#my best friend makes the same as I do in our home state and his take home pay goes down $22k

[localgays2]

“You’ll be a republican when you’re older when you see your take home pay compared to the salary that was advertised!” Actually no it’s making me double down on the fact that billionaires need more taxes. Would I like to pay less? Of course! But I don’t see the $10k of taxes leave my paycheck (in my state with NO income tax) and think “well, time to defund the EPA and IRS!” I’m just angry that the people who should be paying their share are not.

[landopoet]

crave.

pairing teammate!lando x sainz!reader

warnings smut, mentions of alcohol

playlist obsessive - chase atlantic / is there someone else? - the weeknd / 2 hands - tate mcrae / sex money feelings die - lykke li / favourite - isabel larosa

synopsis what happens when the person you hate stays over for the weekend?

part one of a two part series

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Y/N, come down. Lando’s here.”

Your home in Monaco has always been your comfort place. It’s always quiet, always peaceful, it helps you detach from the harsh reality of having a bitchy teammate who, despite being your brother's best friend, hates you.

So, when you hear Carlos call for you from the hallway, you’re rolling your eyes at the feeling of peace being torn from you by the mere mention of your rival’s name.

You jog down the stairs and watch as Lando glances at you from the kitchen, the tiniest look of irritation on his face. Carlos is making him a cup of tea and you sit down on the island beside the sink.

“You didn’t tell me Lando would be coming over.” You watch as your brother’s eyes lock onto yours.

“I didn’t.” He shrugs. “But it’s my home, so who I invite shouldn’t be an issue.”

“Our home.”You roll your eyes. “It’s not, unless you’re inviting Lando.”

Lando clears his throat from right behind you, finding a seat at the other side of the island. “I’m right here, by the way.”

“I wish you weren’t.” You mumble, hopping off the island and getting ready to go back to your room. Carlos calls your name before you can make it up the first step of the staircase. “What?” You ask, annoyed.

“The season starts next week, I assume you’ve been informed about the celebratory party tomorrow evening?”

“I have.” You lean against the railing of the stairs. “Why?”

“Lando’s joining us.” Carlos states, placing the warm cup of tea in front of Lando. Your eyes examine the look on his face and you can’t help to notice that your brother is completely serious. Lando seems to have that same conclusion when his mouth parts to retaliate.

“No, I’m not.”

A sigh slips past Carlos’ lips, his head tilting back and eyes closed, irritation painting every single one of his sharp features. “Yes, you are.”

“That’s unfair. I’m not going.” You declare, arms crossed over your chest. Lando’s eyes glanced at you for a moment, gaze lingering on the way your tits looked cute pushed up like that. He shakes his head, as if to rid it of that thought. Nice attempt, considering it didn’t work.

“Me neither.” Lando says, agreeing with you for once.

Carlos pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly irritated. “Both of you are so childish. It’s a work party, not something random you can skip.”

“But-“ You sigh, not getting into more arguments. The parties are usually hosted at clubs big enough to get lost in, so even if you did go, there’s a low chance you’d interact with Lando throughout the night. That thought alone calms you down, distracting you from the fact that the man in question will be staying at your home for a few days. “Fine.”

Carlos smiles at you with a pleasant look on his face and you roll your eyes at both of the men before jogging back up the stairs. You can hear their voices fading into the background as you shut your bedroom door behind yourself, going back to whatever you were doing earlier.

There’s at least another three hours of uninterrupted peace, before you hear footsteps making their way up the stairs. It wouldn’t make sense for Carlos to be up here, since his bedroom is on the first floor, which means that the loud footsteps you’re hearing belong to none other than Lando himself. You can’t help but roll your eyes at that. He can’t seem to do anything peacefully, in race or not.

You peel your eyes away from the book in your lap and focus your attention on Lando’s noises in the hallway. He steps closer and closer to your bedroom door, and you can tell he’s about to barge in, but he notices the light coming from under the door and steps away.

Lando runs a hand down his face as he tries his best to navigate his way through your house. He opens the door that’s right beside your room and finds out that it’s the bathroom. The next door he opens is a walk-in closet and he groans in frustration. “The fuck do they need so many rooms for.” He mumbles under his breath.

His home back in England isn’t anything short of fancy, but it’s surely not a maze. He opens the next door and, to his surprise, it’s yet another bathroom.

“It’s the door in front of my room.” Your head poked out through your bedroom door and Lando turned around to face you, his eyes turning darker with a coldness to them.

Lando walks to the door you were aiming your finger at. His fingers grip the handle and when the door swings open, he sees that it is, in fact, his room. He notices the small smirk on your lips. “I knew that.”

You can’t help but laugh at him trying to play it off cool. “Of course you did.”

⟡

The kitchen tiles are cold beneath your bare feet.

You’re rummaging your fridge for something to eat. Having Lando in the house means you’re locked away in your own room, avoiding him at all costs. Which also meant that you denied dinner, saying you weren’t hungry even when your brother persisted.

There was no way in hell you’d eat dinner at the same table as Lando Norris. Not in your own home, at least.

You grabbed an armful of ingredients and set them down on the cupboard beside the stove. Bowls and utensils messily scatter the kitchen island and you’re close to finished with your dinner when a creak of the stairs pulls you out of your peacefulness. Once again, Lando’s the culprit.

“What’re you doing?” He cocks his head to the side at the sight of messy dishes and the sound of jazz quietly playing through the kitchen.

You roll your eyes as you plate your food. “Making dinner.”

“At eleven p.m.?” He slips his phone back in his pocket after checking the time.

“Are you judging me, Norris?”

Lando shrugs. “No, just curious. Carlos made food a few hours ago, but you were too stuck up to join us. And I bet it’s because of me.”

You hate how right he is and you curse yourself for your surprised face, giving away that he was right. His lips curl up at the sides and form into a small smirk. “And? I think it’s obvious I don’t like having you here.”

“I’d say I don���t like being here, but Carlos has been nice to me, so I’m actually enjoying my stay.” Lando’s eyes follow you as you take a seat at the dining table, him choosing to sit opposite of you. After a moment of silence— which you wished would last for as long as Lando’s staying with you— he spoke. “Y’know, I never understood you.”

You can tell he’s taunting you, yet still you choose to look up from your plate with a raised brow. The shape of his toned biceps bulging as his arms cross over his chest and he sits back in the chair distracts you from the small smirk on his face.

“You’ve always had something against me. Ever since karting days.” He muses, eyes interrogating and narrowed on your confused face. “Carlos never told me anything about it, so I assumed it must’ve been a family secret. Maybe the Sainz just hated my family name.”

You snort at the conclusion. “My dad barely knows who you are, don’t flatter yourself.”

“I’m not.” He’s quick to defend himself, his voice monochrome and calm. “I think the only reason you hate me is because you feel inferior to me. Which, if I must say, is completely understandable, given that I am better than you in any way, shape or form.”

You stare at him with disbelief. Was he being serious or was this his way of trying to befriend you? He’s making a complete fool of himself with that little rant of his, and you weren’t even sure what it was about. Half of that was complete nonsense, considering you are the one winning races left, right and centre. “What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” He sneers, leaning closer to you across the table. You feel his gaze on your face, studying and focused, as if he was trying to get under your skin. But to no avail.

You finish up your food and pick your plate up, getting ready to walk away. “You’re delusional, Norris. Last time I checked, you hated me first and for no reason, so there’s no need for you to try and study my behaviour. Maybe you should reflect on yours.”

And with that, you walk back to the kitchen, leaving Lando sitting alone in the dining room, a small smirk plastered on his face.

⟡

The blasting music of the club, paired with the luminescent lights and LEDs lining the ceiling made you that much more excited to get drunk.

The atmosphere of the building was unlike any other place you had attended F1 parties at. It was less formal, therefore more crowded and cosy. The bar caught your eye immediately upon arrival, and you made a beeline to it.

You had every intention to swallow more alcohol than you know can handle, to feel the aching bitterness in the back of your throat from the shots you know you’ll do, to feel your brain get dizzy with your drunkenness.

Ordering a round of shots for you and some other drivers, you made your way to the table your brother chose to occupy. You gently placed the tray with twelve shot glasses on the table, before placing yourself between Max and Daniel.

Each man picks up a shot glass, raising it up in the air with a small salute, before downing it all without a chaser. You put your glass back and noticed one of them untouched.

“Lando, mate.” Charles calls for him, seemingly able to pull the Brit out of his focus on his phone. “You didn’t do a shot.”

Lando shook his brown head of curls. “Don’t wanna.”

Your brother simply shrugged when you made brief eye contact, raising your eyebrows in surprise. Then, you grabbed Lando's shot glass and downed it, bringing it to your lips in a "cheers."

Daniel grinned widely as you placed the glass back, his arm around the back of the sofa as he told you how Lando stopped drinking alcohol a few months ago, after some epiphany about drinking.

You knew that was wrong, because Lando downed each bottle of champagne he had after winning second place to you, especially the race he nearly won in Abu Dhabi right before the break. It felt silly whenever he’d be on the podium with you, because that’s the only time you could really feel his deep hatred for you.

With spurts of champagne escaping his bottle, Lando would spray anyone but you.

It’s not that big of a deal, honestly. You prefer it that way, as your suit doesn’t soak in as much of the smell as it would if Lando contributed to drowning you as a celebration.

Your eyes scan the room, watching all the other drivers having a fun time on the dance floor. Daniel sprung to his feet upon hearing his name fall from your lips, watching as you extended a hand and he took it almost instantly. You turn around and down your third shot before dragging Daniel into the crowd of strangers and drivers, limbs in the air as they dance to the music.

The lack of space on the dance floor forced you to dance a little closer to Daniel. You were intoxicated but not enough to ignore the way his fingers snaked around your waist. Daniel's hands wrapping around you melted your insides to mush, blood pouring to your cheeks and staining them crimson.

The view of you two made Lando’s blood boil.

He hated it. Hated every bit of watching you dance against his ex-teammate, as if it’s some sort of tactic to make Lando pissed. He notices the glimmer in your eye when you look at Daniel and briefly look back at Lando, some feeling of jealousy planting itself in the pit of his stomach. Whatever you’re doing, it’s working.

Lando’s eyebrows sit low on his forehead, crease in the middle of them as he tries his best not to look at you two. He can’t help it, though. You’re in his peripheral vision and his eyes seem to follow you everywhere, seeming to have a mind of their own.

“Oh, fuck no.” Carlos’s Spanish accent rings in Lando’s ears as he watches his best friend stand up and make his way to the dance floor. A small smirk paints itself across Lando’s features, seeing Carlos practically pull Daniel away from you.

Daniel comes back to the table with his tail between his legs, shoulders slumped and head hung low in faux guilt. He downs his second shot before sitting down beside Max.

“Didn’t work?” Max asks, accepting Daniel’s offering of going outside for some air. “I told you he wouldn’t let you.”

Lando hears their conversation as they walk away. Daniel says he’s still got the whole night to convince Carlos that he’s good enough for you, and that thought alone pierces Lando’s chest, for whatever reason.

You notice the absence of Daniel and Max at the table, finally left alone by your older brother. Carlos is protective of you and it’s sweet, but it gets too much. There was no chance you were sleeping with Daniel, but having a little fun doesn’t hurt, right?

Carlos is convinced it does hurt, he’s convinced every guy you’ve ever spoken to wants to hurt you by being so sweet. Maybe that’s why he’s not so adamant you stay away from Lando. He knows Lando seems like he’d do anything to hurt you, but through the eight years of their friendship, Lando hasn’t laid a single hand on you.

Not since karting days, anyway.

You and Lando were wild as children. Evil grins decorating your lips as you got ready to tease each other by pushing one another into the barricades of the track. Karting was fun and took little effort, now that you look back on it, but you were small and it took a toll on you every time Lando would get in your way.

It got so annoying that, one time, you got out of your kart and jumped onto his, strangling him in the process as you tried to sabotage whatever he would have achieved that day.

You learnt not to do that if you wanted to keep your seat in the team. That’s when Lando began having his fun, knowing you couldn’t do anything physically to him anymore. He started poking fun at you, making sure to really get under your skin to the point where your fists were held so tightly your knuckles turned white, but you wouldn’t lunge at him like you used to.

Everyone thought it was something you’ll grow out of, but Lando kept having his fun even after both of you got into Formula One.

You thought he’d mature, but as he once told your brother, he’s happy where he is and seems to have no intention of changing his behaviour with you.

Recently, he’s been reconsidering it.

He thinks about you more than he’d like to admit. Hell, he could never admit it out loud, even if he wanted to. Lando feels as though he’s ruined any chance of you seeing him as anything other than a rival. He doubts you’d want to know him beyond what’s said on his Wikipedia page, anyway.

Not that he’s read yours, or anything. He doesn’t need to. Lando’s known you for enough time to remember the small details. And your brother rambling about you surely added onto the mental notes Lando kept of you.

All it took was to observe you to fall in love.

Lando shakes that thought out of his head, watching as his two friends come back from getting fresh air. Carlos has been talking to Charles, and to Lando, about something to do with the new car for Ferrari, but Lando was far too busy watching the way the skirt of your dress caressed your thighs as your fingers slowly lifted it up in sync to the lyrics of whatever song was playing.

There was no reason for Lando to get up as fast as he did. The other guys at the table looked unamused as Lando made his way to the DJs table, asking if he could play around for a bit. The DJ, clearly shocked that Lando Norris was speaking to him, immediately agreed and let him take over.

First thing Lando did? Change the fucking song.

He couldn’t bear seeing you reveal the tender skin of your thighs to every stranger in this god damned room. He felt as if he deserved to be the only one to see it, even though he wasn’t. Let a boy dream.

Your eyes scanned the room to find the DJs table, confused as to why the song was changed, and when you found it, they rolled to the back of your head. Of course Lando would be behind your ruined fun. When your eyes meet his, you get even more irritated by the dumb smirk on his face. You have half a mind to go wipe it off his face, either with your fist or with your lips. Both would work.

Lando’s eyes follow your figure as he messes around with the songs, his only focus being you and the glimpse of the back of your legs as you sit at the bar. He watches as you order a drink, the bartender winking at you as he places the glass in front of you. Lando rolls his eyes, going back to entertaining the people on the dance floor.

You feel a chill run down your spine, feeling uncomfortable with the conversation going on between you and the bartender. Carlos, as if he had a feeling, comes up from behind you and pulls you away by your arm. This was one of the rare moments you were thankful for his interruption.

He brings you back to the table and you sit between Max and Daniel again, watching as they down another round of shots they ordered. You quickly finished your margarita, joining the men and taking a shot glass into your hands.

“Slow down,” Carlos warns, a hint of worry tainting his stern voice. You look right at him as you press the glass to your lips before throwing your head back and downing it. Carlos rolls his eyes before doing the same.

It's another hour of you sitting by the table and talking to them about whatever topics you decided to dissect. It started off with Daniel asking about your last season, Max continuing and somehow talking about his cats, Charles started rambling about his interest in piano and you rambled about Carlos’ inability to cook pasta without leaving it rock solid (to which Charles could relate.)

“You wanna get some fresh air?” Daniel nudges you with his elbow, your eyes following Max and him as they get up. You rise to your feet and Carlos is too drunk to mind you leaving with his two friends, so you quickly swivel between the drunk strangers and outside through the backdoor. You’re sure that’s not allowed, but Max opened it for you and you couldn’t resist.

Daniel leans back against the brick wall of the neighbouring building while Max stands by the door, his foot keeping it open so you’re not locked out. You squat down and copy Danny, leaning back against the wall with your head raised high.

Max is the first to break the silence. “Why’s Carlos so protective of you?”

“Dunno.” You shrug, the too-many shots finally getting to your head. “He’s just… I don’t know. I guess it’s what a big brother does.”

“Right.” Daniel nods, yet his head still cocks to the side. “Why doesn’t he do that with Lando?”

You snort at the question. “Does Lando dance with me or wrap his arms around my waist in a crowd of strangers?”

“Well, no. But he looks at you like he’s in love, or something.” Max points out. You can’t tell if it’s his drunken state that’s causing him to speak such nonsense, so once again, you can’t help but giggle at that.

“Right.”

A new silence settles in and you’re enjoying the fresh air, feeling how the coldness of winter is slowly creeping away and the warmth of spring replaces it.

The door is pushed open and Max nearly falls on you when Lando bursts outside. He looks at Daniel, then Max, and when his frantic eyes finally land on you, his gaze softens. “Get up.”

Your mouth opens to reply with denial, but the look on Lando’s face as he holds the door open for you makes you immediately rise to your feet. When you approach him, he softly grabs your arm and pulls you inside, while Daniel and Max give each other a knowing look.

“Where are we going?” You yell for Lando to hear over the loud music. He leads you both to the table where he hands you your purse and continues to pull you with him. “Lando!”

“Home.” Is all he says, and he’s dragging you outside through the front entrance, making his way to his car. You don’t protest, intrigued with the igniting feeling of his touch on your skin. It sends sparks through your body, making you more dizzy than the alcohol did.

He opens the passenger seat door for you and helps you in. You’re about to reach for the seatbelt when you feel Lando reach over and buckle you up, his chest at eye-level and you can’t help but catch a peek of his bare chest through his unbuttoned shirt. Lando notices your eyes soak in the view of him, your eyebrows raising just a tad before you look away.

When Lando gets into the driver's seat, he turns to you as if he wanted to say anything, but when he notices you looking out the window, seemingly upset, he drops it and starts the car.

The car ride is quiet for the first five minutes, before he breaks the silence. “You shouldn’t have drank so much.”

Your already annoyed self turns to face him. “You dragged me home early and now you’re parenting me?”

Lando sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not parenting you. I’m just… looking out for you.” The look on his face wants to seem like he’s kidding or teasing, but shades of his genuine feelings shine through.

“Why the fuck would you do that?” You ask, trying your best to hold back a laugh. “You’re so set on ruining any fun I have, yet you’re looking out for me.”

Lando feels his chest tighten, so he makes up an excuse. “Your brother asked me to.”

“Of course he did.”

That wasn’t entirely a lie. Carlos did ask Lando to drive you home before you even got to the club, that’s why Lando wasn’t drinking. He bullshitted some excuse to Daniel about how he realised drinking is not his thing, knowing damn well he wanted to get wasted the second he saw you carrying back those shots with a little sway in your hips. But he figured getting drunk by looking at your body was better than alcohol, anyway.

Carlos didn’t ask Lando to look out for you. His request was to drive you home, so Lando’s not sure why he’s helping you out of the car or opening the front door for you, or why he’s following you into your room.

“You can tell Carlos I’m capable of getting into bed myself, he didn’t need to ask you to tuck me in.” You roll your eyes, pulling off your jacket and dropping it on the armchair. Lando stands in the doorway watching you get into bed.

“He cares about you.” Lando points out, slowly making his way into your room and leaning back against your desk, standing right in front of your bed. “Maybe start to appreciate that.”

“Oh, please.” You plop back against your pillows. “Did Carlos also ask you to lecture me?”

“No,” Lando shrugs, your eyes following his rising shoulders and gazing lower to the unbuttoned shirt. “I’m just saying.”

“You could try shutting up once in a while.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head. If he keeps talking, you’re sure you’ll either punch him or yourself. Being in the same room with the person you hate yet crave is so unbearable. Especially when the person in question is Lando.

“Don’t wanna.”

Lando’s gaze burned into you as he stood there, his eyes challenging and lips pulled into a teasing smirk. Your eyes held contact with his, the pit in your stomach growing with each second. The air felt like it suddenly disappeared from your room and you could tell Lando felt it, too.

“You should.” You finally say. “You’d look smarter.”

Lando’s mouth opens with a quiet chuckle, his Adam’s apple rising and falling, and hypnotising you. The pit in your stomach grows as your eyes continue exploring his facial features. His jaw is so sharp, yet so delicate, and the way it pairs with his fierce eyes makes you weak in the knees.

Your eyes are focused on his lips when they part. “If it bothers you so much, why don’t you come over here and shut me up yourself?”

Lando finds it amusing how your pretty little lips part in surprise after the words leave his mouth. It’s interesting to him how much you want him, despite making it so clear that he’s the last person you wanna be talking to.

Lando’s enjoying this, meanwhile you have no idea how to feel.

There’s a weird feeling in your chest, apart from your rapidly beating heart. The sudden change in Lando’s eyes after he says those words makes you that much more nervous. You’re not even sure why you’re nervous. Maybe it’s the piercing gaze of his that burns into your skin, or maybe it’s the fact that your legs seem to have a mind of their own, as you stand up.

His eyes follow your figure as you approach him, mainly focused on that sway in your hips that he’s been addicted to since the start of the night. He thinks it should be criminal to look that good in your little black dress, only so he could be the one to punish you for it.

When you’ve stopped two steps in front of Lando, his calloused hands find your waist and he pulls you against him. You feel the warmth seeping in through his button-up and it clashes so perfectly with the chills he’s sent down your spine.

Lando watches as you lean in, closer and closer, your faces mere inches apart. And when he expects you to kiss him, you look him dead in the eyes and say, “get out of my room.”

The shocked look on his face sends satisfaction through your body and the way it slowly falls into disappointment makes you wonder what he expected of you.

His hands slowly slip away from your waist and he pulls himself away from you, not sparing a glance your way as he closes the door behind himself.

⟡

The next morning is everything you expected it to be— awkward, silent, uncomfortable.

Your place in the kitchen and Lando’s place in the living room seem to be so separate, yet it feels like all your thoughts are floating around in a bubble above your heads. You keep stealing glances of Lando, hiding your gaze from him, and he keeps watching you shamelessly.

He doesn’t care anymore about your rivalry. It bothers him that he had you right there, practically in his hands, yet he managed to somehow lose that. And he’ll do whatever it takes to make you his.

“When is Carlos coming back?” He yells from the couch in front of the TV. Your eyes rise from your cereal bowl and lock onto his.

Both your shoulders rise with a shrug. “Dunno. I think he went to Charles’ for the weekend.”

Lando turns back to the TV, a new thought brewing in his mind and his hypothetical bubble pops with the idea. He has a whole weekend with you and that’s enough time, he reckons.

Lando turns his head back to you when you speak. “When are you leaving?”

It comes out an awful lot more rude than you intended it to be, but it’s just the way you’re used to talking to Lando.

He repeats your action and shrugs. “Sunday, maybe.”

“Cool.”

His green eyes watch as you get up off of the dining chair and make your way to the kitchen sink, that addicting sway of your hips turning his mind into mush. His legs work faster than his mind and next thing he knows, he’s in the kitchen with you.

