

Rhett’s quick to cut you off with a shake of his head. “Not with those two dipshits. They’re fun for sure but… trouble too.”

You turn to face him. “Sounds like there’s a story there.”

He waves your comment away, grinning with one side of his mouth. “Maybe, but it aint suitable for girls with flowers on their boots.”

The rest of the evening passes surprisingly easy, so much so that before you know it, it’s nearly midnight and you’ve all but forgotten about Jimmy and the man in the hat. Rhett pays your bill with cash and walks you to his car, keeping a hand on your lower back.

Once you arrive at your apartment, Rhett turns off the truck and leans forward to look out the windshield.

“Want me to stay the night?” He asks, leaning back.

You do, but you’re aware of just how much he’s done for you already; staying over last night and pretending with you at the bar. You should decline and let him go home to sleep in a real bed but behind him you can see the dark windows of your apartment and the words catch in your throat.

“Never was an Eagle Scout,” he starts, pulling a black duffle bag from behind the seat, “but I came prepared.”

You stare at the bag, surprised, and when you look back at Rhett he gives you that half smile of his, brow arched. You find yourself nodding before you can think too hard about it.

“Alright,” Rhett says, opening his door, “come on.”

That night you sleep better than you have in weeks and when the morning comes, you quietly slip out of your bedroom. Rhett is already up, a mug of coffee in hand. He looks lost in thought, a deep crease between his brows but his expression clears when he sees you.

“Made coffee,” he says, raising his mug. “Hope that was alright.”

“Of course,” you’re quick to tell him.

“I won't be able to pick you up after work,” Rhett says, following you into the kitchen and leaning back against the counter. “Gotta be at the rodeo early but my Ma said she’d be there.”

“Okay.” You yawn as you doctor your coffee to make it sweet enough to drink.

“Looks like I kept you out too late,” he observes, watching you over the rim of his mug.

“No, it was…” you pause searching for the right word but come up short. “I appreciate it,” you finally settle on.

Rhett nods, looking away. “It’s nothing.”

When he sets his empty mug in the sink, you head back to your room and get ready for work. Once you’re dressed, you reach for the beat-up tennis shoes you always wear, stopping short when you see your boots from last night. You hesitate for only a second before slipping them on instead.

Rhett drops you off with a kiss on your cheek and a wave to Sandra, who watches the two of you from the front window display. The day passes uneventfully, without any sign of Jimmy. A little after 6 pm the Abbotts come to collect you. Cecilia is warm and open, asking about work while Royal drives, glancing at you occasionally in the rearview mirror. You’ve only met Rhett’s father in passing and always found him to be an intimidating man. Tonight he’s mostly silent, only chiming in when you tell Cecilia about an issue that happened today with Donald Everrtt’s lumber order.

“That man’s got more cows than sense,” Royal grumbles and you laugh when Cecilia chastises him.

Leaning back and gazing out the window, you think about your own parents. They weren’t so different from Rhett’s and you’d forgotten how nice something as simple as this could feel. Thinking of them hurts like it always does and you swallow around the lump in your throat, distracting yourself by listening to Cecilia and Royal talk about Rhett and the bull he’s meant to ride tonight.

When you arrive at the rodeo, it’s loud and chaotic. The announcer booms something about the bull riding beinging soon. It doesn’t escape your notice that Royal and Cecilia keep you between them as they guide you through the crowd of people to the metal bleachers where Rhett’s brother and his family are waiting. Their daughter, Amy, is quick to question you once you’re seated.

“Are you Uncle Rhett’s girlfriend?” she asks, leaning around Cecilia to see you.

You stare at her, unsure how to answer with so many people around. Rhett had shared the plan with his parents but you weren’t sure who else knew the truth. Your silence makes Amy’s little brows furrow, a look so reminiscent of her uncle that it almost makes you smile.

Thankfully Cecilia interjects before you have to figure out what to say. “Yes, Amy.”

Before Amy can ask you any more questions, her mother suggests they get some popcorn. Once they disappear, Perry takes a swig from the flask in his boot, and when he sees his mother looking, he makes a face.

“Come on Ma,” he grumbles, but Cecilia pins him with a silent, angry look and he eventually puts the flask away, sighing heavily.

There are several riders before Rhett and you watch each of them get thrown from their bull with increasing anxiety. You search for him among the crowd of riders at the far end of the fence. When you spot him, you’re surprised to find he’s watching you. He grins, tipping his hat. It’s such a simple gesture, but it fills you with a fluttering warmth that lasts long after he looks away to acknowledge his parents.

When it’s finally Rhett’s turn to ride, you rub your hands on your thighs anxiously. The buzzer goes off and you flinch as the gate is ripped open. The world narrows to Rhett, the bull, and the sound of your own breathing. The seconds tick past agonizingly slow until he’s thrown from the bull.

Dust flies and the bull stomps. You stand up, searching until you find him stock still in the dirt. You make a small, terrified sound and Royal touches your shoulder drawing your gaze.

“He’s okay. Just got the breath knocked from him,” he assures you.

You look at Cecilia who seems just as concerned but then a second later the bull is gone and Rhett stands. His gaze is focused on the scoreboard but you watch him. His expression is serious, lips pressed into a thin line as his chest heaves. Then suddenly he smiles, open joy written across his features and the crowd cheers. When you look up his name is first on the board.