You see from the corner of your eye him opening the fridge and taking a can of diet coke out, and when he walks past you, he makes sure to gently touch your waist as if he was softly guiding you out of his way. “Sorry.”

Lando wished he could’ve seen the look on your face when his hips softly brushed past your behind, his fingers barely gripping your waist, yet the feeling of his warm touch managed to send a million bolts of heat through your body.

You stand there, wide eyed, your slightly panicked gaze following Lando’s figure as he walks away and back to his spot on the couch. He doesn't seem affected by that at all and you choose to ignore the flutter in your chest when he looks back at you again.

⟡

The sky had changed colours by the time you got out of the shower. The subtle shades of pink and orange turned into black, slowly disrupting the peace of turquoise that you loved to watch.

Lando noticed the change too, beginning to miss your anxious presence in the living room. He shuts off the television and places the remote on the coffee table, leaving all of his other stuff scattered along the glass surface.

His heavy footsteps weigh on the stairs, but you’re far too focused on your skincare to hear anything other than the soft music playing from your phone.

You’re trying your best to focus on anything but Lando.

He’s the only thing on your mind ever since he came here. You’d like to say that you’ve only thought of him romantically since the thing that happened in your bedroom last night, but you’d be lying to yourself. Lando has been on your mind in the romantic way since you both were sixteen, the one time you both got a podium and he gave you a toothy smile, the look on his face enough to make you forget about your rivalry.

And his stay here, as much as you can tolerate it, is slowly making you lose your sanity.

He’s been touching you gently all day, playing it off as if you were in his way, when there was clearly enough room for him to step by. And not to mention the use of petnames. Hearing ‘darling’ fall from his lips made your knees buckle each time.

You decided to shower after he scooted closer to you on the couch, his thigh brushing up against yours, the fabric of your satin shorts riding up just enough to make Lando’s mind reel.

The shower was good enough of a distraction, as you began to focus more on yourself than the man in the house.

And just as you settle in with the fact that this is your new life for the next few days, the bathroom door swings open and Lando peeps in. The sound of a slap echoes through the room as his palm finds his eyes. “I am so sorry.”

“Lando, what the fuck! Get out!” You throw a random towel at him, the white fabric perfectly landing to cover his head.

The curly haired man quickly scrambles to close the door, yelling sincere apologies because, despite seeming like it, this wasn’t another one of his teases. He’s still so lost around your house and he thought this was his bathroom, but turns out that’s far from it.

Despite that being horribly embarrassing for the both of you, Lando couldn’t rid his mind of the image— your hair falling so beautifully on your shoulders, your back dripping with the last few drops of water, the white towel hugging your body so nicely, leaving little to the imagination as it tightly wrapped around your ass.

And the image of your breasts, once again pushed up and so visible in the reflection of the mirror, suddenly made all the blood in his body target one specific location.

It takes Lando two doors to find his bedroom, and he locks the door the second he steps inside. He doesn’t waste time unbuttoning his shorts, his hands quickly pushing them down to his thighs. Lando’s back rests against the pillows on his bed, eyes squinting shut to try and preserve the vibrant image of your body as his hand tugs down his pre-cum soaked boxers.

His slender fingers wrap around his length as his mind completely warps the whole event that just happened.

Lando imagines himself stumbling into the bathroom, you standing there and looking at yourself in the mirror. Instead of you rushing him to leave, you grabbed his hand and pulled him into the bathroom. Instinctively, his hands wrapped around your waist, but you softly guided his left hand down to your entrance.

Lando can’t help but whimper as he imagines how wet you’d be for him. His hand slowly pumps his cock, applying pressure from time to time, eyes still glued shut.

He imagines you peeling the towel off— agonisingly slow just like the tease you are— to reveal those beautiful breasts he’s been dreaming of seeing. He feels a shock go through his body as his hand speeds up, an orgasm soon to flood his mind.

So he makes the most of it.

Lando imagines himself pulling you in and kissing your lips, fingers still softly touching you down there. Multiple moans and whimpers leave his mouth as he imagines all he’d do to you, and everything he’d let you do to him. He doesn’t hold back at all, your name falling from his lips without any fear of you hearing him.

And you do.

You hear every single moan and whimper, and the sounds of him masturbating to the image of you. For the past eight minutes, your ear has been pressed to the surface of your wooden door, trying to hear every sound he makes, no matter how loud or quiet.

With the final pump of his hand, Lando comes undone, strings of his cum coating the surface of his abdomen and hands.

You hear a deep, throaty groan leave his mouth and the deep breaths that follow after, and you can only imagine how pretty he must look with his curls stuck to his forehead, eyes closed shut and mouth parted in pleasure.

That image alone was enough to make your knees buckle and a certain warmth fill your belly.

It takes you another twenty minutes to gather the courage and walk downstairs. You decide to distract yourself and go grab a bottle of water from the fridge, in an attempt to calm yourself.

The clock on the wall shows 2:43am.

You didn’t realise you spent nearly four hours in the shower, going to such drastic lengths to avoid being in the same room as Lando. And even that didn't work.

Somehow, whether on purpose or by accident, Lando is always where you are.

As you grab yourself a cold bottle of water, you remember when, back in your karting days, Lando got incredibly upset about his DNF. He was stomping around in his racer room and you heard all of it through the thin drywall separating you.

Next thing you knew, Lando had swung your door open, entered your room and slammed the door shut. All he did for the following twenty minutes was sit in your chair, staring at the floor with his eyebrows halfway down his face. You had never seen him so upset, so naturally that made you worry.

He ignored you asking if he was okay and simply sat there, looking at one spot as if it had been at fault for his crash into turn six.

That moment felt like it was a change.

After that, you spent more time together. Just in silence. And it reminded you of earlier today, Lando sitting on the couch when you sat down next to him and both of you watched the TV, just in silence.

Heavy footsteps cut you off from your train of thought, a gulp of water getting caught in your throat when you feel Lando walk through the kitchen.

“Can’t sleep?”

You’re not sure what this new feeling is, but there’s a warmth that fills your body at the sound of his low and raspy voice. You turn towards him, your eyes slightly wider than usual. It doesn’t help that he’s shirtless.

You watch his bare chest flex as he leans on the kitchen island, watching you with piercing green eyes. Quickly blinking, you turn your gaze to anywhere but him. “Yeah. You?”

His burning eyes watch you standing there, the bottle of water still in your hands. You feel yourself growing more nervous at the intense stare he holds on you, your hand slightly trembling.

Lando nods, his thick neck constricting in some parts, making your mouth run dry with how badly you want to kiss it. “Same.”

“Do you want a drink?” You ask, motioning to the water bottle in your hand. Lando briefly nods, his amused eyes still focused on the crimson shade that’s infiltrating your cheeks.

You turn around, your back facing him so you don’t show how red you got from his green eyes boring into you. You grab a glass from the highest cupboard, your shirt lifting enough to reveal your black, silk sleeping shorts that are a bit too short, causing Lando’s eyes to wander, as if he hadn’t already checked you out multiple times today.

With a trembling hand, you give him the glass and he smirks at your nervousness. He takes it from you, his fingers lingering for an extra moment before letting go. His eyes stayed on you as he took a few gulps of the water before finally looking away. You caught yourself watching the way the muscles on his arms swelled as he moved, almost hypnotising you.

Lando catches your fixated gaze again, but you’re too busy ogling at his biceps to notice how intensely he looks at you. Not that you hadn’t noticed it before.

“Thank you.” He says, handing you the glass and watching your fingers wrap around it, his mind travelling back to what he was thinking of upstairs.

You nod as if to say ‘no problem’, a tight-lipped smile on your lips. You stand there for an extra few seconds, your eyes stuck on Lando’s as you bite the inside of your cheek. After realising how weird that was, you turn around and place the glass in the sink. Lando expects you turn back around, but his eyebrows knit together when you stand with your back to him for a bit too long.

You just can’t bring yourself to turn back around, knowing you’d break under the weight of only his gaze. It’s already been too long of a moment with him in the kitchen, and you should have gone upstairs the second you heard him come downstairs, because whatever he came here for isn’t the only thing he’ll be leaving with.

Lando watches you, so still and so nervous. He can practically feel the anxiety bouncing off your skin and that excites him. He feels his voice rumbling in his throat before he even thinks to say anything. “Turn around.”

The stern tone to his unusually deep voice made you shiver, so you almost immediately turned around, eyes on the ground. Lando makes his way around the kitchen island to stand in front of you. You see his black Nike socks come into view and the flutter in your chest multiplies by a million.

Lando places his pointer finger under your chin, slowly raising your face to look at him. When your eyes finally lock onto his, you feel the palm of his hand cup your cheek and his thumb softly caresses it. His other hand softly wraps around your waist and pulls you in closer, your arms subconsciously wrapping around his neck.

You don’t notice how both of you start leaning in, little by little, the distance between your faces growing smaller. There’s an uncertainty in your chest, but Lando makes it go away when his lips part and he stops moving closer.

“Why haven’t you told me to stop?”

You look up at him, noticing the genuine look on his face. You lean in closer, your breath warming Lando’s lips as he anticipates your next move. He feels the soft pressure of your lips on his and then you pull away.

“Maybe I want you to kiss me.”

“I won’t be able to stop if I do, baby.”

You push back a few of the curls that are sticking to his forehead. “Then don’t.”

Lando only needed to hear the confirmation of what he already knew, and his lips immediately clashed with yours again. He feels your fingers softly tangle in his hair, your mouth parting enough for his tongue to slip in.

His fingers dig into your hips, his head moving to the side and deepening the kiss. His teeth softly pull on your bottom lip, earning a quiet whimper to escape your mouth.

“Feel me,” he mumbles against your lips, still sloppily making out with you in the kitchen of you and your brother’s shared home. Fuck. Carlos would kill Lando if he knew what was happening right now.

When you don’t touch him, he grabs one of your hands and slowly traces it down his chest. “Feel how hard I am.”

You bring your hand down, gentle fingers wrapping around his clothed dick. He’s practically throbbing in your hand. When you softly add pressure, he moans.

“Don’t do that, baby.”

You smirk against his lips. “And what if I do?”

When you palm him again, Lando grabs your wrist and tears it away from himself. “Don’t.”

The tone of his voice was enough to make your insides turn to mush. So aggressive, so mean, so hungry. Hunger, that’s what it was.

Lando was hungry for you, for the taste of you, feel of you. Ever since he saw you in that little dress, hips swaying and all. He felt himself twitch again just at the memory of it.

“What if I want to?” You push him further, your hand now resting on his abs, slowly tracing the faint happy trail down to his waistband. “What if I want to touch you?”

Lando’s hand came to cup your face while the other stayed on your hip. He softly snaked his hand around your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back. Softly enough as to not hurt you, aggressively enough to make your knees buckle.

A mischievous smile painted itself across your lips. Lando kissed you harshly again. “Are you really this eager for my dick?”

The only answer you gave was your lips on his neck. The skin was warm under your mouth, tongue swirling on the tan before softly sucking on it. You kissed your way down his chest, earning approval from Lando just by the sounds he made. He was so vocal and so loud.

When you reach the waistband of his boxers, the Calvin Klein sticking out above his sweatpants, Lando thinks you’ll stop. But you prove him so wrong when you pull down his sweatpants, fingers tucking themselves behind the waistband of his boxers. You look at him from beneath your lashes, the look alone making him drip pre-cum before you’ve even properly touched him.

“Don’t tease me, baby.” He orders and you follow. You tug down his boxers, his erection flinging up and hitting his happy trail. He groans at the feeling when your fingers wrap around him, stroking his shaft a bit before you start kissing back down his stomach.

You look up at the heaving mess of a man above you, his hands braced on the kitchen island as he tries his best not to show how desperately he needs you, but failing miserably.

“Is this okay?” You ask, hand still softly pumping his throbbing dick.

The curly haired man rapidly nods. “That’s perfect, baby, go ahead.”

Lando swears he’s never felt so fucking turned on as the moment when you started licking up from the base of his cock, ending at the tip and taking him into your mouth.

You start moving your head, taking as much of him as you can into your mouth and pumping the rest of his length with your hand. Lando feels his tip hitting the back of your throat, adding a tinge of extra pleasure to your warm and wet mouth’s feel.

You felt him twitch in your mouth as your tongue and lips worked their magic in making the dominant man squirm at the touch of you. “Ah, fuck.” He moans, his hand coming down to wrap around your hair. “Just like that, darling.”

The nickname makes you let out a soft moan of your own, the vibration sending a sort of shock down Lando’s dick. You felt yourself getting wetter, your thighs trying to rub together and ease the tension between your legs.

“I’ll take care of you,” Lando heaved, tightening his grip on your hair as he subconsciously started thrusting into your mouth. You feel tears prick your eyes as you gag at the feeling of his dick deep-throating you. “You’re being so fucking good for me, baby– fuck.”

Your whimpers vibrate through his dick and you feel his hips hitching, telling you that he’s close. But you don’t pull away and Lando notices. A smirk grows on his face when you let him continue to face-fuck you, his high soon to paint your throat.

A loud and strained moan leaves Lando’s lips, you felt a warmth fill your mouth. Lando looks down at you as he pulls out and you bat your eyelashes at him, mouth full of the sweetest man you’ve ever tasted.

“Swallow,” he orders, his fingers harshly hooking under your chin. You swallow and he intensely looks at you, his eyes holding a strict glare at you. “All of it.”

Fuck. If you said that’s not one of the hottest things you’ve heard him say, you’d be lying.

When you do as told, he cups your face and pulls you up with his other arm. He doesn’t hesitate closing the gap between your mouths, feeling the taste of himself mixed with your saliva makes his head reel.

The moment is spoiled by a ringing phone in the living room. Lando groans against your mouth when he realises that it’s his.

“Go to my room and wait for me,” he mumbles. A whine leaves your lips as he pulls you away and you watch as Lando tucks himself back into his boxers before picking up the phone call.

You make your way up the stairs as quietly as possible and when you enter Lando’s room, it’s not exactly what you had imagined it to be— you expected it to be messy, clothes scattered on the floor and bed unmade. It shocked you to see his clothes nicely folded on his chair and his bed neat.

The duvet is soft against your thighs as you plop down and lean back against the pillows. The same pillows he was sat against when you heard him earlier, the same pillows your face will be nuzzled into as he–

The door opens as soon as you think of him. Lando walks in, his curls messily sticking to his forehead as a reminder of how hot and bothered you had him downstairs.

“Who was that?” You tilt your head to the side when Lando walks closer to you, putting his phone down onto the nightstand.

He lays down next to you and pulls you to sit on his thighs. “Doesn’t matter.”

You had begun to miss the taste of his lips against yours. You watched as Lando’s eyes trace your features, lingering on your lips, green eyes following the dip in your cupid's bow before he kisses you again.

Lando’s lips taste better the second time you kiss him, and the third, and the fourth, and the many more times that make you end up with your back against the mattress and Lando’s face between your thighs.

You closed your eyes shut when Lando’s lips made contact with your clit, softly sucking on it and nipping at it with his teeth. His tongue swirled around it, sending shocks through your body.

Stars twinkle on the inside of your eyelids and you arch your back when Lando teases your hole with his finger, before pushing it in agonisingly slow. He fingers you with a pace that brings you closer to your high, and when you’re about to fall apart under his touch, Lando pulls away.

All that pleasant feeling is suddenly gone from your body and you lean up on your elbows to look at Lando. “What the fuck?”

Lando laughs at your disappointment as he licks his fingers clean. “You didn’t think I’d let you cum not on my cock?”

“Yeah,” you shrugged. “Thought you’re nicer than that.”

Lando helps you put your clothes back on before plopping down to lay beside you and pull you into a tight cuddle. “Then you must not know me at all.”

⟡

Early morning sunshine beamed through the gap of the closed curtain and it blinded you the second you opened your eyes.

The first thing you remember feeling was warm. Overwhelmingly warm. You never sleep with thick sheets or anything that could make you wake up uncomfortably hot, so this was unusual.

The second thing you noticed was a curly head of hair on your chest.

You were annoyed at first, him being the source of the annoying heat. But then, as your fingers softly played with his curls, you grew a smile on your face.

His hair was soft. It felt like the softest thing in the world.

Lando still seemed fast asleep, so you decided to try and sleep some more, too. The second you closed your eyes, Lando switched positions and ended up spooning you again.

His lips pressed up against the back of your neck as he said, “morning, baby.”

You put your arms on his, him tightly hugging your waist, and smile a bit. “Morning, Lan.” You feel him nuzzle his head into your neck and hold you tight, planning to stay in this bed all day.

That is, until you hear the front door open and Carlos shuffling around in the kitchen. Lando freezes when Carlos’ spanish accent echoes through the room. “Y/N?”

You turn around and pull your lips into a tight line with an apologetic look on your face, before kissing him on the lips. Lando chases after you when you pull away and brings you in for a few more kisses. His arms still wrap around you and he pulls you into his chest. “Don’t go.”

“I have to.” You kiss one of the moles on his bare chest, softly tracing his side with your fingers. “I’d stay if I could.”

“I know.” He kisses the top of your head. It’s such a gentle action that it makes your stomach twist with the notion that this is probably the last moment you’ll have with him like this, before going back to hating each other.

Lando’s arms pull away from your back, yet his biceps still hold you caged in his embrace. You feel him fumbling with the bracelets he likes to wear. He takes one off— a McLaren one he got gifted by a fan, with his racer number neatly carved into the brown, wooden bead that’s in the middle of the orange beads— and flips you to your side.

You turn around to watch as he loosens the bracelet before softly slipping it around your wrist and tightening it, his fingers gripping your wrist in a way that makes your insides turn.

“So you remember me. And this.” He explains.

You smile. “I could never forget this. Or you.”

Lando laughs. His chest vibrates with a laughter that you feel in your spine. “Sappy, much?”

You roll your eyes, playfully. “Fuck you.”

And you’re back to normal— the banter, the eye-rolls, the annoying presence of Lando. It all comes rushing back.

When you go downstairs, you greet Carlos with a tight hug and pray he can’t smell the lingering scent of Lando’s cologne that’s managed to soak into your clothes.

“Morning.” You say. Carlos nods his head before turning back around to make himself some food. “How was it at Charles’?”

“Boring,” he rolled his eyes playfully, obviously joking. “I’m surprised you didn’t wreck the house by being alone with Lando for a day.”

You shrug, seated on the island in the very same spot Lando was leaning against in the early hours of the morning. “I didn’t even notice he was here, honestly.”

You couldn’t be more of a liar in that moment. And Carlos knew that. He noticed the bracelet on your wrist, but more importantly — the faint hickeys halfway hiding behind the collar of your shirt.

Your brother’s lucky his back was to you, so you didn’t notice the slight smirk on his face. “Is that so?”

“Yeah.” You look down at your feet, trying to come up with literally anything else to talk about.

Carlos shrugs. “That’s nice.”

Lando’s footsteps echo through the kitchen as he makes his way through the room. He doesn’t spare a glance at you, but gently squeezes your knee as he walks past and when Carlos isn’t watching.

“Are we leaving tonight?” He asks, plopping himself on one of the dining room chairs.

Carlos plates the scrambled eggs and toast he just made. “Yeah. I assume you’ve already packed your bags?”

Lando gives you a look and you look at him, a small smirk on your face. Lando can’t help but bite his lip to hide the smile creeping up on his face. “Yeah, of course.”

“I have a few more things to pack up, but I’m mostly done.” You lie, watching as Carlos brings his breakfast to the living room.

The rest of the day is spent frantically packing, Lando sneaking in a few small kisses when Carlos isn’t looking, and trying to hide it as best as possible from him.

Little did you two know, Carlos was in on the secret.

© landopoet.

[pedrospatch]

someone to be thankful for

DBF! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: It’s Thanksgiving—when dinner with your nightmare of a family goes south, you find comfort in the person you least expect it from: your father’s best friend, Joel Miller.

warnings/tags: 18+ only, MINORS DNI. (AU, NO OUTBREAK) non canon, DBF! Joel, AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s, i do not specify her age, but she’s a recent college grad so do with that what you will, not everyone graduates at the same specific age ya know? Joel is in his mid-ish 50’s). Reader’s a teacher, she is visiting her suburban childhood home from a big city. Reader’s parents are religious and practice traditional-ish gender norms (i.e father is head of the household kinda thing) reader’s family celebrates Thanksgiving (sorry) several mentions of food and alcohol, reader’s parents suck, she has two brothers who come with names, a lot of her relatives come with names, watch out for Aunt Ines she’s a bitch. (TW) body/weight shaming (twice) PLEASE BE MINDFUL if this could be triggering. mentions of and implications of childhood abuse (not graphic) reader’s dad gets in her face, implied infidelity (reader’s dad), implied toxic marriage (reader’s parents). soft, caring, protective Joel. Joel’s recently divorced, mention of Sarah, mentions of the ex-wife. SMUT. oral sex (female receiving) p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) reader states she’s on baby blockers (birth control), creampie, DADDY KINK (bc reader clearly has a few daddy issues), LOTS of pet names (darlin’, baby, pretty girl, sweetheart, honey), size kink (ish?), cockwarming. think i got it all?

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. if this isn’t your thing, that is fine but just keep on scrolling.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION.

word count: 11.5k

a/n: yeah…idk. this was very delayed because it turned into a whole thing. if anyone actually reads all 11k of this, i will bake you muffins.

You take a deep breath and look in the mirror.

Skirt pressed, not a wrinkle in sight.

Hair brushed, not a single strand out of place.

Makeup done, not a blemish to be seen.

And somehow, someone will still find something.

Something to point out.

Something to comment on.

Something to criticize.

If not your appearance, it’ll be something else.

Because someone always had something to say.

“Should you be eating all of that?”

“Another year gone and still no boyfriend?”

“Don’t you want to get married?”

“When I was in my twenties, I had two children.”

Boundaries didn’t exist on Thanksgiving.

Actually, for your family, boundaries didn’t exist at all—somehow, they are still scratching their heads and wondering why you’d decided to up and leave the minute your high school principal handed over that diploma, your ticket to freedom.

“Sweetie!” Your mother’s shrill voice calls from the kitchen downstairs. “I need a hand! Our guests are going to start arriving soon and there is still plenty left for us to do before they get here!”

You groan outwardly.

There’s still plenty left to do?

How’s that even fucking possible?

You’ve been cooking and baking since sunrise.

“Don’t you think it’s too early?” you’d grumbled at five o’ clock in the morning when your mother had pulled you out of bed, declaring it was time for the big dinner preparations to begin—even though it’d be several hours before your family came over and gathered around the table to break bread. She had pulled the turkey out of the freezer a few days ago, a massive, thirty-pound whole bird that looked big enough to feed a small village. In addition, she had picked up a ham and a brisket. “Mom, why’s there so much food?” Rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the sleeve of your robe, you’d started making your way over to the Nespresso only to realize that the coffee machine was hidden behind paper bags full of groceries. “Are we cooking for all of Texas or something?”

“Very funny,” she had glared at you. “Of course we aren’t.” She started unwrapping the turkey. “We’re simply making sure we have enough food and that we have different options for everyone to enjoy, so knock it off with the wisecracks and get to peeling those carrots for me for the stuffing. There is not a single minute to waste today, you hear me, missy? We’re hosting a dozen people, so everything must be absolutely perfect. I won’t accept anything less than perfection today, do you understand me?”

Thirteen hours later, she’s still driving you insane.

You’re only home visiting until the end of the week and then it’s back to the Midwest. You can survive her for three more days, right?

You hear her calling your name and exhale a small, frustrated sigh. “I’m coming, mom!” you call back. It’s difficult to mask the annoyance in your tone of voice, but somehow you manage it. “One minute!”

Smoothing down your pleated plaid skirt, you take one last look in the mirror to make sure everything is in order—there is a loose thread on the sleeve of your brown, knitted sweater and you carefully snip it off with a pair of scissors before sliding your feet into the comfiest pair of ankle boots you’d packed and head downstairs, nose leading the way as you follow the warm, delicious scent of the made from scratch biscuits and rolls baking in the oven.

You find your mother standing at the center island counter garnishing a charcuterie board with sweet gherkins and sprigs of fresh herbs. She’s donning a festive apron embroidered with fall leaves over her designer dress, and her hair’s still up in rollers. “Finally, there you are,” she huffs out loudly the second she hears you walk into the kitchen. Down the hallway, your father and two younger brothers are shouting at some football game on the flat screen television in the living room—men don’t lift a single finger on this day, at least not in this household. “I need you to start setting the table for me. I have place cards in that bag over there. Make sure your dad’s at the head of the table. Oh and don’t forget to bring out the children’s table for all your little cousins—” She glances up, letting out a small gasp when she sees you. “What in the world are you wearing?”

Frowning, you look down at yourself. “Clothes?”

Her ruby red lips purse together in a tight thin line.

“Honey, that skirt is too short. It’s inappropriate.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at her. “It’s like an inch above the knee, how is that inappropriate? It’s not like it’s a miniskirt, mom.” As she eyes your skirt with disapproval, you decide you’re not in the mood to argue and say, “Okay, fine. I’ll go upstairs and change into something else then—”

“No, no, forget it,” she shakes her head. “We don’t have the time for that.” Your mother whirls around, picking up the bag of place holders—she’d special ordered little turkeys carved out of wood. She also takes a marker and a notepad, shoving everything into your hands. “Here. I wrote down all the names of everyone who’s coming for dinner. The children get place holders too but make sure the little ones are sitting beside someone older to help them. Oh! Did I already mention putting your dad at the head of the—”

Tuning her out, your eyes scan down the guest list and if there’s one thing to be thankful for today it’s the fact that your mother’s given you the power to seat everybody wherever you want. Halfway down the list, you see the names of several relatives that you don’t want anywhere near you at the table. An Aunt Miriam who smells like the inside of a casino; a cousin Jennifer who refuses to acknowledge her forty-eight month old is actually four years old; an uncle Richard who always has one too many beers and winds up spewing antigovernment conspiracy theories, ranting until he’s passed out somewhere, such as on the floor of the guest bathroom.

You get to the bottom of the list and can’t help but raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Joel Miller?”

She nods, returning to her board.

“You remember Mr. Miller, don’t you, sweetie? He and your father went to college together—he’s one of his oldest and dearest friends. Don’t tell me you forgot about him? You’ve met him plenty of ti—”

“Yeah, I remember who Joel is, mom,” you mutter, cutting her off. “Didn’t he and the family move out to Arizona like, four years ago? To Phoenix, right?” You’d been away for college then. Taking a second glance at the list, you notice she had forgotten the names of Joel’s wife and daughter. Surely, it’d just been a mistake on her part, though. “I had no idea they were in town visiting. Dad didn’t mention it to me at all.”

“They’re not.” She lowers her voice, as if someone else is standing in the room listening. “Joel moved back to Austin, he’s been back for a few days now. He and Connie, they um—” Pausing for a moment, she reaches up and clasps the cross hanging from her neck before whispering, “They got divorced.”

Taken aback, your mouth parts slightly. “What?”

“I know. Joel and Connie were the last people that I ever thought would get divorced. Such a shame,” your mother remarks, shaking her head. “I ran into Mrs. Adler at the super market and she was telling me all about it. Thinks they could have saved their marriage if only those two—”

“Would get right with Jesus,” you finish, biting the tiny smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “She says that about everything, mom.”

“Well, she isn’t wrong! The sacrament of marriage is a lifelong bond that shouldn’t be broken. It’s not right.” Dropping her hand away from her necklace, she crosses her arms over chest. “Anyway, Connie stayed in Phoenix. Sarah’s spending Thanksgiving with her. Your father didn’t want Joel spending the holiday alone and invited him over for dinner. That means I need you to be on your very best behavior tonight. I don’t want you embarrassing your father in front of his closest friend. Is that understood?”

You can’t help but scoff a little. “I’m not a child.”

She narrows her eyes at you and scoffs right back, planting her hands on her hips.

“No, you’re a smart aleck. Need I remind you what happened last Thanksgiving with Aunt Ines?”

Of course she didn’t have to remind you about last year’s fiasco with her insufferable bitch of a sister.

“That’s an awfully big piece of pumpkin pie,” she’d remarked loudly, eliciting snickers from everybody sitting at the table. “Don’t forget, dear—a moment on the lips, forever on the hips. And you have quite a few forevers on your hips already, darling.”

You had smiled sweetly at her, your fingers itching to fling your mother’s fine china at her. “I wouldn’t really worry about my pie, Aunt Ines,” you had said as soon as you realized that nobody, not even your parents, would be coming to your defense. “Much less when your husband’s stepping out and eating someone else’s pie when he’s away on all those so called business trips. Worry about that instead.”

That comment hadn’t gone over all too well. Three months later, Aunt Ines and Uncle Louis started to see a marriage counselor. Whoops.

“Well?”

“She deserved that,” you say, shrugging lightly.

“She’s family.”

“She’s a jerk.”

“You crossed a line.”

“She crossed it first.”

Before your mother can respond, the sound of the doorbell ringing echoes throughout the house.

“Jesus, we don’t have time for this!” Your mother’s eyes widen when she tries running a hand through her hair and realizes she still has her rollers in. “Oh no, people are arriving and I’m still not ready!” She makes a beeline for the hallway. “Get the door and greet our guests, I’ll be down in five minutes!”

She disappears upstairs into her bedroom and you hear the doorbell ring again. Your father shouts for someone to go answer it, someone other than him or your brothers because it is the end of the fourth quarter and they just can’t possibly miss that.

You make your way through the foyer and open up the front door expecting it to be one of your family members, but it’s not.

Your throat instantly goes dry at the sight of him.

He’s broader than you remeber, so much broader.

The fabric of his sage green dress shirt is nice and snug on his frame—stretched taut over the planes of his chest and his wide shoulders. He’s holding a box of store bought something or other but you’re much too preoccupied with the way the sleeves of his shirt are hugging his biceps to notice what it is although you assume it’s some kind of dessert. He looks far more delicious than whatever sweet treat could be in that white box he’s got in his hands.

After a minute, you realize you’ve been gawking at him and the heat rushes to your cheeks. “Hello Mr. Miller,” you greet him politely. “It’s very nice to see you again. Please, come on in.”

He smiles, his brown eyes warm and sweet behind his square, black-rimmed glasses. “You remember me,” he states and the syrupy richness of his voice sends a pleasant tingle up your spine. Stepping off to the side, you allow him inside—as he steps past you over the threshold, the tantalizing scent of his cologne almost brings you to your knees. Notes of a citrus accord like tart grapefruit, fresh bergamot mixed with the woodiness of vetiver and musk; it’s intoxicating, something you could easily get drunk off of if you’re not careful. “I’m surprised. S’been a real long time since you last saw me.”

“It hasn’t been all that long,” you reply, closing the door behind you. You speak to him in the steadiest voice you can muster, with nonchalance—as if you aren’t one missed heartbeat away from feeling like a silly little schoolgirl with her first crush. “Has it?”

He thinks about it. “‘Bout four and a half years.”

“That’s really not that long.”

“S’not,” Joel admits with a chuckle. “But with how much I’ve aged in that short amount of time, I just wasn’t sure if you’d recognize me, y’know? I look a lot different than I used to.” He pauses and laughs, shaking his head. “I must look like an old geezer to you now, don’t I?”

Grays lightly pepper his thick dark brown curls, his beard and his mustache. He’s got crows feet when he smiles, he has worry lines and creases between his eyebrows—he does look a lot older, but he’s so goddamn handsome, wrinkles, fine lines, and all.

You toss him a playful eye roll, prompting a grin. “I don’t think you look like an old geezer, Mr. Miller.”

“Well, you’re sure as hell makin’ me feel like an old geezer by callin’ me that, darlin’ girl.” He gives you a little wink and you’re not quite sure if it’s that, or if it was the way he’d used a pet name that knocks all the wind out of your lungs. “Please, just call me Joel.”

You nod and shyly agree to it. “Okay, then. Joel.”

“S’much better.” His grin widens and a prominent, deep dimple appears on the left side of his cheek.

There’s a silence that follows, but it’s not awkward or weird. It’s comfortable—being in his presence is comfortable. His sweet disposition makes you feel so calm, so at ease.

Joel’s always been a nice man of course, although your interactions with him had been limited—kind, quick hello’s in passing on Sundays whenever he’d come over to watch football with your dad, maybe a polite how are you here and there if you bumped into him at gatherings like a backyard barbecue or birthday party. But you’re older now, no longer the child who greeted her father’s best friend because it was bad manners if she didn’t. You don’t want to throw him that kind, quick hello or that polite how are you and then scurry off the way you used to as a little kid. You actually want to talk to Joel Miller.

But you suddenly remember he’s not here for you.

He’s here for your father.

Joel!” Your mother screeches, five-inch high heels clacking loudly as she descends the staircase. She had ditched the apron and hair rollers—and put on one too many layers of her heaviest perfume. With a delighted squeal, she rushes up to Joel and pulls him into a bone crushing hug, almost causing him to drop the box he’s still holding. “Oh, it is so good to see you! It’s been far too long!”

You force back a small, amused snort.

As if she hadn’t been judging the man for a failed marriage just minutes ago in the kitchen.

It’s performative, too over the top to be sincere.

“S’good to see you too.” He steps back and laughs as he adjusts his glasses with one of his hands. He holds out the box to her with the other. “Picked up a pecan pie on the way over here. I would’a tried to make it myself, but the kitchen’s still all packed up in boxes.” He pauses, laughing again. “Then again, I ain’t really much of a baker. Store bought was for the best I reckon,” he admits, sheepishly. When he shrugs his shoulders, his shirt strains a bit over his frame and even your mother can’t help but stare a little.

Lightly clearing her throat, she takes the box from him and reminds him, “Didn’t I tell you that all you had to bring tonight was a nice, healthy appetite?”

Joel lightly pats his stomach. “Brought that too. In fact, I didn’t eat a thing all day long. I’m absolutely starvin’ right now. Could eat a whole horse.”

“Good! Dinner’s going to be served soon. William’s in the living room with the boys, watching football game after football game. Come with me, I’m sure you’re eager to see him.” Your mother spins on her heel and hands you the dessert. “Sweetie, will you be a gem and go put this in the kitchen for me?” It isn’t a request, it’s an order masked as a request—it’s the kindest she’s been to you all day. She takes Joel’s arm and leads him down the hallway, calling out over her shoulder, “And please set the table!”

You do set the table, and when you do, you decide to sit yourself right next to Joel Miller.

Your mother lightly clinks her knife against the rim of her wine glass and clears her throat. “Everyone! It’s time to join hands and say grace before we dig into our meal,” she announces, her voice breaking through the loud, buzzing chatter at the table. She waits until there’s complete silence and then takes her seat, the chair adjacent to your father’s. You’re on his opposite side and Joel’s right beside you. “I think you should do the honor, William. You are the man of the house, after all.”

Nodding, your father begins the prayer.

“Heavenly Father, bless this food we are about—”

You’re not listening. You’re distracted by the jolt of electricity that zips through your entire body when you put your hand in Joel’s. His hand dwarfs yours and it’s rough and calloused, but somehow it’s the most gentle, soothing touch. Heat prickles at your face and neck when you feel him sweep his thumb across the back of your hand—you open your eyes and glance over at him, wondering if that had just been an accident. You’re convinced it was, until he does it again, running his finger over each knuckle one at a time. Slowly, like he’s savoring the touch.

Biting your lip, you give his hand a gentle squeeze.

His head is bowed and his eyes are still closed, but a faint smile tugs lightly at the corner of his mouth and he firmly squeezes your hand back. There’s an unmistakable desire that’s already burning deep in your lower belly, a flame you can’t extinguish even when the angel on your shoulder reminds you that not only is Joel Miller twice your fucking age, he is also your father’s best friend. His best friend.

“…through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen,” your relatives chime together in unison.

You force out the declaration. “Amen.”

“Amen,” Joel murmurs, opening his eyes. He turns to you and his gaze flits to your hand in his and for a moment, it almost seems like he doesn’t want to let it go. It feels like Joel doesn’t want to let it go—and he doesn’t. He doesn’t let it go until the sound of your father’s loud, booming voice announcing it is time for him to carve the bird startles the two of you apart. Clearing his throat lightly, Joel turns his attention forward and reaches for his cabernet. He gulps down half his glass in one easy swallow.

Dinner’s fairly uneventful.

You eat in complete silence, as does Joel.

Part of you wonders if it’s because you’re sitting in between him and your father, the only person that he’s most comfortable conversing with. Assuming this is the case, you’re just about to ask him if he’d like to trade places when he turns to you and says, “Your dad told me you went to school in Chicago.”

He’s just being friendly, you remind yourself when your heart starts to flutter wildly at the notion that he wants to talk to you. He’s friendly. That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.

“Yeah. I did.” You pick up your glass of wine, taking a sip hoping it’ll ease the nerves. “I graduated over the summer and took a teaching job out there.”

“You became a teacher?”

“Yeah. I teach kindergarten.” You smile proudly.

“Can you believe that, Joel?” Your father lets out a scoff and shakes his head. “I spent thousands and thousands of dollars to send her to school. All that money and for what? For her to learn how to teach little ankle biters how to color inside the lines?” He rolls his eyes and gestures to your two brothers on the opposite side of the table. “Now my boys, they are smart. Chose good careers to pursue. Brandon starts applying to medical school in the spring. Oh and Matthew? He got early acceptance to Yale. He plans on studying law.” He shifts his attention over to you once more and shrugs. “Not too sure where I went wrong with this one.”

You stare at him in complete and utter disbelief.

“Dad.”

Chortling, he waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, come on, honey. I’m just kidding around. You know that I don’t mean it.” He then reaches out, pinching your cheek roughly. “Don’t be so sensitive,” he tells you before turning his attention back to his plate.

But he does mean it.

His comments hurt, and you hate that they hurt.

Joel nudges your arm with his. “Y’know somethin’, it takes someone real special to become a teacher, ‘specially to kids that age,” he states in a matter of fact tone. “Someone who’s real sweet and patient, someone real smart too. Someone just like you.”

Warmth radiates through your entire body. It’s not just his words, but it’s the sincerity behind them.

You shoot him a small, grateful smile.

The two of you wind up talking to one another.

Joel’s moving his contracting business, bringing it back to Austin from Phoenix to run it with Tommy, his younger brother who you vaguely remembered meeting a time or two in the past. He mentions his daughter here and there, but doesn’t bring Connie up once—perhaps it’s too painful for him? It’s hard to tell. He seems to be in good spirits and truth be told, it doesn’t appear he’s mourning his marriage; but it’s difficult to believe he’s not missing her, the woman he’d spent three decades of his life with. It shouldn’t even matter to you whether he’s missing his ex-wife or not, if there are residual feelings still lingering around. But it does matter and you don’t know why. Or maybe you do know why, but you’re too ashamed to admit it.

“Do you like Chicago?” Joel questions, curiously.

Shrugging, you respond, “Yeah. It’s a cool city.”

“You plan on stayin’ out there permanently?”

“I’m not too sure,” you admit. “It’s too expensive. I don’t want to live with a roommate forever. Unless teachers start getting paid more, I don’t think that I’ll ever be able to afford to live alone in Chicago.”

Joel seems hesitant about his next query. “Do you ever think ‘bout comin’ back to Austin at all?”

Suddenly, you’re not too sure about that either.

You’ve been itching to go back and get as far from Austin, Texas as possible, but now, it means being far from Joel Miller. There’s a deep, sinking feeling inside of your chest at the thought.

Realizing he’s still waiting for a response, you have no choice but to tell him the truth. “I don’t think I’ll ever come back here, to be honest. Not to stay.”

“Oh. I see.” He sounds disappointed. “Are you—do you plan on visitin’ home again for Christmas?”

“I do. I’ll be here for Christmas and New Year’s.”

He’s being friendly. He’s being friendly. He’s—

“It’d be real nice to see you again then.” Flushing a deep shade of red, subtle regret flashes across his features, as if he’d said it without thinking. Picking up his glass, he drains the rest of his wine and you can swear he’s nervous. About what he’d just said, and about whether or not your parents, who are in such close proximity, had overheard him. Because what business did he have in telling their daughter it would be nice to see her again?

They’re both much too preoccupied. Your father is attempting to be slick checking his text messages underneath the table and you can tell by the smirk on his face that it’s one of his secretaries. He’s got a penchant for perky blondes in tight pencil skirts. Your mother is well aware of this. She is also aware he’s on his phone, but she turns a blind eye just as she always does and distracts herself by being the perfect hostess.

Feeling foolishly courageous, you turn back to him and nod, heart pounding against your sternum. “It would. It’d be very nice, actually.”

Relieved, he nods and murmurs quietly, “We’ll talk ‘bout it later, then. That okay, darlin’?”

Not wanting to seem too eager, you nod again and turn away from him, teeth sinking into your lip in a futile attempt to hide the giddiness in your smile—but the soft chuckle Joel elicits under his breath is a clear indication that it’s useless.

He knows how he’s making you feel. He likes it.

Your mother returns from the kitchen carrying two baskets of fresh crescent rolls, one for each end of the table. She sets one of them down right in front of you and you reach out to take one when a voice, one that sounds as awful as nails scraping down a chalkboard, remarks loudly, “Should you be eating so much bread, dear?” Ines, who’s sitting a couple chairs down, next to your grandmother, looks over at you and raises an eyebrow. There’s a smug little smile on her face, almost as if she were daring you to run your mouth like you’d done last year.

For as much as it pains you, you make your choice and decide not to take the bait. You pull your hand out of the basket of rolls and pick up your glass of wine instead, chugging it down like it’s water.

Frowning, Joel picks up the basket and takes a roll that you assume is for himself, but it’s not. Putting it on your plate, he shoots her a frigid glare. “Don’t you listen to her.” He says it loud enough for her to hear him. “You just enjoy yourself, alright?”

Your aunt bats her eyes, innocently. “Well, I’m just saying. If my skirt was that tight on me, I would be thinking twice about what goes into my mouth.”

Hushed laughter sweeps across the entire table.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” You slam your empty glass down so hard onto the table that the entire dining room goes completely silent. The little ones at the children’s table stare with big and wide eyes, mouths full of food hung open because a grown up had just used a naughty word.

Your mother says your name warningly. “Don’t you start,” she hisses, shaking her head. “Be quiet.”

Angrily, you round on her. “Seriously? You’re going to let her say that to me? You don’t care that she’s making comments about my weight?” You almost laugh. Of course doesn’t care, she has never cared and she never will. “I’m your daughter! Would it kill you to defend me for once in your fucking life?”

“Shut your mouth!” Your father stands up, shoving a threatening finger into your face, so close the tip of it almost touches the tip of your nose. He hasn’t put his hands on you since you were nine, but he’s as drunk as he is angry, and you find yourself back in the shoes of the little girl who would curl up into a ball in the corner of her room as she begged and pleaded for him not to hurt her. “You hear me?”

Joel stands and walks around your chair. Placing a hand on your father’s chest, he mutters, “Hey now let’s take a step back from her, alright?” He guides him back down into his chair. “Ain’t gotta be in her face like that, Will.”

“I’m sick and tired of her ruining everything—can’t get through one dinner without her screwing it up! Always has to run that fucking mouth of hers! She still acts like a goddamn fucking child—”

You can’t bear to sit there and hear another insult.

Fighting back the hot tears that are threatening to spill over, you quickly stand up and rush out of the dining room. You make a beeline for the front door and step outside onto the porch. It’s about sixty or so degrees in Austin and the cold nips at your bare legs, but that’s the least of your worries. Without a place to go, you descend the porch steps and find yourself walking towards the swing that’s hanging from the old bur oak tree in the front yard. You had asked your father for a swing when you were three years old—it wasn’t until your brothers asked for a swing a couple years later that he’d hung one up.

You sit down, hands curling around the rope that’s so old and weathered it’s beginning to fray slightly but not so much so that you’re concerned about it snapping. You’re so busy trying to keep it together that you don’t notice the sound of crisp, autumnal leaves crunching under a pair of boots behind you. A hand gingerly touches your shoulder. You let out a startled gasp and glance over to see it’s Joel.

“Hey there, darlin’,” he says, gently.

You stare at him in surprise.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Needed to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” you grit the lie through your teeth.

Joel’s expression softens. “You ain’t gotta pretend with me, sweetheart.”

His concern is genuine. It’s real.

You don’t quite know how to handle it. Accept it.

“It got real ugly in there, ‘specially with your dad.”

Tears prickle at your eyes all over again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Joel. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” Baffled, Joel walks around the swing and a minor labored grunt escapes him as he squats in front of you. “There’s a few people who need to be apologizin’ for what happened, but darlin’ you sure as fuckin’ hell ain’t one of them.”

It’s odd. Feels foreign, even.

You’re not used to someone being on your side—it prompts more tears to spring forward and despite your best efforts to fight them off, it’s useless. You manage to whisper his name. It’s a feeble warning, one that’s telling him to go back inside before he’s caught in the torrential downpour of emotions you are mere seconds away from unleashing on him.