Beside you, Royal yells and Perry sticks two fingers in his mouth and whistles loudly. Cecilia shouts his name and Amy jumps with excitement. You expect Rhett to come straight to his parents but he makes a beeline for you, climbing up the bleachers and past people with ease.

“Rhett,” you start, whatever you were going to say cut short by his lips on yours. The kiss is intense but brief. When he pulls away, he looks as surprised as you feel. You stare at one another before suddenly he’s pulled back by an older man who claps him on the shoulder. More people push forward to offer him congratulations.

“Let him hear you one more time,” the announcer encourages. “Ladies and gentlemen, your hometown hero, Rhett Abbott!”

You touch your lips, mind working hard to process what just happened. Rhett looks back, eyes glued to yours as he’s pulled back into the ring.

“Come on sweetheart,” Cecilia urges, patting your arm. “Let’s wait for him at the other end. Less people.”

You can’t see her eyes under the brim of your hat but you suddenly realize she and about a hundred other people just witnessed what Rhett did. You have no idea what his parents must think. There’s another feeling under the embarrassment and awkwardness that you don’t investigate too closely.

“Well that was something,” Royal says and you glance up at him sharply before you realize he’s talking about Rhett’s ride.

Cecilia smiles. “He’s gonna ride next weekend in the finals for sure.”

“I knew he’d make it,” Royal says proudly and you smile at both of them, nodding your agreement.

After a few minutes, Perry arrives alone. “It was getting late so I thought it best Amy went home,” he tells the three of you, hands on his hips. “She can celebrate with us tomorrow.”

“Hmmm and I suppose you’re gonna help your brother celebrate tonight?” Cecilia asks, judgment clear in her tone.

“Yeah. Handsome Gambler,” he confirms, clapping Rhett on the back as he arrives. “You’ll be drinking for free, that’s for sure.”

“Did you consider that your brother might not want to go?” Cecilia asks, looking at you pointedly.

“Oh, that’s alright. We can go,” you say, feeling even more awkward.

Perry grins and leans in. This close you can smell the alcohol on his breath. “Great, I’ll get us a booth.”

He disappears before Rhett even has a chance to speak. Cecilia sighs and Royal rubs her back. “Nothing wrong with having a little fun,” he reminds her.

“I know,” she concedes. “But be safe,” she adds, looking intently at Rhett.

“I will,” he promises her, nodding seriously.

Cecilia offers you a tight hug, promising to stop by the store later in the week. Once she and Royal are gone, you’re alone with Rhett. He rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat.

“I’m sorry.” He pauses, looking back at you. “For the kiss. I shoulda asked if you were okay with that. I was out of line.”

“It’s okay. It uh, was good. Lots of people saw. That’s the point right?”

He stares at you for a long moment, an unreadable expression on his face. “Yeah, that’s the point," he agrees, finally before his gaze flicks away. “But, we don’t have to go to the Gambler tonight. Perry’s just… Perry,” he finishes with a long suffering sigh.

You think about how excited he was before and what tonight means for him. He’d done so much for you lately, the least you could do was go with him to the bar. There was no way he’d drop you off and home and go alone. You had fun with him last night after all. Maybe tonight would be just as nice.

“We can go,” you tell him but he frowns, clearly unconvinced. It’s late and you’re tired but it isn’t hard to manage a genuine smile for him. “Afterall, I brought my dancing boots,” you add, pulling up your jeans to reveal them.

“Alright,” he agrees, his expression lightening.

The bar is more crowded than last night and Rhett keeps you close. Everyone wants to talk to him, including Maria. You can’t help but feel jealous at the way she lays a hand on Rhett’s arm and leans in close to speak to him. She’s even more beautiful than she was in high school when half the town knew he’d been in love with her.

Watching them together and seeing the easy way he smiled at her, you wonder if he still is. That makes your chest ache, which is silly. You and Rhett weren’t actually together. Nothing, from the dance last night to his kiss earlier, was real. It was an act because you caught the wrong kind of attention. Suddenly, you want to be anywhere but here. You take a step away but Rhett’s quick to face you, his hand shooting out to grasp your elbow.

You lean in to be heard over the din of the bar. “I need to use the restroom but Perry said he can come with me,” you lie, looking over your shoulder at his brother.

“I can come,” Rhett tells you, setting his beer down.

You wave him off. “Catch up with your friends.”

When you realize Rhett doesn’t turn around immediately you’re forced to actually ask Perry. He agrees and finishes off his beer, following after you a little unsteady. You take your time in the bathroom, splashing water on your face and staring at your reflection. It’s quiet here but your mind is buzzing. You close your eyes and sigh. You’re not sure how long you stay like that, lost in thought but eventually a toilet flushes and you stand straight. You were being selfish, Rhett deserved to celebrate tonight without worrying over you.

With a deep breath you head back into the bar, searching for Perry. When you left he was leaning against the wall, scrolling on his phone. Now he’s nowhere to be found. You only make it a few steps before someone’s hand closes around your wrist and tugs you back. You spin around, half expecting to find Rhett but it’s not him.

Green eyes meet yours.

“Hi baby,” Jimmy says, smiling.

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