But he doesn’t budge. He waits. Joel knows you’re about to break and he’s ready to catch the pieces.

Finally, a tear slips and rolls down your cheek, only to be followed by another and then another. You’re holding onto the swing for dear life now, emotions that you’ve been holding in for your whole life now coming to the surface. The rope digs painfully into the palms of your hands. He reaches out and curls his fingers lightly around your wrists.

“S’okay to let go,” Joel encourages you and you’re certain he’s not just referring to the swing. “Listen to me, darlin’ girl. I ain’t gonna let you fall, alright? I’m right here to catch you. You can let go. I’ve got you, okay?”

You allow Joel to take your hands off the rope and he guides them around his shoulders as you begin to crumble. Leaning forward slightly off the swing, you wrap you arms around him and bury your face into his neck. “Joel,” you choke out his name as he wraps his own arms around your waist, pulling you closer into him.

He feels like stability.

He feels like security.

He feels like safety.

Your entire body shudders as you cry, cry, cry.

“S’alright, sweet girl. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

He repeats his reassurance over and over again.

He wants you to believe it.

And you do believe it.

Joel’s as patient as can be. It’s growing colder and his knees are begging for a change of positon, but couldn’t care less about the discomfort. He rubs a soothing circle into your back and waits until there is nothing left except little hiccups and sniffles.

“Shit,” you mumble when you pull back and notice you’d left behind a wet spot on his shirt along with light traces of mascara. You wipe at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater. “I ruined your shirt.”

“S’okay. Nothin’ the dry cleaners can’t take care of for me.” Joel chuckles and lets go of you. “You feel a little better now, darlin’?”

“I do.” You glance over your shoulder at the house, then exhale a sigh and turn back to him, admitting quietly, “I don’t want to go back in there, though.”

He rises to his feet and pulls out a set of keys from the pocket of his black jeans. “Well, y’dont have to go back in there,” he states. “Is there somewhere I can take you? Friend’s house, maybe?”

“My best friend Megan went to Puerto Vallarta for Thanksgiving. Most of my other friends left Austin like I did,” you explain, sighing again. “Anyone who didn’t leave is spending their time with their family tonight and I don’t want to bother them.”

Joel hums, mulling it over in his mind. “Well, don’t know how comfortable you’ll be with the idea, but my place ain’t all too far from here. Ten minutes or so. Less if there’s no one out on the roads.”

“Joel, that’s so nice of you to offer, but I’ve already ruined your dinner tonight. The last thing I want to do is put you out even more,” you say, sheepishly.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t ruin a fuckin’ thing for me tonight. And you wouldn’t be puttin’ me out at all,” he promises. “S’gettin’ late and truth be told, I just wanna get you somewhere warm.” Holding out his free hand, he adds, “And comfortable.”

“But Joel—”

“I can be real stubborn too, y’know,” he teases you with a playful grin. “We’ll be out here all night long freezin’ our fuckin’ asses off.”

He isn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Okay,” you relent, accepting the offer.

You place your hand in his and he helps you off the swing. He doesn’t let it go as he leads the way to a sleek, black Dodge Ram that’s parked behind your grandfather’s silver Mercedes. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze before dropping it. “Sorry, sweet girl. It’s a bit of a trip up into the seat,” he remarks, chuckling as he opens the passenger side door for you. He gives you a boost into the truck; the scent of new leather is mixed with that of his cologne. It is all man and couldn’t be sexier. “Good up there?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Joel closes the door and hurriedly walks around to the driver’s side of the pickup, climbing up into his seat with ease. “Seatbelt,” he tells you as he sticks the key into the ignition. The first thing he does as soon as the engine roars to life is turn on your seat warmer. He switches on the heater as well, waiting a minute before asking, “You warm enough?”

“I am. Thank you, Joel.”

“‘Course.” He nods and pulls away from the curb.

As Joel’s driving you further and further from your parents’ house, all you feel is sweet relief.

“M’sorry the place is such a mess.”

Joel leads you into his living room and touches his hand to the back of his neck, embarrassed.

Amused, you raise an eyebrow at him and say, “I’d hardly call cardboard boxes stacked neatly over on one side of the room a mess, Joel.” You take a look around his townhouse—most of his furniture’s still wrapped up in plastic, except for the black leather couch and the rustic, acacia wood coffee table. He has a flat screen mounted over the brick fireplace; he’s been sleeping on the couch, or at least, that’s what the pillow and Texas Longhorns fleece throw tells you. You turn to him. “If you want to see a real mess, you should see my apartment in Chicago.”

You watch him as he takes off his glasses and puts them down on the coffee table.

“S’it pretty bad?”

“My roommate’s a kindergarten teacher too. You’d be surprised at how many popsicle sticks two girls in their twenties can end up bringing home. Not to mention all the glitter.”

“If you’re tryin’ to make me feel better, it’s workin’ like a charm.” Joel picks up his blanket and drapes it over the armchair adjacent to the couch. “Go on and make yourself comfortable, darlin’. You thirsty at all? I’ve got water or I can make coffee. Also got a pack of beer in the fridge,” he adds, jokingly.

“What kind of beer?” you ask curiously as you sink down onto the couch.

He seems pleasantly surprised by your interest.

“Lone Star.”

“I’ll have one. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“‘Course it’s not too much trouble. Not at all.”

It’s hard not to stare as he walks away towards the kitchen. Your thighs clench together—his back, his shoulders, those unkempt salt and pepper curls of his that tuft at the nape of his neck right above his collar—this man is the epitome of utter perfection. Your mind wanders and you can’t help imagine the way your legs would look thrown over those broad shoulders. How his large hands would feel on your plush skin as they wrap around your thighs to hold them in place against his chest while he fucks y—

“Here you go, darlin’.”

Joel’s deep voice shatters your train of thought.

He’s standing beside you, holding out the bottle of beer, which he’d uncapped along with his own.

Blood rushes to your cheeks. “Thank you,” you say as you accept the beer from him, trying not to lose the sliver of composure that you’re holding onto—it wavers when your fingers accidentally brush his.

“S’it too cold in here for you?” he asks. “I normally keep the thermostat pretty low.”

“It’s a little cold,” you admit. “But it’s not a prob—”

It’s too late. Joel walks over to the fireplace and he manages to strike a match and light it with just his free hand. After tossing in a couple logs, he makes his way back over to the couch and he takes a seat beside you. “That a bit better, sweetheart?”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs. “You said it was cold.”

He takes a long, generous swig of the golden lager before setting the bottle down on one of the green ceramic coasters on the coffee table. He sits back; an arm stretches out over the back of the couch in a casual manner and his legs spread open causing your thighs to clench together once more.

“You feelin’ alright?”

“Huh?” You then realize he is referring to what had happened at dinner. “Oh. Um. Yeah, I’m alright.”

Joel peers at you, his concern evident, clear in the depths of his dark brown eyes. “You sure?”

“No. Not really,” you confess, tracing the mouth of your bottle with your index finger. “But I’ll get over it. I don’t have a choice but to get over it.” Another lump starts forming in the back of your throat and you swallow it, quickly chasing it down with a gulp of beer.

“M’guessin’ your family’s got somethin’ to do with why you decided to leave Austin?”

“Bingo,” you deadpan. “I was so sick and tired of it all. How I was talked to, how I was treated. Like I’m such a fucking disappointment.”

He frowns. “You’re not a disappointment, though.”

“My parents think I’m a disappointment. My dad’s never told me he’s proud of me, Joel. Nothing I do, nothing I have ever done is good enough for either of them, but especially not for him.” There is a dull ache that settles in your heart and all you can do is silently will yourself not to breakdown again, not in front of him, at least. You sigh. “Do you know what it’s like, not feeling good enough for someone that is supposed to love you no matter what? Someone who’s supposed to love you unconditionally?”

Joel knows it’s a rhetorical question, he knows it’s not something you’re expecting him to answer.

But he does answer, because he does know.

“I do, actually. I know all too well what it feels like.”

He looks down at his left hand, which is resting on his thigh and you do too. Your eyes flicker over the fading tanline on his finger—where he once wore a wedding band. You don’t even think twice about it and reach over, sweeping your own finger over the patch of pale skin. Without missing a beat, you tell him, “You’re good enough, Joel.”

He can’t help but laugh a little. “She’d disagree.”

“She’s wrong.”

“You don’t know what happened.”

“I don’t have to know what happened.”

“That ain’t how it works, sweetheart.”

Stubbornly, you lift your chin. “I don’t care.”

Joel laughs. “Y’think you know me, darlin’? Y’think you know what kinda man I am? Hm?”

“I do know.” You place your hand on top of his and his jaw clenches. “You’re a good man, Joel Miller. I know that you’re a good man.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong ‘bout that.” There’s a brief pause and he hesitates before confessing, “A good man wouldn’t be sittin’ here just fuckin’ dyin’ to kiss his best friend’s daughter.”

You freeze and grip your bottle so tight, you would not be the slightest bit surprised if it shatters right in your hand. “You—you want to kiss me?”

“Since the moment you opened up that front door and said hello to me.” Joel shakes his head. “S’not right.” He’s riddled with guilt, with shame. He pulls his hand out from under yours. “I ain’t a good man at all. You’re half my fuckin’ age and I shouldn’t—”

You cut him off, softly uttering his name. “Joel?”

“Yeah?” His voice sounds hoarse. Strained.

“Can you—will you kiss me? Please?”

You need more than just his kiss, so much more.

You need him to unravel you in every way possible, but beggars can’t be choosers and if one kiss was all you’ll get tonight, then you’ll fucking take it.

Joel swallows dryly. “That really what you want?”

His eyes flicker down to your lips and then back to meet your sweet, innocent gaze.

“Yes,” you breathe in reply. “Please. Kiss me.”

He leans in, and there’s brief hesitation on his part and he stops mere centimeters from your face, his nose lightly brushing against yours. “We shouldn’t be doin’ this.” His warm breath fans over your lips; they’re parted, eager to meet his own. “I shouldn’t let this happen. I—I should take you back home to your family before I do somethin’ real stupid.”

Your heart sinks. “That really what you want?” you parrot his own question back to him and hold your breath, knowing there’s a chance his answer could be the answer that you don’t want to hear, the one that could end up crushing you.

Joel lifts his hand, cupping the side of your face in his palm. “‘Course it’s not what I want.” His thumb strokes your cheek, his dark eyes taking in each of your features. He’s studying, memorizing them, as if he’ll never get another chance to be this close to you again. With the line he’s about to cross, you’re both about to cross, that just might be the case.

The tension seeps through your skin and into your bones.

You exhale shakily. “Then just kiss me already.”

He moves his hand and gently curls it around your chin, holding you steady as he leans further in and closes the gap of space in between you. He moves slowly and he’s gentle—too gentle. You want to tell him you’re not made of porcelain, but you’re much too preoccupied with how Joel’s mouth feels, how perfectly it molds against yours. He delicately nips your bottom lip with his teeth. It’s a silent request.

He wants more, more, more. Your lips part for him, granting him the access he’s seeking. Joel doesn’t waste a single moment and he explores every inch of your mouth with his tongue, eliciting a whimper from you. Without breaking contact, he takes your beer and somehow he manages to lean over to set it down on the coffee table without dropping it. He then pushes you back into the couch and the next thing you know, you’re lying on your back and he’s settled in between your legs, using one of his arms to keep himself propped up, while the other wraps itself in your hair. Your own hands clutch at fistfuls of his shirt, fingers gripping the fabric so tight, the skin over your knuckles stretches painfully thin.

You whimper out again, the noise prompting a low growl to rumble through his chest—suddenly, he’s not being so gentle. He isn’t being rough. But he is hungry, he’s possessive, and he’s letting it show in the way he’s swelling your lips with his kisses, how his fingers are gripping the hair at the base of your neck as he firmly tilts your head backwards to give himself better access to your mouth.

Your mind is racing, and yet, you can’t think at all.

It’s not until his hips buck into you and you feel his bulge through his jeans against you that you break away from him. “Joel,” you gasp his out name. You grip his shirt even harder, chest heaving as you try to catch a much needed breath of air. You can feel the arousal pooling between your legs. The flames burning in the fireplace are nothing in comparison to the ones that are burning deep in your belly.

“Fuck,” he curses, pulling back. “M’sorry—”

The last thing you want is for him to be sorry.

“No! Please don’t be sorry,” you rasp, gazing up at him. Your eyes are glazed over with a lust you have never felt for another man before. “I want this, you know I want this—don’t you?”

Joel sighs, brushing a soft kiss to your temple. You wish he could take a peek into your mind, see how badly you want to be wrapped up in his arms—you want to get lost in his embrace, feel him all around you, inside you. You want him to write his name on your bare skin with his tongue, whisper his secrets into the spot where you’re aching for him most.

He sighs again and lightly shakes his head.

“Baby, y’need to think real hard ‘bout this—”

“I want this,” you repeat yourself. “I want you.”

Relaxing the death grip you have on his shirt, your hands release the fabric and move to the buttons. Your fingers tremble slightly as you undo each one of them; after an embarrassing fumble or two, you manage to get them all and push Joel’s shirt off of his shoulders. He sucks in a quick, sharp breath as your greedy hands begin roaming, exploring every inch of smooth, tan skin on his upper body.

Your touch erases all the uncertainty he’s feeling.

“Wanna feel you too, baby.” Joel takes the hem of your sweater and gestures for you to sit up slightly so he can pull it over your head. Carelessly tossing it somewhere behind him, he glances down, blood rushing to his cock as he takes in the sight of your supple curves clad in sweet, delicate white lace. “Christ, you look so fuckin’ soft.”

He doesn’t even realize he’s saying it out loud, not until he catches the flirtatious little grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. You sit up slightly once again and reach behind you to unhook the lingerie and take it off, adding it to the ever growing pile of clothes on the hardwood floor. Licking his lips, he meets your gaze for just a moment before dipping his head down, wrapping them around one of your hardened nipples. “Joel,” you mewl his name as he flicks the pebbled flesh with his tongue.

Joel releases it with a lewd, wet pop and he tosses you a smirk before he moves to the other to give it the same attention. He’s a biter, you find out as he takes it between his teeth, nipping over and over.

Your throbbing center clenches around nothing.

“Joel, please. I need you—I fucking need you.”

He tears away from your nipple. “Where, baby?”

You open your mouth to answer him, but your own gasp cuts you off as he starts trailing his lips down the length of your body until he comes to a stop at the waistband of your skirt. One of his hands finds the zipper on the side and he looks up at you, as if asking for permission. Desperate, you nod. Pulling the zipper down, he slides the skirt, along with the pair of lace white panties you’re wearing off of you and discards them, leaving you completely naked.

Your insecurities begin to trickle in, but Joel’s able to halt them right in their tracks.

“You’re too fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart,” he says, his reassurance calming your nerves instantly. “So beautiful. So beautiful and so fuckin’ perfect.”

You watch as he makes himself comfortable—well as comfortable as he can—in between your legs. He shoots you a sheepish look.

“Knew I should’a put the damn bed together. But I been puttin’ it off and puttin’ it off all week long.”

You giggle breathlessly. “Who needs a bed?”

Chuckling, Joel feathers a kiss on your inner thigh.

Your smile is all but slapped right off of your face.

“Joel.”

Any traces of humor vanish. You’re both reminded of the next wall that’s about to be broken, the next line that’s about to be crossed.

He looks down and groans. “Such a pretty, perfect little pussy,” he remarks, his voice low, husky. “Bet she’s nice and wet for me, ain’t she baby?” He lifts his hand and drags the tip of his finger up your slit slowly, your slick coating his digit. He smirks up at you. “Oh, she’s fuckin’ soakin’, sweet girl. S’this all for me?”

Foreplay wasn’t in the vocabulary of guys your age and while part of you wishes Joel would hurry, you also find yourself enjoying the fact that he’s taking his time, teasing you—making you really want it to the point where you’re willing to fucking plead him for it. Joel Miller’s the only man you’d ever beg for.

He skims your other thigh with his nose and kisses it just like he’d done with the other. “Tell me darlin’ s’this where you need me? Right here?”

Frantically, you nod your head.

“Words, honey. Gotta use your words for me.”

“Yes!” you choke out. “That’s where I need you. So bad. Need you so fucking bad. Please Daddy—”

You freeze and momentarily, he does too. Truth be told, you wouldn’t really blame him if he just stood up, gathered your clothes and tossed them at you, demanding you put them back on and leave.

Joel raises an eyebrow. “Daddy, huh?”

Your face is on fire. “I—it slipped,” you stammer. “I didn’t mean to call you—I’m so sorry, Joel. I’m not even sure where that came from. I’ve never—”

You’re on the verge of panicking, then notice there is a certain glimmer in his eyes and realize he liked it when you’d called him that. You’re taken aback.

He fucking likes being called Daddy.

“Sweetheart, there ain’t nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout. I promise. You can call me that. But on a condition.”

You stare at him, no idea what the condition could possibly be.

“Ain’t allowed to call anyone else that. Ever.” There is a possessiveness in his tone and it nearly makes you come on the spot. “That understood?”

You nod obediently. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” he prompts.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good. That’s a real good girl, honey.”

For a split second, you can’t breathe.

This man will surely be the death of you.

Joel plants one final kiss, this one on your mound.

“Please,” you whimper, the heat in your lower belly growing and fizzling out to the rest of your body at the feeling of his breath over your aching core.

“Please what?” he murmurs into the sensitive skin as his arms curl around your legs. “Tell Daddy—tell Daddy what you need baby, so he can take care of you.”

“Your mouth,” you beg him, desperation mounting with each passing second. Your hips buck upward; his biceps flex as he tightens his arms around your thighs, pinning you down in place. “Your mouth—I need your mouth. Please.”

Joel moves his head to the junction of your thighs, his mouth hovering right over where you needed it the most. He looks up at you with hunger, like he’s a ravenous, starved man who hasn’t had a thing to eat in days. “What a good girl,” he praises, dipping his head even lower. His mouth waters at the sight of your glistening folds. “Bet you taste as delicious as you fuckin’ look, don’t you, pretty girl?”

He flattens his tongue and glides it up your slit, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he gets his first taste. You gasp out when it grazes your swollen, aroused clit and your head falls back onto the couch. “Oh fuck,” you whine, reaching for his hair. You weave your hands through his graying locks and pull his face closer. Another swipe of his tongue causes your back to arch up off the leather and the edges of your vision to blur.

He pulls an arm from around your legs and drags a finger down your drenched entrance, lips securing themselves around your clit. His gaze stays locked on you as he pushes his long, thick digit into you—you feel him smirk as he curls it upwards, pressing the pad of his finger firmly against the soft spongy spot inside you, making you see stars. Joel slips in a second finger and curls it along with the other to double the pleasure. He begins thrusting his digits in and out of your warm cunt, eliciting what had to be the sweetest sounds that he’d ever heard in his entire life from you. He combines it with with slow, firm, and precise stokes of his tongue on your clit.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” you encourage him, your loud, breathy moans bouncing off the bare, freshly painted walls of his house. “Yes Daddy, fuck—feels so fucking good, please don’t fucking stop—”

It’s not like you have to tell him what to do.

Joel knows exactly what he’s doing, and he knows it too. He listens to every single one of your moans and feels every single buck of your hips. He is sure to pay extra attention to when your hands pull and tug at his curls; he remembers what combinations of licking, sucking, and fucking make you squeeze your plush thighs tighter around his head; reminds himself of which technique brings your body off of the couch, what makes your toes curl. Joel’s quick to learn your body’s cues, each and every last one. He already knows when to give you more, when to give you less—when he needs speed up, when it is time to slow it all down.

You sing his name over and over again, pressure of an orgasm already building between your hips. His tongue swirls around your sensitive little bundle of nerves as his fingers pump in and out of your cunt and you glance down. You almost choke when you catch a tiny glimpse of the muscles in his forearm, the way they flex underneath his skin with each of his movements as he’s fucking you. Your gaze flits to his face. His own eyes are fixed intently on you.

You’re milliseconds away from release.

“Joel, I’m so fucking close. I’m gonna come—”

His arm squeezes your thigh in encouragement.

One last, broad stroke of Joel’s tongue on your clit sends an overwhelming wave of pleasure crashing over you. Strangled cries tear themselves from the back of your throat as your velvet walls flutter and convulse, squeezing his fingers. Joel, who’s face is still half buried in your pussy, takes it upon himself to help you ride through the high. He peppers soft, delicate kisses onto your swollen clit as his fingers continue to slide in and out of you slowly. He waits patiently until your loud cries dissolve into nothing but breathless little whimpers before he crawls up, positioning himself on top of you, a hand on either side of your head. His beard and mustache glisten with a mixture of saliva and slick—and somehow it it ignites another fire and you’re ready for more, so much more.

“Sweet girl,” Joel murmurs. Leaning down, his lips meet yours and you taste yourself on his tongue

You place a hand on his chest, right over his heart, which beats strong and steady against your palm.

You start dragging your hand down his chest, your fingernails raking over his skin. It travels lower and lower, gliding over the softness of his stomach. He tenses when you brush the waistband of his jeans.

Tearing away from you, he grits out, “Baby. No.”

You immediately snatch your hand away from him.

“You changed your mind?” you question, stomach sinking at the thought of it being over already.

You’re just so fucking greedy for this man.

He offers reassurance—and an explanation.

“No, that ain’t it at all. S’just—” Joel pauses briefly and flushes a shade of red. “S’just that, well, I ain’t got condoms on me, darlin’.”

Relieved, you assure him, “It’s okay. I’m clean.”

“Me too. But that ain’t what I’m worried about,” he admits, his face going from red to maroon.

You smile, finding his embarrassment endearing.

“I’m on birth control.”

Joel clenches his hands into fists. His cock strains against his zipper at the thought of it—taking your cunt bare. “Y’sure you want this?” He rasps out. “I need you to be a hundred percent sure ‘bout it.”

“I’m a thousand percent sure, Joel. I fucking need it. More than anything I’ve ever needed in my life.”

That’s all he needed to hear.

Joel stands up, his gaze never leaving your own as he kicks off his black leather boots. You sit up, and it takes every ounce of strength you have in you to remain composed as he unbuckles his belt, unzips his jeans and pushes them down his legs. You bite down on your bottom lip and try not to stare at his bulge like it’s your first time ever seeing a dick, but if he’s as big as he looks in his boxer briefs, maybe this would end up being a lot more than what your body could handle.

He hooks his thumbs underneath the elastic of his boxer briefs and slides them off, allowing his thick, hard cock to spring free from its confinement.

You swallow harshly. He’s fucking massive.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” Joel chuckles at the expression on your face as he kicks aside all of his clothes. His length rests on his lower abdomen and precome smears the skin there. Wrapping one of his hands around it, he gives it a couple strokes, just a hint of relief until you come into play. “Hm?”

Licking your lips, you nod and stand up. You take a couple of wobbling step towards him—Joel’s cock hasn’t been anywhere near you and you’re already fucking walking side to side. “Come here,” you say to him, taking both his hands in your own. You pull him back to the couch and gently guide him down into a sitting position. Swinging your leg over both of his, you straddle his lap. You gingerly place your hands on his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh softly when you feel him brush against your pussy; the contact makes you both moan in unsion. “This okay?” you ask him, breathily. You can’t be sure as to why you’re suddenly feeling a bit shy, like you’re not planning to ride his fucking soul out of him.

“More than okay.” Joel brushes your hair over your shoulder and then drags his hand down the length of your body, committing to his memory every one of your curves. “Gonna be a real good girl and ride my cock, baby?”

You gift him with a cheeky grin. “Yes, Daddy.”

The shyness begins to dissipate and you dive your hand between your bodies, wrapping it around his cock, causing his breath to catch in his throat. You lift yourself slightly off his lap, teasingly gliding the head of his cock down your drenched slit, then up, letting it graze over your clit, which is still senstive to the touch thanks to his lips and tongue.

Joel’s hands find their way around you, running up the curve of your spine. “Wasn’t aware that my girl was such a little fuckin’ tease,” he remarks in a low tone. He slides his hands back down and his large, warm palms cup your ass, fingers kneading flesh.

“Your girl?” you repeat, your heart skipping a beat, stomach fluttering at the idea of being his. “Is that what I am to you, Joel? Your girl?”

“S’that what you want, honey?” Joel whispers, his eyes finding your own, two hopeful gazes meeting in the deepest, most intimate moment that you’ve shared all evening. “Y’wanna be my girl?”

Leaning forward, your reply is preceded by kiss, so soft and so sweet his heart swells inside his chest.

“I do,” you mumble against his lips. “I really do.”

Still gripping your ass, Joel eases you up and lines himself up at your entrance. He bucks his hips and slides the head of his cock past your folds and into your heat. “Breathe, baby,” he whispers, his hands moving to your hips, thumbs grazing your skin. He slowly guides you further down his shaft, grunting as you sink down, taking him inch by inch. “Christ, you’re so goddamn fuckin’ tight—”

The initial stretch is almost too much for you. Your nails sink deeper into his shoulders as he pulls you down further down onto him. “Joel,” you whimper, biting back a loud cry. You’re fully seated, his cock completely sheathed inside you, his head pressing against your cervix. You’re so full of him.

One of his hands abandons your hip and slips over your lower belly.

“This where you’re feelin’ me, pretty girl?” he coos gently. “This where you feel Daddy’s cock? In your belly?”

“Yes,” you sigh out contentedly. “Feels so good.”

You lift yourself off of him, then slide back down in a slow, languid motion.

Joel’s head falls back onto the couch. “Christ.” He mutters the word, his chest heaving. Staring up at the ceiling, he takes a moment to catch his breath and silently wills himself not to explode. Once he’s managed to somewhat compose himself, he looks at you again, pupils blown so wide you can’t find a single trace of brown. “Go on, then,” he rasps. “Go on, sweetheart.”

The living room fills with the sounds of low moans and panting breaths as you move, alternating your maneuvers between rocking and bouncing on him in a frenzied, fast paced rhythm. The friction of his pelvis each time you grind into it winds up the coil between your hips and suddenly you’re desperate, so pathetically desperate for another release.

“Yeah, that’s it baby,” Joel encourages, feeling the beginning of his own climax building quick—much too quick for his liking. “Jus’ like that, honey. What a good girl you are for me, so fuckin’ good for me. Just like I fuckin’ knew you would be.”

“Fuck,” you whine. “You feel so good, Daddy. Feel so fucking good inside me—”

Leaning back, you firmly plant both your hands on his thighs and arch your body, head falling back as you pick up the pace. The burning fire casts a soft, orange glow around you and his jaw falls slack. His eyes drink in every single fucking thing about you, watch you with an adoration that, for the first time in your whole life, makes you feel wanted. Actually wanted.

“Joel,” you whisper his name over and over. You’re both beginning to lose track of where you end and he begins. You can hardly hear the praises that are spilling from his plush lips over the squelching wet sounds of your cunt sliding up and down his cock. There’s no chance to warn him—your mouth parts in a silent scream as you come undone on him.

“M’so fuckin’ close,” Joel grunts. He feels his cock twitch as your pussy grips him like a vice. “Where? Where do you want it, pretty girl?”

“Inside me. Please, I need you to come inside me,” you plead him, the innocent tone of your voice the last thing to push him over the edge he’s teetering on. “Fill me up, Daddy—please, want every drop of you inside me—”

Joel reaches for your arms and yanks you forward, into him. Throwing them around his neck, his own arms wrap around you and roughly slam you down onto him, holding you firmly in place. He bucks his hips upwards, balls tightening, his cock pulsing as he comes. Strings of hissed curse words and deep gutteral groans muffle when he drops his face into your collarbone. Still holding you in place, he spills his load into you, his seed filling you to the brim.

He sags back against the couch and pulls you with him. Wrapping his arms tighter around you, he lets himself stay buried inside of you, the primal in him relishing the heavenly feeling of his come dripping messily out of your pussy and all over his thighs.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks after a minute.

“M’perfect,” you mumble against his chest. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re coming down from a high or if it’s because he’s tracing patterns on your shoulder blade with his finger, but you shiver in his arms.

“Let me get the blanket—”

Joel starts to move to get up, but you stop him.

“No, please don’t,” you say, pushing him back. You put all of your weight onto him, as if he can’t move you off to the side if he really wanted to. “I—I want you inside me for a little while longer. Please.”

“But baby, you’re cold—”

You don’t bother explaining to him that you’re not.

“Just hold me. Please.”

And that’s exactly what he does.

Snuggling into him, you close your eyes and Joel’s hand strokes at your hair. Between that, the thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek and the sound of the fireplace crackling behind you, you’re nearly soothed into sleep.

“Joel?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“I hate Thanksgiving,” you admit, smiling tiredly to yourself when you feel a laugh rumble in his chest.

“Do you, now?”

You nod. “I do. But I’m really thankful for you.”

Giving you a gentle squeeze, Joel kisses the top of your head and murmurs, “Well, m’thankful for you too, sweet girl.” He pauses momentarily. “I ain’t all too sure how I’m s’pposed to just let you go home. I know I have to but—”

Lifting your head off of his chest, you take the side of his face and cradle it in your palm. You meet his gaze, heart sinking when you see the sadness that has replaced the lust from earlier.

He doesn’t mean home to your parents’ house. He means Chicago.

You graze his beard with your thumb. “I’m coming back in a few weeks,” you remind him, gently. “I’ve only planned to spend a week out here just for the holidays, but I can visit sooner. As soon as the kids go on winter break, I can come back to Austin.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course I would, Joel. I’m not sure how it would work what with my parents and all, though. I don’t want them catching onto us.”

“C’mere.” Joel brushes your lips with his before he makes his promise. “I’ll figure it out, baby. Leave it all to me and I’ll figure it out.”

divider credit to @saradika-graphics 🤎

[keeryhours]

wildflower chapter one - eddie munson

Eddie Munson x Henderson! female reader, Steve Harrington x reader

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Eddie Munson Masterlist

Summary:

Eddie leaves Hawkins (and his girl) behind to chase his dreams with Corroded Coffin. 2 years later, things have definitely changed.

Chapter Warnings:

Pregnancy, labor/birth, blood, traumatic birth/complications, secret baby

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N:

This is sort of a prologue, but I’m calling it chapter one. I’m really excited about this new series and I hope you will be, too!

—

“It’s my dream, baby. I can’t let this opportunity pass us by. This could change our lives.”

You had heard it over and over again. The same words coming from the same man with his wide puppy dog eyes, holding both your hands in his as he occasionally reached up to wipe your tears away again. He knew he was breaking your heart, and he hated that more than anything, but he also felt confident he was making the right decision.

You had been thrilled for him when he walked home into the trailer, screaming about how a scout had actually been to The Hideout and approached Corroded Coffin (specifically Eddie himself) after their show. The two of you stayed up all night talking excitedly, thinking of what this would mean for the band, for Eddie’s dream. Then he proceeded to give you the best sex of your life.

Things moved fast after that. It turned out the label really liked Corroded Coffin, and they wanted them in the studio immediately. And it really was a dream, at first. Eddie and the guys had just graduated and they immediately dumped all their time into the studio and perfecting their songs. You spent near every day lounging around the studio, watching the band record, a grin on your face so big it hurt watching Eddie do what he does, the happiness simply exuding from him. You loved him deeply, and seeing him beginning to really live his dream was everything you ever hoped for.

When the album was done, it released to more success than any of you could have dreamed of. Corroded Coffin was building a substantial and dedicated fan base already, they were on the radio, everyone was begging for them to perform in their city. That’s when the tour started being discussed. And their new manager began to point out the fact that there were no opportunities in Hawkins - the band would be better off moving somewhere like California.

You had never really thought Eddie wanted to leave like that. Sure he always dreamed of the band making it big, but you always assumed at the end of the day he would come home to Hawkins, come home to you. But it was obvious immediately that Eddie and the guys were completely on board with the idea of moving.

“Eddie, I can’t move to California,” you had explained, pacing around your tiny shared bedroom and huffing a humorless laugh. “My family is here. My mom and Dustin. All my friends are here. I’ve never even lived anywhere else.”

Eddie had ran his hands through his wild curls, another sigh escaping his lips. “I know, baby. But we could make a life out there, you and me.”

Tears had begun to well up in your eyes. “I would be left alone all the time, Eds. You’d be so busy with all the band stuff and being famous, and I’d be stuck alone, states away from home with no friends or family or support system.”

Eddie’s face fell, because he knew that was true. He hated the idea of being apart from you, but he hated the idea of making you follow him and be miserable, too. “We could do long distance?”

The tears actually began to fall then, and you collapsed on the bed next to him, your face in your hands. “I don’t know, Eddie. It sounds awful.”

Eddie didn’t say anything else as he started rubbing your back. He didn’t know if there was anything else to say. Those were your options, and none of them were great. But he knew if he passed up this opportunity, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

There were many variations of the same argument over the next few months as Eddie and the band prepared for the move to California and the beginning of the tour. There were a lot of tears. A lot of fighting followed by make up sex. None of the arguments ever made any actual progress, you always found yourselves stuck right back at the beginning.

Now Eddie stood in front of you, holding both your hands in his as you cried your eyes out in front of him. His heart was shattered in his chest. But the day had finally come, the bus was packed and waiting as the band said their goodbyes. It was somehow one of the best days of his life, while also being the worst.

“You’re sure you don’t want to come with me?” Eddie asked you again, although at this point it was too late, they were leaving now.

You sniffled, your face already red and eyes puffy from the amount of crying you’d done in the past few months but especially today. It seemed you only got more and more emotional about the whole thing as time went on. “I can’t,” you said, which is exactly what Eddie knew you’d say.

Eddie looked at you with the pain visible in his eyes. He moved his hands to gently hold either side of your face and pulled you in, placing a gentle, lingering kiss on your lips. Like it was the last time.

“I love you,” he said. “I will always love you.”

You were pretty sure there was nothing left of your heart to break. “I love you too, Eddie.”

He pulled you into a tight hug. You never wanted to leave that embrace - it felt so final, and you always hated goodbyes. Eddie held you until one of the crew members tapped him on the shoulder, telling him it was time to go.

He pulled away from you reluctantly. He looked you in the eyes for a moment before placing a kiss to your forehead. Then he was turning and walking away.

You watched him go, duffel bag and guitar case slung over his shoulder, the rest of everyone’s belongings and the band’s supplies packed tight under the bus. You watched as he climbed the stairs and turned, giving you one last look before you lost sight of him.

You stayed and watched until the bus drove away, down the road and completely out of your view. Taking your heart and soul with it.

—

It was two weeks later when the positive pregnancy test stared you in the face.

You couldn’t believe it, but at the same time, it did seem like that would be just your luck.

You had been feeling sick for the past week, but convinced yourself it was the nerves and emotions over Eddie leaving and the break up. You hadn’t even heard from Eddie since he left, despite his insistence that he’d call, relationship or not. You hoped he had just been busy and he hadn’t simply forgotten about you that quickly. You’d been together for two years before he left, you didn’t think you were that unimportant to him.

You cried on the bathroom floor of your new apartment for who knows how long. Your life was over, you felt quite sure. Eddie was long gone, who knows where at this point, with no plans to return. And now you were carrying his baby.

You didn’t say a word about it to anyone for a while. You had to work through it in your own head first. What did you even want to do? The thought of an abortion crossed your mind, but ultimately you felt you couldn’t go through with it. You could handle things on your own, you thought. Your waitressing job at the diner paid well enough for you to live off of, especially with all the overtime you picked up. Could you have and raise this baby on your own?

A week after the positive test, you broke the news to your mom and younger brother. Your mom cried, of course, which made you feel terrible. You had always imagined telling this news one day to be a joyful occasion, but that wasn’t your reality now. Your reality was being a single mother at 18. Dustin was in shock, but he seemed excited at the prospect of being an uncle, at least. You avoided all questions about Eddie.

Next, you broke the news to your best friends Steve and Robin, leaning over the counter of Family Video. They may have been more shocked than your family had been, and they both absolutely freaked out.

“You’re gonna have a baby,” Steve had choked out, as if that part was hard enough to say, “at 18, by yourself?”

Having the facts spelled out in front of you like that did nothing to help, and you burst into tears for the millionth time in the middle of the video store. Robin shot Steve a look before she was hopping over the counter to wrap you in a tight hug.

“What Steve meant to say,” Robin said, glaring at your mutual friend over the top of your head, “is that we’re here for you, whatever you need. You don’t have to do this all alone.”

You knew you needed to tell Eddie. And you definitely did have every intention to…but he never called. Never. Not once. And that hurt you so deeply, and made you so angry, you refused to reach out to him first. So…he never got the news.

True to their word, Steve and Robin were the best support system. Dustin, too. Your mom called you every single night needing to know exactly how you and the baby were and how you’d spent your day and that you were making good choices, which drove you a little bit crazy but at least she cared.

Your pregnancy progressed healthily, and the weeks went by faster than you were prepared for. Watching your body grow and become unfamiliar to you was…bizarre. And you missed Eddie. You started seeing Corroded Coffin popping up on magazine covers at the grocery store check out. You’d lay your hand over your growing belly and think about what could have been, what wasn’t.

Then you’d shove the magazine back in the rack and push him out of your mind.

Steve and Robin loved the belly. They found it fascinating, even if it made Steve a little squeamish. The first time the baby kicked you had been hanging around Family Video on your day off, looking through the new releases for a movie night with Dustin. You felt the strange flutter beneath your skin and you gasped, your hand shooting to that spot on your belly. You felt the kick again, against your hand.

Steve and Robin’s heads both shot up at the sound of your gasp. Robin was hopping over the counter and rushing to your side before Steve could catch up. “What is it? Are you okay? Is the baby okay?” Robin asked in a rush.

You just laughed, taking Robin’s hand and placing it where you had felt the kick. She looked at you strangely until you felt it again - her jaw dropped. “No way!!!” she exclaimed.

“What?” Steve asked, confused and not liking feeling left out. Robin moved her hand as you let go and grabbed Steve’s instead, placing it in the same spot. Sure enough, there was another kick moments later.

“Holy shit!” Steve said, but he jerked his hand back like he’d been burned. “It moved!”

You laughed. “That was the first kick!”

Robin cooed to the unborn baby, her hands moving back to the bump. Steve kept his distance, but watched the two of you.

“It’s weird,” Steve finally said, “like an alien. Have you seen Alien?”

Despite his squeamishness around a lot of pregnancy topics, Steve was an amazing support the entire time. He drove you to every appointment, Robin usually tagging along as well. They were there along with Dustin and your mom as you found out the gender of the baby - a boy.

Names were a big debate for a while. Not only choosing a name for your baby boy, but deciding what last name you would give him. You felt bad giving him your own last name and erasing Eddie entirely, but it also made no sense to give the baby the same last name as him when he didn’t even know of his existence and would never meet or know him.

You went into labor early, at 35 weeks. It caught you by surprise when your water broke and contractions began at 2am while you were snuggled in bed. Steve and Robin were going to take turns staying at your apartment when you hit 38 weeks, but you never made it that far, so you were alone with no transportation. You fought off a panic attack as you stumbled into the kitchen and picked up the phone, breathing through an intense contraction.

“‘lo?” was the sleepy reply when your call was picked up. It was obvious that Steve had been in deep sleep.

“Stevie?” you had said, knuckles turning white as you gripped the edge of the countertop. “The baby is coming.”

“What?” he certainly sounded a lot more awake after that. “Like, now? It’s too early!”

“I know it’s early, but it’s definitely happening,” you said.

“Shit, I- okay. Okay, shit. I’m on the way right now.”

The call ended before you were able to say anything else, so you hung the phone back on the wall. You grabbed your bags from your bedroom, feeling grateful you’d packed so early. You paced as you waited for Steve, you couldn’t stand to sit still when contractions started wracking through your body. It’s the only thing that controlled some of the pain as you remembered your breathing exercises.

Thankfully it didn’t take Steve long at all. You heard his tires squealing as he sped to a stop right in front of your apartment building. You didn’t even have to look to know it was him. He was bursting through your front door moments later, sweating and looking panicked. He was dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt that was on backwards, his usually perfect hair completely mussed up.

“Are you okay?” he asked, grabbing onto your shoulders and looking you all over as if you might have had the baby already and hid him somewhere.

“I’m okay,” you said, needing him to calm down. “The contractions are bad and they’re coming on fast but I’m okay. Your shirt’s backwards, by the way.”

Steve looked down at himself, a blush rising to his cheeks when he realized you were right. He pulled the shirt over his head and spun it around. “Sorry,” he said shyly.

Steve grabbed your bags and helped you into his car. Less than an hour later you were set up in your hospital room, dressed in an ugly gown and hooked up to a bunch of monitors. Steve sat next to you, having already called Robin and your family for you.

When things had calmed and you were relaxing in the bed between contractions, Steve looked at you seriously.

“Do you want me to try to reach Eddie?” he asked tentatively, cautious of your reaction.

The reminder of Eddie on that day hit you harder than ever. Did you want Eddie to be there? Yes, more than anything. But the reality was that he was god knows where, living his rockstar lifestyle, completely unaware his ex-girlfriend back home was preparing to give birth to their son. It was partially your fault, you knew, but still. You didn’t imagine he would have turned the bus around and quit the band to come play happy family with you, anyway.

“No,” you told Steve simply. He nodded and squeezed your hand once, although he looked like he had more to say.

When it was time to push, you were surrounded by support. Steve, Robin, and your mom stayed in the room with you - Dustin, who had no desire to see any of what was about to go down, moved back to the waiting room until it was safe to return.

The birth was more complicated than expected. You pushed for a long time, your mom wiping the sweat from your face as the pain went on seemingly endlessly. The doctor started talking about a c-section, but you didn’t want that. The thought terrified you. It motivated you to push even harder, and within the next 5 minutes, the baby was out and the room was filled with the sound of newborn cries. The doctor asked if Steve wanted to cut the cord, and he said yes without hesitating.

Your mom started bawling immediately, even Robin and Steve were tearing up at the sight of the baby, your baby boy. You tried to lean up to see him, but your head was so woozy, the second you lifted it from the pillow you felt like you were spinning. Nurses were working on the baby across the room while the doctor still hadn’t moved from between your legs - but you couldn’t get your brain to form a proper thought. Your vision was starting to get blurry and nausea roiled in your stomach.

The chatter in the room turned frantic, and you saw Steve turn to look at you in a panic, your mother’s sobs sounding less like happy crying now. You were confused as your mom and friends were quickly pushed away from your side and the sidebars on the hospital bed were lifted and locked into place. You caught some mentions of “emergency surgery” and “bleeding” as the bed started moving before everything went dark.

You woke up in a quiet, brightly lit room. You squinted from the lights as you opened your eyes, looking around you confused. You felt incredibly sore, and more alert than before but still a little out of it.

“You’re awake,” a relieved voice said, and you turned to see Robin by your bedside, looking exhausted.

You went to speak but found that your mouth was incredibly dry, your throat sore. Robin noticed immediately and grabbed a jug of water, holding the straw to your lips to help you drink. You accepted the help gratefully, and the ice water soothed your mouth and throat.

“Thank you,” you croaked out as she set the water jug back on the rolling table. “What…happened?”

Robin looked at you sympathetically. “You were bleeding really bad. They had to take you back for emergency surgery. But you’re okay now,” she added the last part quickly, seeing the panic rising on your face. “They got it under control. You’re going to be just fine.”

You nodded, and Robin looked behind you as another voice spoke. You hadn’t even realized you weren’t the only two people in the room.

“Somebody wants to meet you, if you’re up for it.”

You turned to see Steve, holding a little bundle of blankets gently in his arms. He looked even more tired than Robin, but he also looked happy. Your eyes locked in on the tiny bundle as Steve brought it closer before leaning down and placing it gently in your arms.

He was perfect. Sure everyone thinks their baby is the cutest, but this one? This had to be the cutest baby to ever exist. Tears began to fall and a huge smile spread its way across your cheeks as you took in the sight of him. You looked him all over, wanting to memorize every part of him.

He looked like Eddie. The realization sent a pang of guilt and hurt through your heart. He had a head full of dark brown curly hair, and looked up at you with the same big brown doe eyes his father had that got him anything he wanted. You realized you had just created another little person who would have that power over you. He was still so small, only born 5lbs 6oz. But he was healthy, and strong. The hospital just wanted to keep him for a few extra days since he was premature.

Your mom and Dustin returned a minute later, both relieved to see you awake and alert. Dustin got to hold his nephew for the first time, and you took a photo on the polaroid camera you packed. You got a picture of everyone holding him, and your mom took plenty of you, one including Steve and Robin on either side of you like three proud parents.

Asher James Henderson was perfect. You had decided to give him your own last name, since you were doing it alone and you were the only parent on the birth certificate.

You were terrified of being a single mother - even with the amazing support you had, it was still horrifying to think about. But honestly? You rocked it.

Asher was a happy baby, hardly ever fussed and slept like an angel. He loved spending time with you, would light up in the brightest smile every time he saw your face. He was also close with Steve and Robin, who came by every day. Uncle Dusty was another favorite, and your mom stepped into the grandma role happily and easily. Things were not the nightmare you feared they would be.

He got a bit crazier once he entered the toddler years. Reminding you of Eddie and what he must have been like as a child - which happened every single day - he was full of endless energy, completely fearless and always looking for adventure. You spent most of your time chasing after him and stopping him from climbing the furniture. But he was also the sweetest kid in the world, full of love for his mom and loved ones.

2 ½ years after Eddie’s departure, things had become easier and easier. You were comfortable with your little life, your little unconventional family. You were happy. Sure, sometimes it felt lonely, but you didn’t feel the need to date when you felt your attention should be all on Asher. And the idea of bringing a new man into his life scared you. So you didn’t.

You liked your job at the diner. You’d been there since the summer after graduation, and while it could be hard work and long hours, you loved your coworkers like family and it took care of you and Ash.

You were wiping down an empty table when the bell above the door chimed, signaling someone had entered the restaurant. You looked up to see Steve rushing in, breathless, still in his Family Video uniform. He held a piece of paper in his hand as he looked around, presumably for you.

When he spotted you he came walking over with purpose, which made you furrow your brows in confusion over what could possibly be so important.

Steve reached you and slammed the paper on the table in front of you. “You’re not gonna believe this shit.”

You looked down at the paper - and felt your blood run cold.

“…Corroded Coffin is coming to Hawkins?” you asked, your voice suddenly weak.

“A homecoming show,” Steve scoffed. “This weekend. I thought they were too good for us now, but I guess they can spare one little visit for us hicks.”

Steve looked pissed. Eddie’s calls had stopped for him, too, not long after he left. You weren’t surprised - if he had abandoned you, the woman he claimed to be in love with for years, then nothing surprised you about him anymore. But Steve had been deeply hurt.

Your ears were ringing. You thought you might pass out. You couldn’t believe what you were looking at - they were really coming here. Back home to Hawkins. Eddie and Asher would be in the same place and not even know the other existed.

“Hey, hey,” Steve said, suddenly realizing you didn’t look too good. He rubbed your back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that. I just…I just saw it and I freaked and I had to tell you.”

You shook your head. “No, Steve, it’s…it’s alright. I’m glad you told me. I guess it doesn’t really matter, though. It’s not like I’ll be going.”

Steve looked at you, his face etched with concern. “Are you sure you don’t want to see him?”

You bit your bottom lip nervously. “I don’t think so, Steve. I don’t think I can.”

Steve nodded in understanding. “Okay. Well I’m not gonna push you. But if you wanna go, try to talk to him…we can do that. It could be good.”

You considered his words. Should you see Eddie? Let him explain himself? …Maybe tell him about his son? The thought made you feel like you could be sick.

“You look pale,” Steve said, looking worried. “You should sit down.”

You waved him off. “I’m fine.” Steve didn’t look like he believed you, but he didn’t push the subject. “Look, I’ll think about it, okay? I don’t know what to do right now. I don’t know what to think.”

Steve wrapped you up tight in his strong arms. “Hey, it’s your decision, sweetheart. You let me know what you want and we’ll make it happen. I’ll be right by your side either way.”

You nodded, grateful for Steve’s unwavering support as tears began to fall. Great, now you were crying and you still had 4 hours left of your shift.

Steve held you for a little longer, fingers soothingly brushing through your hair before he pulled back. “I gotta get going. I just totally ditched Robin to run over here the second that guy dropped these flyers off.” He ran a hand through his immaculate hair. “We’ll talk later, okay? It’s okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

You wanted to believe your friend’s words as you watched him go, but it was hard. You had finally found your footing on your own, and now Eddie was coming back to Hawkins and throwing everything off. Going to this show or not would be a life changing decision. Either you can keep living life as you are, ignore the show and Corroded Coffin leaves Hawkins again without giving you a second thought…or you go, talk to Eddie, and flip both of your lives upside down.

You felt thoroughly fucked.

[greynatomy]

maybe this time

alessia russo x reader

i haven’t written in a few weeks, but i couldn’t get this song/idea out of my head

inspired by : maybe this time - sarah geronimo

———

Running out the door, paper in hand, she made her way to another house, obnoxiously knocking on the door. Getting impatient, she knocks a bit louder, the door opening seconds later.

“Hi! Bye!” She greets the woman, running past her and up the stairs, barging into a room like she owned it.

“Woah, Alessia! You can’t just come in without knocking! What if I was naked?”

“Oh, please. You’re acting like it’s something I haven’t seen before.”

Your mouth opens and closes, speechless. “That was because you barged into my room! Like right now!”

“Anyway, guess what I got?”

“What is it?”

“You’re looking at the Tar Heel’s newest football player!”

“Tar Heel? What’s that?” You’ve not heard of a team called the Tar Heels in your neighborhood.

“It’s the school I applied for in the states and got  a full scholarship!”

“The states?”

“Did I not tell you? I applied for a school in North Carolina and I got in! Isn’t that just amazing?”

“Oh. When do you leave?”

“In a month.”

A month.

The weeks leading up to Alessia leaving home went differently than what she thought it would be. Normally being attached to one another, you were distant and she didn’t know why.

Sitting at the table, eating dinner with her parents, her mum speaks up.

“Are you sure you want to go all the way to North Carolina honey?”

“Yeah, why?”

“What about Y/N?”

Her eyebrows furrow. “What about her?”

“How did she take the news?”

“Pretty well I’d say.”

“Really?”

“Why?”

“Just wondering cause you’ve both been talking about going to Uni together, living on your own together, but now she’s staying here and you’re going away.”

Alessia didn’t say a word the rest of the dinner, her mind occupied on thoughts about you.

‘Was that why you’ve been distant?’ She thought.

A week before she had to leave, you’re stood outside her house and knocked on the door. After a few seconds, the door opens, revealing Alessia.

“Hi.”

She looked shocked to see you. “Hello. What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to know if you want to go on a walk with me?” Nodding, she puts her shoes on and follows you out. “I wanted to apologize. I haven’t been fair and started ignoring you. I just didn’t know what to think.”

“I should apologize too. I should’ve told you I was applying for schools out of the country.”

You both make it to the park, sitting on a bench facing the playground.

“Yeah. I don’t know when you decided on that because all our lives we’ve talked about going to University together, living together and all that stuff, but if you think it’s the right decision for you then I am okay with it.”

“I know it’s the right decision for me and I am sorry for leaving you here.”

“Just don’t forget about me when you’re all famous.” You nudge your shoulder into her’s. “I’ll text you everyday.”

“And I will do the same.”

You were back to being inseparable the whole week. Making up for lost times and the times you won’t have for a while in the future.

The week goes by fast. Here you are, standing at the airport, by her gate, watching Alessia embrace her family goodbye. Letting go of her dad, she turns to face you. 

Her best friend. Her almost something.

She approached you, dragging her suitcases behind her, eyes locked on yours with a mix of sadness and something else you couldn’t quite name.

“So,” she started, her voice soft, “this is it.”

You swallowed hard. “Yeah,” you managed to say, throat tight. “I guess it is.”

For a moment, you both just stood there, silence heavy between you, filled with the unspoken words, the missed opportunities, the what-ifs. You reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, your touch lingering more than it should.

“I’m going to miss you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Alessia tried to smile, but it wavered, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. “I’ll miss you too,” she replied, and it was the understatement of the century. She would miss everything about you—your laugh, the way you always knew how to make her smile, the way you looked at her when you thought she wasn’t paying attention. She was.

Alessia took a deep breath, as if steeling herself. “Y/N, I—” she started, but the announcement for her flight cut her off. You both jumped slightly, reality crashing down around you.

You let out a shaky laugh. “Timing, huh?”

Alessia nodded, biting her lip. “Always perfect.”

You pulled her into a tight hug, arms wrapping around her like they never wanted to let go. She buried her face in your chest, breathing the familiar scent of you, trying to memorize it, to hold onto it.

“Keep in touch?” you murmured into her hair, still holding her close.

“Of course,” she said, voice muffled into your jacket. “But it won’t be the same.”

“No,” you agreed, pulling back slightly to look at her. “It won’t.”

You stood there for a moment, faces inches apart, the world around them blurring into nothingness. Your gaze dropped to her lips, and for a second, she thought—hoped—you might close the distance.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead, a gentle, lingering touch that said all the things you couldn’t.

“I’ll see you soon,” you said, though they both knew that “soon” was an unknown promise.

Alessia nodded, blinking back tears as you pulled away completely. You watched as she turned and headed toward the gate, every step taking her further from you. You wanted to call out to her, to ask her to stay, to tell her how you really felt—but the words lodged in your throat, too heavy to speak.

And then, just before she disappeared through the gate, she turned around one last time. Their eyes met across the distance, and in that moment, Alessia knew that things would never be the same.

But at least, she thought as you gave her a small, sad smile, they had this. This moment. This goodbye.

And maybe, just maybe, it was enough.

As Alessia boarded his plane, you stood there, rooted to the spot, watching until the plane disappeared into the clouds. you finally let the tears fall, feeling the weight of everything you hadn’t said.

Maybe someday, you’d find the courage to tell her. But for now, you whispered your feelings into the empty space where she used to be, hoping that somehow, she could still hear them.

“I love you, Alessia. I always have.”

But the words came too late, carried away by the winds of time and distance.

And as you walked away from the gate, you felt the emptiness left behind by the goodbye that wasn’t quite enough, and the love that was never quite spoken.

You felt a presence behind you, a hind coming to rest on the back of your neck, gripping tightly.

“You’ll see her again soon,” it was Alessia’s dad making a promise you didn’t want to hear. “This isn’t goodbye.

Holding back tears, he pulled you close, walking back to the car park, trying to forget the words that went unspoken.

—

Practice just ended and Alessia was sitting on the grass with Lotte and Emily taking her boots off.

“Have you’ve read the news lately?” Lotte asked the two.

“No, why? What’s happening?”

“There’s this virus going around and we might have to go on lockdown.”

“What about football? Are we still able to play if we do go into lockdown?”

“That’s also unknown. Everything is crazy right now.”

Not even a few days later they get an email from the athletics department stating a cancellation of the sports currently in season, which unfortunately for Alessia, was her sport. 

Thankfully she had a backup plan just in case.

Grabbing her phone, she dials a number, waiting for the person on the other side to pickup.

“Mum,” she started, packing the last of her clothes in her suitcase, “I’m coming home.”

—

Alessia Russo stepped off the plane, her heart racing with a mixt of excitement and nerves. It had been three years since she’d left home for her scholarship in North Carolina. Three years since she had seen her family, her friends, and the person she thought about almost every day since she left.

The familiar chill of the English air greeted her as she exited airport. Her brother was waiting at the gate, waving enthusiastically. She hugged him tightly, comforted by his familiar scents and warmth. It felt good to be home.

The drive to her childhood home was filled with chatter about her time in America, her football team’s victories, and the memories they had missed sharing. But even as Alessia laughed and talked, her thoughts kept drifting to one person—Y/N.

You’ve had been her best friend, her confidant, and her first love. You both had spent countless hours together before she left, and parting had been harder than anything she had ever done. She had promised to keep in touch, and they did for a while. But life had a way of pulling them in different directions. Football was taking up all her time, throw in a few of her classes, she felt like she didn’t have time for anything. She didn’t mean to do it on purpose, as time went on, the calls became less frequent, the messages shorter, until one day, they simply stopped.

Alessia’s parents had thrown a welcome home dinner for her, and she was eager to see everyone again, but mostly she was eager to see you. She had imagined what it would be like a thousand times—how you would look, what she would say to you. She wondered if you had missed her as much as she had missed you.

The dinner was in full swing by the time they arrived. The house was filled with the laughter of her parents, aunts and uncles, the clinking of glasses, and the scent of home-cooked food. Alessia was enveloped in hugs and well-wishes, but as she scanned the room, she realized that you wasn’t there.

“Have you seen Y/N?” she asked her mum.

She exchanged a quick glance around before looking away, something unspoken passing between them. “I… I haven’t seen her in a while, Less.”

Alessia’s heart sank, a sinking feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. “Oh, okay. Maybe she’ll come by later,” she said, trying to sound hopeful.

As the night went on, Alessia tried to enjoy herself, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Her parents eventually pulled her aside into the quiet of the living room.

“Alessia,” her mother began, her voice soft, “there’s something we need to tell you.”

Her father cleared his throat, his expression solemn. “Y/N isn’t coming tonight, love.”

“Why not?” Alessia asked, her voice trembling.

“They… they enlisted in the navy a year ago,” her mother explained, her eyes filled with concern. “She’s deployed now.”

Alessia felt like the ground had shifted beneath her. You had enlisted? The Y/N who hated violence, who always dreamed of traveling the world, who said they wanted to make a difference in a different way? It didn’t make sense.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“We didn’t want to worry you while you were so far away,” her father said gently. “And Y/N didn’t want to burden you with it. They wanted you to focus on football and your future.”

Tears welled up in Alessia’s eyes. She had come back expecting to pick up where they left off, but now… now everything had changed.

“Do you know where they are?” she asked, her voice breaking.

Her parents exchanged a glance. “We don’t know the exact details, but they’re safe. They’re doing important work.”

Alessia nodded, though her heart was breaking. She had imagined so many different scenarios for this moment, but this… this wasn’t one of them.

She excused herself from the room, retreating to her old bedroom. Everything was just as she had left it, but it didn’t feel the same. She sat on the edge of her bed, looking out the window at the darkened sky. Somewhere, you were out there, and she couldn’t reach you.

She pulled out her phone and scrolled through their old messages, the ones she hadn’t been able to delete. A tear slipped down her cheek as she re-read your last text from months ago: “Take care, Lessi. I’ll always be with you, no matter where life takes us.”

She didn’t get to reply back, not even noticing that you’d texted her and that being the last text you had sent. In a way, it was you saying goodbye, not knowing how long you’d be gone for.

Alessia held the phone to her chest, closing her eyes. She didnt regret many things, but pulling away from you was her biggest regret, wishing she could turn back time and not let things get in the way, no matter how important it was because to her, you were most important.

—

Alessia went to play for Manchester United with little to no crowds, but she loved it. She knew she made the right decision for her career coming back home early, but there was always a you sized hole in her heart.

These are milestones she wished that you were here for, but she can only blame herself for it.

A few years playing in Manchester, Alessia got an opportunity she couldn’t turn down and here she was in London, having unpacked her things from the countless boxes littered throughout the apartment.

Needing a break from all the unpacking, Alessia decided to take a walk through her neighborhood, through London to familiarize herself to her home the next couple of years. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. This has always been her favorite time of the day, but it somehow felt bittersweet. There was something in the air— a nostalgic feeling that tugged at her heart in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

She walked by countless people, not giving them any mind. It was crowded, people bumping into her left and right until one person’s scent filled the air around her. 

It smelled like home.

Quickly turning around, Alessia tries to find that familiarity, lightly pushing people away who blocked her path. She was lost, head swiveling around, hoping to find -what- who she needed, when she lays her eyes on the bridge. 

A loner figure leaning against it, staring out, back to Alessia. It was you. Still dressed in uniform, clean and crisp, contrasting the setting sun. Your once long hair was now cut short, looking more mature, more grounded. But even from behind, Alessia would recognize you anywhere. The way you held yourself with quiet confidence—it was unmistakable.

For a moment, Alessia felt like she was eighteen again, in the airport, walking away from you, unknowingly being the last time she’d ever see you, ‘til right now. She remembered the way her heart ached, the way she held her tears from falling down her face, wishing she would’ve turned back around and ran into your arms, and say that she wasn’t leaving after all.

But Alessia didn’t turn back. She kept walking, disappearing into the unknown future that didn’t include you.

Alessia’s feet moved on their own, carrying her closer to you, until she was just a few steps away. Her heart pounded in her chest, anxiety and anticipation radiated off her body. It’s been so long. Would you even recognize her? Would you care?

“Y/N?” She called out. Her voice was soft, almost drowned out by the noise of the city, but you heard it. She saw you body stiffen, almost scared to turn around, but you did, as if not daring to believe your ears.

When your eyes met, it was like time stood still. Your face was a mix of surprise and something else—something deeper, more vulnerable. Alessia felt a lump form in her throat, feeling a bit overwhelmed with emotions.

“Alessia,” You said, voice barely above a whisper. You blinked, as if you’re trying to figure out of your eyes were playing tricks on you. “It’s-it’s you.”

“Yeah. It’s me. And it’s you.”

You took and step closer, your gaze sweeping over Alessia’s face, taking in every detail as if you were trying to make up for the years you had lost. “You look… you look good,” you stated, a soft smile tugging at your lips. It was the same smile that made Alessia’s heart skip a beat, and she felt it happen again now, after all this time.

“So do you,” Alessia replied, voice trembling slightly. “You look… different. Older. But still you.”

You chuckled. There goes Alessia’s heart again. 

“I guess the navy will do that to you. It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Way too long.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled with all the words that were left unsaid over the years. You wanted to say so much, to ask why she stoped replying to your messages, declining all your calls, but most importantly, to say that you missed her. But the words were stuck in your throat, too heavy to push past.

Alessia seemed to sense this, because she took another step forward, closing the distance in between. “Y/N,” she said softly, yourself melting from the way she said your name. “I-I never meant to disappear like that. I thought about you all the time, but… I was scared.”

“Scared of what?” You asked, voice cracking as you were finally able to ask the question that haunted you for so long.

“Of what I felt. So I distracted myself with more work, more football to block everything out,” Alessia admitted, not being able to look you in the eyes. “That you’d forgotten about me. I thought… maybe if I pulled away first, it would be easier to face you when I’d find out that you had moved on.”

Alessia felt a tear slip down her cheek, quickly wiping it away, but not before you noticed. Your expression softened, and you reached out, hesitating for a moment before gently brushing the back of your fingers against Alessia’s cheek. She melted at you touch.

“I never forgot you,” You said, voice choked with emotion. “How could I?”

“I’m so sorry. It wasn’t fair of me to-to ignore you. I should’ve communicated better. I should’ve been braver. I…I—”

“—Hey, hey.” You interrupted her rambling:

“I was a coward.”

“No!” You gently, but firmly, grabbed her face with both your hands, pulling her close and forcing her to look into your eyes. “You are not a coward,” Your voice soft. “You were just afraid and that’s okay.”

“But I lost you even when I was trying to prevent that from ever happening.”

“Who said you lost me? Cause you haven’t.”

“You joined the navy when you had never mentioned being interested it it at all!”

“That’s not on you. That was all me. No matter how pathetic it sounds, I couldn’t go through with going to Uni without you when it was our-my dream to experience it with you.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“And I forgive you even if you have nothing to apologize for. I mean look at you now,” You step back, gesturing your hands as if to present her, “Alessia Russo, European champion and back heel queen.”

“Stop it.” Alessia covers her face, not wanting you to see it reddening.

You hold your hand out towards her, hoping she gets the hint. Fortunately for you, she does. holding her hand, you lead her away from the bridge. 

“You know,” you started, leading her to a nice path with less people, “you didn’t leave me behind, no matter what you think. You were always with me, in here.” You placed your free hand over your heart, your gaze locked with Alessia’s.

Alessia looked at you for a moment, as if she was searching something in your eyes. And then, slowly, she leaned in, pressing her forehead against yours. “Maybe this time… maybe we can finally get it right.”

You felt a warmth spread throughout your body at her words. “No more beating around the bush?”

“No,” Alessia answered, voice soft. She closed her eyes when she saw your face leaning more towards her’s. “I don’t want to let you go, not when we’ve been given a second chance.”

You felt your heart swell with hope, nodding, her smile widens. “Then let’s give this a go. Let’s see where this takes us.”

You led her away again, talking as you walked, catching up on everything that you missed in each other’s lives. You told her about your time in the navy, the places you had seen, the people you had met. And Alessia shared her own stories, how America was, her football career, the friends she made.

All the walking and talking, Alessia hadn’t noticed that she led you all the way to her apartment.

“Oh,” Alessia’s lips turned to a frown, realizing her time with you has come to and end. “I guess this is me.”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks for tonight,” Alessia said softly, voice tinged with a bittersweet note that tugged at your heart. Her blue eyes met your brown ones, and for a moment, it felt like you were kids again, sneaking out late at night to watch the stars .

“Yeah, it was… amazing,” You replied, shoving your hands in your pocket. You didn’t want to leave. 

Alessia turns to look at you, her face turning serious. “I know we can’t just pick up where we left off,” she said, her voice gentle. “But I want you to try. I want to be in your life’s If you’ll have me.”

“Of course I’ll have you. I want that too and everything more. I am yours Alessia. I always have been.” Silence filled the air around you, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. It was a silence filled with comfort. 

“It’s late,” Lesia broke the silence, hands fiddling with her keys. “You should probably go.”

“I should,” You replied, but instead of leaving, you stepped closer to her, leaving no space in between.

The air between the both of you changed, and before she could think, before any doubt creeps in her head, you leaned in. Your lips hovered just above hers, giving her a chance to pull away. But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

You closed the gap, a gasp makes its way out of her mouth. Her arms make their way around your neck, pulling you closer. This first kiss tentative, almost fragile, as if afraid that one wrong move would break the moment. The kiss was deepened, pouring every missed opportunity, every hidden feeling into it. 

When you finally broke apart, breathless and hearts racing, you rested your foreheads together, the weight of your shared history and newfound hope settling around them. 

“We should’ve done that ages ago,” Alessia said with a laugh. 

“Yeah,” you agreed, thumbs brushing across her cheeks. “But I think now was the right time.”

Alessia bit her bottom lip, hesitant to say what she wants to say. “Do you… do you want to come in?”

You didn’t have to think twice. “Yeah,” you said, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “I’d like that.”

Walking through the threshold felt like the start of their new lives. Two old friends who met again after years, wearing older faces, finding the love they had from years ago.

And for the first time in a long time, Alessia felt like maybe, just maybe, everything was falling into place. 

[natlovesls2]

Home For The Holidays

Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader

*ੈ✩‧₊˚warnings: minimal swearing, no use of y/n, use of alcohol,

*ੈ✩‧₊˚word count: 1.3k

*ੈ✩‧₊˚summary: Charles refuses to let you spend another holiday alone

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙ ˚₊⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙ ˚₊⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙ ˚₊⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙ ˚₊⋆ ꙳•̩̩͙

As the season wrapped up you were left in this state of limbo, you felt useless, unsure of what to do with yourself. Sure, your work wasn’t really over, but it wasn’t like you’d be traveling almost every weekend like you'd grown accustomed to these past months. And with Christmas rapidly approaching the feeling of dread only grew. It wasn’t like you had the time to plan a trip back home to be with family, not with all the postseason content you had to plan and post. 

You held the camera up as you recorded the last video of Charles and Carlos before the break, smiling as they answered whatever questions needed to be answered. “All done,” you ended the recording, “Thank you for your cooperation this season, I know how annoying this stuff can be.”

“It's not a big deal, it's all part of our job,” Charles said with a polite smile, he had become a reliable friend during your time as the Ferrari social media manager. You had grown to truly trust one another. 

“Right, well, have a good break and happy holidays,” you waved to them as you walked away from the two of them, mumbling to yourself about work. 

“What are you doing for the holidays this year?” Charles asked as he caught up to you, slightly scaring you. 

“Jesus, you nearly gave me a fright.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” he pressed on, anticipating your almost obvious answer. It had been the same for all breaks in the years you had been working with Ferrari. 

“Staying home and working, I’ve got postseason stuff to finish up,” you sigh, running a hand over your face, “I didn’t have time to plan anything else.”

“You never do.”

“That's not true, I visited my parents during the summer break this year,” you defend yourself, knowing that he was right. It was no secret that you were a bit of a workaholic who struggled to have a good work-life balance. 

“I have a proposition for you,” he said bluntly. You raised an eyebrow at him, silently urging him to continue, a little frustrated with the fact that he was holding you up. “Why don’t you spend the holidays with me?”

“Charles,” you began to protest, letting out a sigh at his proposal. 

“Before you say no, just hear me out” Charles quickly cut you off, not allowing you to deny his proposal just yet. “You're planning on spending the holidays alone to work, right,” he did wait for your answer, “Why rot your days away in your apartment? Imagine: mountains and snow.”

You opened your mouth to speak but was quickly interrupted by charles. It was as if he could recognize the look of protest on your face. “You haven't even listened to my whole proposal yet!” he exclaimed, taking a deep breath before continuing, “ please, don't say no, I just don’t want you to spend another break alone. It's not good for you. I have a chalet in the alps, we can spend the days doing whatever you want– drinking hot chocolate, exploring the area… skiing– whatever you want,” he desperately tried to get you to agree. 

‘Fuck it’ you thought to yourself as you ponder the possible outcomes, “Sure.”

Charles smiled as you accepted his proposal, shaking your shoulder with excitement, “perfect, you're going to have the best time of your life. I’ll make sure of it.” 

˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ ✧ ˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ ✧ ˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚

You’d been in the chalet for a few days and to say it was a bit awkward was an understatement. It was clear that Charles was attempting to make your experience pleasant but was failing to make some sort of connection, not that you were being of any help. 

The place was cozy and definitely had a holiday charm to it that kept you in an agreeable mood. There was a fireplace in the living room area that kept the temperature inside toasty despite the egregious amount of snow falling outside. A christmas tree sits in the corner, nicely decorated and lit with those warm lights that would remind anyone of their childhood. 

You'd spent the morning editing some of the videos you were supposed to upload during the break, only getting up from your spot on the living room floor to make a cup of coffee. The front door opened and you heard the noise of Charles stomping the snow off of his boots as he entered. He has been off skiing or something, you weren’t entirely sure– too wrapped up in your own work obsessed world to ask. Though you were certain he had spent the entire time trying to find something you could do together, desperately wanting to bridge the uncomfortable space between you. 

“Still working?” he asked, sitting on the couch next to your spot on the floor. You could feel his hesitance as he reached for the laptop and closed it, “You need a break, and I won’t allow you to argue. All you’ve done since we arrived has been work.”

You sighed, resting your head against the coffee table, “Alright.” 

Charles almost looked surprised at how easily you had given up, almost expecting you to put up some sort of resistance. Regardless, he seemed pleased with himself, glad to have gotten you to agree to take a small but needed break. “Good, come on, I'm going to make us some hot chocolate,” he said, nudging you so that you'd follow him to the kitchen

You get up, stretching your back and letting out a sigh as it cracks, “That actually sounds really good, I'm sorry for being such a horrible guest,” you apologize as you follow after him. 

He waved off your apology as you entered the kitchen, “You have nothing to apologize for; you’re not used to spending breaks with people, I get it.” Charles prepared two cups of hot chocolate, topping them off with marshmallows and candy canes, handing a mug to you, “Drink up,” he gestured to the mug in your hand, “It’ll warm you up.”

“You got anything strong I can put in here?”

Charles raised a brow at your question, a small smile forming on his face. “There's a bottle of rum in the cabinet somewhere,” he rummaged through the cabinet, pulling out the bottle, pouring a shot or two into both drinks. 

 You took a sip of your mug, sighing contentedly as the warm liquid passed down your throat. He smiled at you as the look of annoyance left your face, quickly being replaced by a look of peace. “This is the most relaxed I’ve ever seen you.”

“Yeah, well if you pass the bottle I’ll be even more relaxed.”

A few more drinks later and you were visibly more relaxed, the conversation between you flowing comfortably unlike it had the past few days. 

“Why’d you invite me to spend the break with you?” you asked, placing your drink on the counter. 

“I invited you because I actually really like you,” he drunkenly confesses, reaching out to fix a strand of your hair that had gone askew. 

“Yeah, but we can’t really do anything about it– not smart since we work together.”

Charles places his hands on your hips, pulling you closer, resting his forehead against yours, “We can pretend we can, even if it's just during the holidays,” he whispers, placing a quick kiss to your lips. 

“Maybe,” you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss. 

The rest of your time in the chalet was devoted to exploring the ‘relationship’ that you knew would be short lived. The days blurred together as you spent hours sharing kisses and lounging in bed together. And when the holidays came to end you were forced back into the professional relationship you had before. Occasionally, you noticed a look of reminiscence in Charles' eyes as you filmed him but knew that nothing would ever come of it– at least not until the next holiday.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙ ˚₊⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙ ˚₊⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙ ˚₊⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙ ˚₊⋆ ꙳•̩̩͙

read more: December Shorts

*ੈ✩‧₊˚note: so sorry this took me so long to upload, December has not been my month. That being said, I hope it was at least okay, and thank you for reading

[bengals-barnesbabe]

Coach Burrow

Pairing: Dad!Joe Burrow x Nurse!WifeReader

Description: Joe gets offered his favorite job yet!

Warnings: Fluffy, but suggestive towards the end ;)

Word Count: 2.4k

Main Masterlist

┊┊❁ཻུ۪۪♡ ͎. ｡˚ °

Life after the NFL wasn’t that much different for Joe Burrow. The 4x SuperBowl MVP was practically handed an elite coaching position the second he announced his retirement. So yea, not much is different from when he started all those years ago.

“MOM, where’s dad? We need him ASAP! MOM!” Your 6th grade son, Leo shouted running into the house.

Ok some things are different.

“HEY NO RUNNING IN THE HOUSE! Take your shoes off please.” Rolling your eyes at the boy and his friend as they removed their muddy cleats then continued their rampage. You’d spent the entire afternoon cleaning the house and doing the laundry so when you left for your 13 hour shift tonight you wouldn’t have to worry about your kids not having anything to wear or your husband having to focus on anything but work and your 4 kids. So you were not letting some 11 year olds mess it up.

 That's when you realized it was only 4:30, “hey!”

The two middle schoolers stop just before entering the backyard and turn to face you in the kitchen. 

“Aren‘t you two supposed to be at practice? Why’d you take the bus?” You ask.

“Our coach was fired!” Chris, Leo’s partner in crime exclaims with a smile.

“Okay, that doesn’t answer the running in my house or the smile on your faces.” Your forehead creases looking at the overly giddy kids.

“We want dad to take his place.” Well that makes sense. 

“Ok what makes you think he has time to coach both your team and Ohio State’s?” Joe’s job is flexible, but not that flexible.

“Easy, he goes to work from 9 to 4 and comes home at the same time practice is. So if he was our coach he could change our practice time from 4:30 to 5. BOOM he has time.” They say will full confidence in their plan.

If only he’d put that much effort into his math homework. But you give them credit for putting it together in such a short notice.

You chuckle and wave them off to pitch their idea to your husband of 15 years.

The boys find your husband outside “playing” around with his new grill. 

“Dad!” The man turns around confused at his youngest son’s voice.

“Leo, what are you doing home? Chris does your mom know you’re not at practice?” He pulls the lid down on the grill and gives his best ‘dad glare.’

“We came to get you! We need a new coach! And we want it to be you.” They plead.

Joe smirks and crosses his built arms. “Oh yea? Give me one good reason why I should be your coach?”

The boys look at each other a bit panicked, so they discuss it in a little huddle that makes Joe smile. 

When they break, Joe puts back on his serious facade. 

“Ok dad here’s our offer, if you agree to be our coach, I’ll get all A’s this year.” 

The dad’s brows raise in a surprised and impressed way.  

Truth is, Joe knew all about their coach’s departure. Over a week ago, the school sent an email to him personally asking if he could fill the position temporarily or even permanently. He said he’d have to check with his family before making any decisions. 

Yesterday they decided to inform him that a number of other dads/ supporters had already applied so there’d be a formal try out today at 5. 

The boys walked into the house at 4:30 and all he’d been waiting for was his son’s approval.

“You know what bud, I’ll gladly take you up on that offer.” He says shaking his mini-me’s hand. The shake quickly turns into him being ‘dragged’ into the house.

“We gotta go! You need to be there right now.” Joe just shakes his head and grabs his keys.

“I see you didn’t take much convincing.” You give him a knowing look as he walks around the kitchen counter to where you’re seated.

He chuckles, “I may have had some insider knowledge of the situation. But here’s the kicker, he agreed to make all A’s if I tried out.” Your husband smiles widely knowing how hard you’ve been trying to get the 11 year old to take his schooling seriously.

You scrunch your face as he pecks both cheeks before placing a much deeper kiss to your lips that you can’t help but reciprocate. 

“Mom… dad that’s gross, we need to go it’s 4:45!” Leo whines causing you to separate from his father.

“Yea go kick butt Shiesty!” You wink as he’s pulled out of the house laughing.

━。゜✿ฺ✿ฺ゜。━

When the boys get to the field they are surprised by the sight of your 14 year old twins, Malia and Miles, standing by the fence.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite firstborns, what are you doing here?” Joe asked giving them side hugs, the only acts of affection they’ve allowed him to show outside the house.

“I wanted to get burgers, but was dragged here by her.” Miles dead tones.

Malia rolls her eyes. “I came to fill out your application for coach so you’re welcome, please come up with an adequate ‘daughter’s appreciation day’ present to thank me.” She smiles, Joe snorts at teenager.

“Are you sure you’re my daughter because that was all your mother? Thank you for helping out Lia and Miles…” The young boy shrugs. “Exactly. You guys plan on staying until we’re done or do I need to call mom?”

“We’ll stay, I wanna see the looks on the other dads’ faces when they see you.” Miles replies rubbing his hands together.

“I guess I’m staying too.” Malia shrugs.

“Ok then.” 

The tryouts had barely already started by the time Joe finally got to the field and just as Miles anticipated, the reactions were priceless.

“Mr. Evans, he’s here!” Leo yells running onto the field. His wild presence causes everyone look in his direction. 

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“The kid’s dad is Joe Burrow?!”

“I don’t know if I should be honored or scared.”

“We should all just leave now, he has 4 rings.”

Leo’s teacher, Mr. Evans shakes the former quarterback’s hand and welcomes him onto the field. 

“Mr. Burrow, it’s good to see you again.”

“Please call me Joe, it’s nice to be able to come out.” He says.

“Of course Joe, you’re right on time too. Would you like to introduce yourself to everyone?”

Joe nodded, “yea of course.” Then turned towards his competitors. “Hey guys I’m Joe, Leo’s dad. I guess I kind of played for a bit, but that’s all behind me now.” He chuckles.

“If played for a bit means leading the best team in LSU history to an undefeated championship then going from ‘the underdog’ of the NFL to a future hall of famer with 4 SuperBowl rings? Than the rest of us haven’t even heard of the game.” Will, Chris’ dad scoffed. Joe patted his long time friend on the back then joined him in line.

“Ok so first we’re going to test your football knowledge then see how well you coach other kids, not your own.” Evans claps his hands and they get to work.

By the end of the first round, half of the applicants have been dismissed and unsurprisingly Joe leads the pack going into the second round. 

“You know this isn’t fair right?” Will says in between rounds.

Joe sighs, “you do realize Leo and Chris practically tracked mud through the house just to get me here right?” Then smirks as the other guy rolls his eyes.

“Hey what if we made it fair?” 

Will looks at him intrigued, “I’m listening.”

“Split the job, we already know it’s going to come down to us. So what do you say, partners?” Joe suggests.

“Damn Burrow,” Will instantly agrees. “I don’t know how you stay so humble.” He laughs.

Joe just points to his fan club on the bleachers. “Chris is your oldest, so you don’t even know the degree of humility teenagers will teach you but my wife helps also helps with that.” 

When the men line back up for the rest of try outs, all of the other guys had already left.

Then Mr. Evans walks up to them. “So, I think it’s pretty clear who’s going to get the position.”

“Actually, we’ve decided to split it.” Will leads, the teacher looks to Joe confused.

“Yup, it would actually work out better if both of us share responsibility. There’s a lot of benefits to having two coaches, plus we’re doing it for free.” 

Mr. Evans couldn’t argue against the offer so he just shook their hands.

“Alright Coach Burrow and Coach Williams. Welcome to the Wildcats.”

❀。• *₊ meanwhile at the house °。 ❀°。

“Mommy, I need help...” 

You had just finished putting on your scrubs before your 6 year old started crying bloody murder. “What is it my love?” 

Walking into her My Little Pony room you scanned every crevice for threats, but only landed on the young girl sitting on her floor with a notebook.

“I don’t know how to do this.” 

You melted at the cute pout on her face as she pointed to her math book. “Jazzy, babygirl. Are the fractions giving you a hard time?” She nodded her head, you checked your watch (5:15) and decided to join her on the floor.

“Ok I have some spare time to help you on a few, but when daddy gets home I have to go work okay pretty girl?” She happily nodded and scooched herself into your lap. 

For the next 20 minutes you simply watched and fiddled with your daughter’s dark curls as she studied her math. It became very clear within seconds that she just wanted to be with her mother as she didn’t ask any questions about the material. 

Being a charge nurse meant your hours were more unpredictable, especially at your hospital. Most nurses worked 12 hour shifts but you were currently understaffed so you took it upon yourself to be a leader and help your team. You usually worked 3 overnight shifts a week, so you could be there when the kids get home from school. Even though you were home more often than not, there are times when your babies need you, so if one of them wanted more time with you there was no way you were going to reject them of that opportunity.

While you and your youngest were cuddled up on the ground in your own little world, Joe and his fan club arrived right on time for dinner. 

“I’m starving, why couldn’t we stop for burgers?” Miles groaned throwing his backpack onto the couch.

Joe picked up the bag and put it back in his son’s hands. “Because even though she didn’t have to, your mother cooked before her shift. So you’re going to take your stuff upstairs and get washed up for dinner.” He gave him a pointed look and dismissed the teenager.

“Wow, I can’t wait to deal with that.” Joe shook his head and led his friend to the kitchen.

“You have no idea. I love my kids, but the older they get the more of me I see in them. It would cool when all he wanted to do was throw the football around, but now the stubbornness gene is really coming to bite me in the ass.” He snorted while warming up their dinner.

“How’s he doing with that, has he made varsity yet?” Will asks as the kids make their way downstairs.

“He’s good for a sophomore but not there yet. If he put more of his time into practice instead of chasing cheerleaders he could be better.” He responds just as the boy rounds the corner.

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game dad. I got Becky Jackson’s number in third period, nothing’s stopping me now.” He smiles taking his place at the table.

“What happened to Marissa? I thought she was nice.” Joe chuckles as his wife joins the crew. 

“You know how he is babe.” You give him a quick kiss wrapping your arms around him.

“Yea mom, he’s for the streets.” 

“I am not for the streets! At least I have a date.”

You shake your head and slowly make your rounds. You quickly greet Will, grab your work and dinner bags, kiss the kids and walk with Joe to the front door. 

“You’re really going to leave me in this chaos.” He sighs his hands still holding yours.

“I heard my teacher was for the streets.”

“What’s for the streets?”

You smirk against his chest, “oh I think you got this Shiesty, this is nothing compared to your O Line in those early years.”

His hands quickly drop your hands and find your waist. “Ok alright I see how you want this to go.” His voice low against your ear.

“What, I’m simply saying your risks for injury are dramatically lower.” Your arms go around his neck as he backs you into the corner out of your children’s vision, then a hand on your waist moves to grip the meat of your ass. You bite your lip as a low moan muffles against his chest.

“You think you’re funny. If it was just us right now, I’d show your ass what being funny gets you. But when you get back, you’re all mine mama.” He groans nipping your ear then pressing a hungry kiss to your lips. You moan into his soft yet bruising lips, pulling him in further. 

“Oh god, Jazmine close your eyes.” 

You both sigh as the giggles from your permanent cockblockers acknowledge their existence to you. 

“I’m sending them to my parents tomorrow.” 

“Do that and we might end up adding to the population.” You chuckle pulling away from your husband, who raises his brows at your comment. 

“Don’t tempt me, you know exactly how I like you.” He playfully slaps your behind. “Kids, say goodnight to mom!”

You shake your head at him while being engulfed in hugs. “I love you, I’ll see you when you get home from school.”

“Bye momma..” The chorus sings.

They return to the table and you turn back to a smirking Joe. “See you tomorrow beautiful.” You blush hugging him once more before opening the door.

“Goodnight Coach Burrow, can’t wait practice with you tomorrow.” You wink as his eyes cerulean eyes darken then shut the door.

“Fuck, who said 5 kids was too many.”

━。゜✿ฺ✿ฺ゜。━

A/N: Looks like a bitch came back to life! My trip was nice but not writing for so long killed me. Can’t wait to see how much gets posted in the next week

Xoxo Babe

Likes, comments and reblogs are welcomed and treasured ♡

[venuslarkspur]

Robin vs Wonder Girl

(A little prologue to my Teen Trinity Series)

Pairing: Just Damian Wayne/Robin + WonderGirl!Reader, can be read as platonic but there is some flirtation and tension.

Notes: Reader is either the adopted or biological daughter of Diana you can pick. Reader is female but the rest is up to interpretation <3 When the main series comes along we will some teen trinity moments. My teen shenanigans series is gonna prioritise over this series so dw <3 - this is only a short <3

Summary: You finally return home after a long 3 year stay in the island of Themyscira, where you trained with the Amazons, you leave behind an old friend and once reunited are invited to join a new Superhero team consisting of You, Him and someone else. (Spoilers it’s Superboy Jon Kent)

Happy Reading ❤️

————————————

It had been 3 years, you were now officially 14. Today would be the day you would leave Themyscira and rejoin your mother, you had been bestowed many talents whilst there. Even being gifted with enhanced sense and the power of flight, your new Amazonian sisters had gifted you a new sword, your own bracelets, tiara and your own golden lasso. You felt more like your mother with each growing hour. You were just happy to finally be going home, you enjoyed your time there but you missed your mother and friend.

The last time you saw Damian was when he was going on a rant about being rejected from the titans. You wondered if he was still upset, it’s been three years and you’re both older now and have responsibilities. You swore he didn’t like you at first, but to be honest you weren’t too crazy about him either so you were even in that aspect. Over time you gravitated towards him more, being your mother’s daughter, you respected strength. And he was always fun to sword fight with, you hadn’t met anyone who could keep up with you whilst fencing so this was a refresher.

So you were excited to see him again, he wasn’t allowed to write to you on the island and you wouldn’t dare try. He was a boy after all, and you couldn’t deny over time you were starting to convey to the Amazon ideals instead. But you still respected Damian and when you were younger maybe liked him a little more than just friends, but you had no time for that anymore, you were the chosen protege of Wonder Woman and couldn’t mess it up.

———————————

Right now you were stood in the Batcave, waiting for Damian. You were in your new armour which had of course resembled your mentors, you’re sure he would also show up in uniform. A faint swoosh indicated he had arrived, “I knew you were, Robin.” You turned around and immediately matched his stance confidently. “I wanted to see how you long I could make you wait.” You grinned and he returned it with a grunt, he had gotten taller but still not as tall as you, slightly shorter but still not as skinny as he had been when you first met.

“You look good.” He stated and went over to sit down on the black, leather chair. You turned and met his gaze, “Thanks, I’ve been training, looks like you have too.” He smirks and goes to face you, “I’m starting my own team, join.” He says in his usual stern voice. “Is this about the titans? I can’t say I’m not flattered but-“ “it’s not.” “Damian, I’ll lasso you.” Okay whatever, it’s fifty percent because of that.” He crossed his arms and you let out a satisfied hum. “Don’t worry, we share the same type of ambition, I’m in.” You let our hand to shake and he returns it slowly. “Good, you remember Jon right?” You eyed him curiously, “I do, has he finally learnt the truth about himself?” You ask knowingly, “He has, he’s like us now, you’ve missed a lot and he’s also going to complete our team.” “Really? You mean like a teen trinity?” He nods and you cross your arms, “Sounds great, I’m looking forward to it.”

“Are we gonna spar still? I want to see what those warriors taught you.” He remarks getting up and walking to the free space in the cave, you ready your blade from behind your back, “Best be ready for me to show you then.”

[bluesidez]

Gym Rat Miguel Part 15

content warning: more angst, mentions of food, mentions of underage drinking and recreational drug use, some suggestive convos but nothing too crazy

word count: 6.4k (@slushycoookie thee wife, thee beta 🩵)

Prev | Next ✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧✮ Masterlist

“Does it show anything different?”

“Will you give me a second?”

GymRat!Miguel who was currently sitting at his desk, bouncing his leg while he waited for Tempest to tell him something good.

“It’s honestly looking like the same thing from last night. And the week before. And the week before that,” she deadpans through the phone.

Miguel turned and pressed his lips to his palm.

His call list was a constant cycle between his friends back home and Gabriel, but mostly Tempest, who has taken the role of checking for any updates from you online.

So far, all he’s gotten out of this was pain. You’ve completely removed anything that involved him from your pages. No anniversary pics, no highlights, no emojis in your bio to refer to him. From how Tempest put it, this was a huge deal.

“Look,” Miguel slumped as he geared himself up to listen to the same speech she’d been repeating. “I know you don’t want to hear this- don’t make that face! - but I think it’s time to give up or try something new.”

“It’s been forever.”

“If your definition of forever is a little over two weeks, then sure!”

“I just thought that,” he paused, mulling over the words in his head.

“That she would bend at your will? You’re cute, but not that cute.”

“No, that���s not- Temp,” Miguel whined. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

She snorted, “Uh huh. Which is why we’re stalking her page like weirdos.”

“If the roles were flipped, I would be doing the same for you. I have done the same for you.”

“Touché.”

Miguel remembered Tempest spiraling over girls she thought was the one, the two of them huddled up over the phone watching as they all moved onto the next.

He sat beside her and reminded himself never to get this way. He perked up like a flower soaking up the sun every time there was an inch of hope, which truly rivaled how Tempest acted.

“I was just thinking that today would be different. Maybe she would think about me today.”

The thought sits in the air, Tempest’s face shifting to one of sad understanding.

“Not trying to feed your delusions, but maybe she hasn’t stopped thinking about you.”

Miguel looked at the screen, a tiny bit optimistic.

“But in all fairness, I wouldn’t want anyone on my page who I thought committed one of the most cruel offenses. I would want to forget everything. You have to see this from her side too.”

Tempest was right, a common state when it came to their friendship. It didn’t stop that ugly rust of selfishness that crowded his heart.

He feels like he’s crying out for you, and you don’t care. A year of being together meant nothing to you.

Saying that out loud was insane, though. It didn’t align with how hurt you looked.

So, he’s been internally fighting the feeling, going from understanding to upset and back again.

“Have you talked to Xina at all?”

“She’s only keeping our conversations about school. And acting like nothing happened.”

“She’s probably embarrassed,” Tempest said. “She got caught this time and doesn’t know what to do.”

“Apologizing could be a start.”

“And that requires admitting she was wrong in the first place, so if you get that, let me know so I can mark the day. I’ll even make a t-shirt.”

The sigh that left Miguel was strong enough to irritate Tempest’s speakers.

He wanted to talk to her about the situation again, but it was like talking with a brick wall. It reminded him of when he snapped at her for constantly hitting him when they were younger. Looking back, they were just kids, and she probably didn’t mean anything by it. The red tint and angry pout on her face as she slid him her chocolate milk as an apology stuck with him.

“Why do you want an apology anyway? Or, why do you expect one?”

Miguel wasn’t sure himself. Xina was his childhood best friend, someone with whom he spent a lot of time and shared secrets. There were sweet memories and joyful moments.

It sucks to see her act so different.

“I think,” Miguel paused, looking off through his dorm window. “I think that-”

“Oh my god, she just posted.”

Miguel almost dropped his phone while he switched back to the messages app.

“What is it? What is it?”

“It is,” she dragged out her i’s. The sound of Tempest screenshotting and tapping away at her phone was like rapid fire. “An event, I think?”

“What event? You aren’t sending the pictures fast enough.”

“I already pressed send! Not my fault I don’t have high-speed internet.”

“Tell your cousin to stop fucking hogging it.”

“Shut up and watch the screen.”

His eyes dart across the screen as he waits for the screenshare to load.

Your account comes up, still intact. Miguel takes in everything like he did back when he first met you.

There were new posts about the sculptures you made in class and food from a new café. There’s also a glimpse of you smiling, and he feels like he’s ready to erupt.

Tempest refreshed your page again.

“This is so against girl code.”

“You haven’t even talked with her before.”

“How would you know?”

“Temp.”

“Right, sorry.”

She taps your story, and a flyer comes up.

“A Halloween-themed festival night?” Miguel says as the story disappears.

“Sounds fun!”

“I’m going to go. Put the story back up again.”

Tempest side-eyed him as best as she could, “Uh, maybe let’s not.”

“Why can’t I? I’m a member of the student body.”

“Do you usually go to these things?”

“No,” Miguel slowed his words. “But I could now? Maybe she won’t even be there.”

“And if she is? Wouldn’t it seem like you’re stalking her?”

He thinks about the many times he’s lingered around the art building, walked by your favorite spot on campus, and stared at corners of the library that you loved to see if you would be there.

“No?”

“Doubtful.”

“I just need to see her in person.”

GymRat!Miguel who doesn’t stop thinking about whether or not you’ll be at the festival.

If he doesn’t see you, he’ll be disappointed, but the panic clawing at his throat won’t shift to his mind.

If he does see you, he’ll be like a fish out of water. Floundering, lost, and begging his lungs to gain its necessities.

He just hopes that going is the right decision.

GymRat!Miguel who goes to his robotics club meetup the next day.

There’s no competition coming up, but the department wanted to revise a moving metal skeleton for Halloween weekend.

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks, Margo. I feel like it, too.”

She pulled his cheek out and made baby noises out of sympathy before Miguel swatted them away.

“Still no luck with your ex? Or is that joint giving you trouble?” she snickered at his sloppy attempt at connecting moving parts.

“Uh, no and yes.”

Aaron peeked up from his station and looked over like a beaver.

“I-it’s not because of what I said, right?”

Margo made a line with her mouth as if to say 'get a load of this guy'.

“No, Aaron,” Miguel mumbled.

“Yeah, Aaron, stop being nosy and get back to work,” Margo joked.

He snapped his welder’s mask back down like a dork and returned to sawing something, sparks flying past him.

Margo looks down at Miguel’s work.

“Well, I hope you can get her back soon because you need to work on your anatomy. Those bones don’t go together at all.”

He looks to a femur and a humerus connected with the sheer will of his clouded mind.

He missed when you attached sticky notes to his body for practice. The prize for getting the different parts of his body correct being kisses. You would laugh at his mistake but give a peck on the lips anyway. His arms were one of your favorite places to put your star-shaped stickers on, too.

“I didn’t mean for you to get even sadder,” Margo snapped him out of the memory.

“It’s fine. My fault.”

Margo shifted her weight as she started to take apart his mistake, “It’ll get better, Miguel. I’m sure of it.”

GymRat!Miguel who sits across from Tyler at one of the uppity restaurants in town. The lights are dim, as if the people eating here are all hiding from something.

“How’s school?” Tyler asked, clothes still managing to glow despite the one warm lamp above the table. He thanks the waitress for refilling his water glass. “Made any new friends? Connections?”

The age-old awkward feeling of trying to concisely describe his growing adult life was at the top of his mind.

“It’s going well,” was always the easiest answer. Simple and open-ended.

Of course, Tyler took this as a sign to delve further.

“Your mother told me you’re taking up game programming this semester. Do you like the feel of that class?”

An ice cube floated to the top of Miguel’s glass.

“I was enjoying it at first, now I’m sort of ready for it to end.”

Tyler cleared his throat, hand covering the frown on his face.

“Ah, well, some people just like the end result, I suppose,” he refolds a napkin, the reflection from his watch panning across the tablecloth. “What about your girlfriend? How is she? Perhaps, you have some new pieces of her’s to show me. My colleagues love the one in the entryway.”

The waiter placed a filet mignon in front of Miguel and bluefin tuna across from him. Tyler moved to tuck the same napkin into his crisp button down.

“I’m not sure.”

Tyler pauses as a slice of fish dangles from his fork.

Miguel is still cutting into the meat unnecessarily, knife scrapping against the plate.

“Son, this cut of meat is like butter,” Tyler said, taking the knife from him and putting it back on its napkin.

A twitch at the corner of his lips almost aligned with Tyler’s. The man racked his brain for the memories of his first son coming home with a similar expression.

He chewed and swallowed his fish stacked with cucumbers and cilantro.

“As you know, I am not the best when it comes to relationships. Nancy and I have had quite the uphill battle. However, I believe I am well-versed in the field of compromise. Should I reach out to her for you?”

It was a long shot, and by the growing shadows on his son’s face, Tyler suspected that his suggestion was a poor one.

“What will that do? Other than show her that I can’t handle my own problems.”

“Surely, you two can work it out. She was lovely, truly,” Tyler frets, afraid he’s made Miguel even more upset.

He just starts to eat, mind elsewhere.

Tyler wondered if he should have ordered some wine.

“When you found out Nancy cheated on you, what did you do?”

Lemon juice from his dish hit his throat right as he swallowed, a hand banging on his chest as he coughed.

“I, uh,” two gulps of water were taken from the glass Miguel handed him. “Well. The fruit of that labor is in front of me.”

“Obviously,” Miguel’s shoulders dropped and Tyler grimaced again. Curse his silly statements. “I meant, how did you feel? What were your initial thoughts?”

“I remember being angry. Here laid the mother of my only child with a much younger and, honestly, less fortunate man. I thought I was foolish to think that my genuine love or money could keep someone.”

Miguel pushed around an asparagus on his plate, “So there was a betrayal. A pain you couldn’t describe.”

“Exactly. For me, that came afterwards. I’m a prideful man. If one thing does not satisfy me, I simply find something that does.”

“And that thing just happened to be my mother?”

“Ah, if you put it like that, it’s far too harsh,” Tyler fixes a cuff. “Your mother provided me a place of warmth, solitude, and love for a short time. It’s something I’ll never forget. I regret the hurt Nancy and I inflicted on each other, but I don’t regret you.”

Tyler watches and waits for a response. His son shifts in his seat and rolls his neck, eyes never leaving his plate.

“Has she,” Tyler tilts his head, “hurt you this way?”

“No, but I broke her trust.”

“You cheated?”

“Never. But we have a lot to work on.”

Tyler might order some bourbon tonight to drink in place of his son and the mopey demeanor.

“I’m all ears whenever you need me. But if there is as much love between you two as I saw earlier this year, then you’re sure to gain in back. That doesn’t go away.”

Miguel takes a deep breath and Tyler believes that some of the shadows on his face disappear.

The meal continued, and the people around them continued their quiet chatter.

“Could you do me a favor?” Miguel asks as they both clean their plates.

Tyler lights up, “Anything.”

“Don’t tell my mom about this?”

Tyler thinks back to the unpleasant things Conchata had to say about her son’s girlfriend and quietly agrees that it’s for the best of she’s out of the loop.

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

GymRat!Miguel who walks up to the festival wearing one of the shirts you gave him for his birthday.

It was an impulsive decision because now that he’s here, he’s wondering if seeing it on him will upset you.

The festival is partially outside and inside, a mix of games, concessions, and small rides for students to enjoy.

He walked under the pumpkin and bat-shaped balloons, and fake smoke from a cauldron moved past him.

It smelled like sour candy apples, and marshmallows. Booths were all around the campus grass. He walked past them slowly, not interested but searching for something.

The turnout was nice for a night when he figured people would be out partying. There were a lot of students walking in and out.

A game caught his eye as he neared the entrance to the student center. It’s a Shoot Out booth with the ducks replaced with black cats and the gun switched to tiny ghost bean bags to match the theme. There’s a giant white bunny with an X for lips, a blue dress, and a bow on its ear.

It’s so you that he couldn’t resist.

The student volunteer told him he had three chances this round to knock out twenty cats for the bunny.

“Everyone’s been gunning for it, but this game is pretty hard!”

Miguel nodded in understanding.

If he focused enough, the bunny could be his.

On his first try, he knocked out thirteen cats, much to the volunteer’s surprise.

“Woah! You’re pretty good! Did you wanna grab anything from this tier?”

There was student association merch and a shirt with the college logo.

Miguel rolled his sleeves up, “No, I’m going to try for the plushie again.”

The second time, he knocked down the last cat with just a few seconds left on the timer.

The girl running the booth smiled with her eyebrows nearly merging to the top of her head in shock.

“I-I guess that means you win the bunny!”

She handed it to him with a lull of awe.

He muttered a quiet thanks and turned towards the doors with fake spiderwebs dangling off them.

There was music, a sign to go to a haunted hallway, and even more tables with food.

He wonders if you would have gotten scared walking through scary attractions with him. You would probably hold his hand as tight as he’s holding the belly of this rabbit.

Scanning the room, he doesn’t catch a glimpse of you anywhere.

Looking down at the little white face in his hands, he started to think he wasted the hour or so he’d been here.

Walking to the table of free cookies, he took a frosted Frankenstein in his hand and bit a bolt off.

He felt like a lost kid as he floated from table to table to stall.

Maybe he should give up. You were probably promoting this event for Jess.

GymRat!Miguel who was finishing off his fifth mummy-in-a-blanket when he saw you leaving the haunted hallway.

The first thing he noticed is the long, blue cardigan falling off your shoulders. The end of it is trailing after you as you run out.

There’s a grin on your face and an air in your steps, something he missed seeing.

The next thing he noticed was that you weren’t wearing your necklace anymore.

Then a hand pulled it up on your shoulders and slid back down your arm.

A guy is standing next to you and laughing as if you’ll give him money for doing so.

He’s tall. He looks like he could be built, too.

It’s like a slap in the face, worse than when you pushed him away.

Looking down, Miguel saw your hand in his, clinging tight. You smile at the guy and reach up to get something out of his hair.

Miguel thinks that there was nothing wrong with his hair. There was nothing to smile about either.

The guy’s hands touch you in places where Miguel has embraced. His fingers were covering the same neck he’d put his head in. His thumbs ran over the apples of your cheeks, the same ones that used to crowd his lips.

You lean into the guy’s chest and say something that he can’t hear.

His stomach makes an angry lurch and he feels that orange being shift to a green one. It’s clawing at him, pulling at his mind.

This wasn’t how today was supposed to end. You weren’t supposed to cling to some random guy. You weren’t supposed to be with someone else.

Miguel turns when he leans down towards you, chest burning. What he didn’t see was not true to him. What he didn’t know was not reality.

GymRat!Miguel stormed out of the building, and images of you happy with someone else faded onto the inside of his eyelids.

The material of his sweater was scratching against his skin as he made his way back to the festival entrance.

Everything was too much. The people were too loud, the lamps were too bright, and the music playing over the speakers sucked.

His nose started to twitch and he wondered why did festival food have so much damn sugar.

Someone nearly hits the ground as he pushes past them, a confused noise hitting the air, but he doesn’t feel inclined to stop.

GymRat!Miguel who almost breaks free from what feels like a harmful joke when Xina spots him.

“Hey!” She ran over to him, leaves crunching against her boots. She’s wearing the varsity jacket he bought her years ago. “Leaving already?”

“Yeah, I,” he stopped when he thought he heard your laugh somewhere deep in the festival. “I’m not feeling too good. Think I’m gonna go back to my dorm.”

“Oh, do you have a fever? The weather did drop out of nowhere,” her hand lifted, fingers twitching like she wanted to see for herself.

She hesitates, scared he’ll blow away.

When her fingers press into his neck, he just wants to cry. It felt like when she caught him crying under the trees on the playground or when he’d show up at his grandma’s house with a chubby face full of tears.

He covers her hand for a second, just one, then pushes it away.

If he talks about it, he’ll break into pieces.

“Here,” he shoved the bunny into her hands. The dress is wrinkled, and the bow is a bit lopsided.

Xina’s eyes grow as sees it. The smile on her lips is familiar, “Thank you. I love it.”

Her mouth opens as if she wants to say more, but Miguel starts first.

“Glad you like it. I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, ok. Get back safe, Hare-Hare.”

He heads towards his building empty-handed.

GymRat!Miguel who is in denial.

He’s moved past his brain making up you being at the Halloween festival and was now choosing to believe that it was a friend.

The tiny Gabriel on his shoulder was telling him that you had moved on. You had a new boyfriend, so he needed to move on as well—or stop moping about you.

He was choosing to ignore him for now.

It’s been another week since he saw you. Thanksgiving was on its way and he hasn’t been focused in a single class.

At a time when he really needed Tempest to update him, she told him to step back and recenter himself. Something about him not being level-headed.

He didn’t care.

The point of no return was truly here as he stood in front of the elevator in the art building.

A bag of food was sweating in his palm, and the two drinks were seeping into his hoodie, but he would regret it forever if he didn’t try talking to you again before the semester was over.

He’s doing something he told himself he wouldn’t do, but he couldn’t help that he still knew your schedule by heart. Taking a chance on you sticking around for studio hours was all that he had.

GymRat!Miguel who got to the right floor and was happy to see a student leaving the room.

The lights in the hallway were still on and music came from down the hall.

Miguel walked down, peering in every door, leaving once he couldn’t see you or when the people inside gave him weird looks.

GymRat!Miguel who walks into the last studio in the hallway with quiet steps.

Your canvas is almost bigger than you, the top of it covering you as you moved your brush across it.

You had headphones on, star molds stuck on the sides of them.

Miguel sat the food down on the table, moving like a stealthy agent.

Your sleeves were rolled up to your elbows, yet paint was still on them despite your efforts. You looked tired, but god, you were still overwhelmingly gorgeous to him.

He stepped closer. Slowly, step by step, coming into your peripheral.

“Why are you here?”

Miguel paused mid-walk, face like a puppy who got caught.

He should have thought this through more.

“I wanted to see you,” he holds his hands before him. It’s not making him any smaller, but it brings a slight comfort. “Brought some food.”

“’M not hungry.”

An apology is his first instinct, but the sound of your stomach growling speaks for him.

You refuse to look at him, face warm.

“It’s your favorite. Come eat, please.”

Taking off your headphones, you sighed.

“Fine.”

GymRat!Miguel who has to pinch himself to stop staring at you.

You weren’t just tired, you were exhausted. Your eyes drooped as you bit into your fries, and your movements were sluggish.

You didn’t ask for his extra sauce like you usually did. You didn’t even try to steal his fries.

“How have you been?” he asks instead of digging himself further into the sad hole of his heart.

Your eyes flick at him over your glasses and back to your food.

“Really, Miguel?”

“Y-yes? I’m always wondering how you are.”

“Then you should know how I’ve been already, then.”

Miguel faltered.

“You’re not very subtle, you know? I could see you pacing back and forth around campus.”

“Oh,” he slurped his drink nervously.

“And I saw you at the festival, too.”

He almost punctured the styrofoam in his hand.

“So, you’ve been fine is what you’re telling me. I’m gla-” he choked on the words. “I see you’ve…met someone.”

“He was just a friend. You could have said ‘hi’ then, if you really wanted to speak with me.”

“Didn’t look like a friend,” left Miguel’s mouth before he could stop it.

You hummed, eyebrows raised, and a click sound from your teeth. “Oh, but now do you see how that feels?” You started to untie your apron.

“I didn’t mean for that to come out in that way. I came here to just talk.”

“About what? How you didn’t actually cheat on me? How you didn’t mean for any of this to happen? How you’re sorry you got caught?”

He bit his tongue.

That was almost what he wanted to say.

“About us,” he said as you rolled your eyes. “I still love you, and it’s killing me not to be with you. This is as plain and simple as I can say it. I’ll say it over and over and over again until you hear me.”

“Miguel,” your voice puffed out, weary and broken, “you cheated on me with your best friend and now you’re here trying to spin this and pull me back. I-I have dignity. As much as I want to pretend like what’s been happening this semester is meaningless, I can’t.”

“And I’m telling you that I would never do that you. Not in a million years, not in this lifetime, would I ever purposely hurt you in that way. Baby, please. Listen to me!”

“I see the way you are with her,” your words fall after his. “I remember the texts. There is something there. I don’t know if I can compete with that and I’m not trying to. So, if you want to be with her, then do that, but leave me out of it.”

Miguel is quick to grab your hands as you try to turn away, “Fine. There is something there.”

You try to yank yourself from him again, the pain from October 13th filling you again, but his hands are faster this time.

“There’s a girl who used to threaten to beat me up if I didn’t defend myself against bullies. There’s a girl who used to trade collectible cards with me in secret because her parents didn’t allow her to obsess over junk, and the girls at school thought it was lame. There’s a trust built long over a decade that has been broken. I do care about her, as I would do with any friend, but you have to understand that I care about you, too.”

“Then why didn’t you show that?” you whispered, tears leaving your eyes. “It felt humiliating, Miguel. That night, I felt disgusting. Like you were just throwing me away. I kept thinking that you lied to me about everything, that you were indulging in something that you never really wanted.”

Miguel reached to hold your face, thumbs sliding your tears away, heart breaking.

“Lo siento, amor. Hm?” he wanted to take your pain away and place it onto himself if it meant that you didn’t talk like this. “It’s not true. What we have created is not some trial run. I love you so deeply, that I was going insane. Knowing that you thought otherwise is painful to hear. The buildup to that night is a misunderstanding. You have to know that.”

You take a breath, “How could I know?”

Miguel stared at your face and thought the same.

He’s been yelling trust, trust, trust and when he thinks back to your few interactions with Xina, it clicks that you truly had no foundation to trust.

“If I had just been better, you would have known.”

Like you said, Xina had walked all over him.

“So what now?” you asked, and pull your sweater over your fingers.

Miguel blinked, “I was hoping to start over? Restart?”

“I can’t,” you said immediately and Miguel tensed. “You entering my life has given me far more ups than downs, but when those downs come, they can be brutal.”

“So, you don’t want me to be your boyfriend, again?”

You shake your head and he felt like it was his turn to cry.

“I want action. Show me that something like this won’t happen again. We can sit here and tell each other promises until we’re blue in the face, but what do those promises mean if one person or thing can ruin it.”

“I’ll do that. I’ll do anything.”

You brush his hair back and wrap his arms around your waist to settle in this feeling. Your thumbs traveled from his hairline to curves of his ears down to his jaw. They rub circles into his skin, slow and rhythmic.

“Have you talked with Xina? Has she confessed to what you’re telling me she has done?”

He shakes his head softly, afraid to break the scene.

You laugh, small and quiet, then unwrap his arms from around you. You go back to your canvas and start to scrape at the glass of the taboret. Miguel was so in a trance, that almost didn’t notice the switch.

“I’m going to talk with her,” Miguel stated across the room.

You wave a hand in the air, unmoved.

He followed you as you go to the mineral spirits bucket to soak your brushes.

“Baby-“

“As far as I’m concerned, you shouldn’t talk to me until whatever you two have going on is fixed. Don’t know who 'baby' is.”

You walk to the sink and turn the water on. Miguel was right behind you and grabbing the dish soap before you can.

“And I will talk to her,” Miguel sayid. You reach for the soap and he holds it out of your reach, petulant. “Baby.”

You give him an irritated look and pinch his neck. He makes a hurt noise and gives you the jug.

“Action. Miguel.”

GymRat!Miguel who waited until you’ve packed everything up.

He didn’t mean for this to turn into him teasing you, but he couldn’t help it. He was getting his fill while he still could.

“At least let me walk you back to your dorm,” Miguel sayid, picking up the wet paper towels you’ve been throwing at him.

“No, thanks. I have a date. I don’t need you changing up my energy.”

Miguel’s smile dropped.

“You do?”

“His name starts with an R, ends with an E. He’s super sweet. Sturdy.”

Reese? Reggie? Raye? Ronnie?

“I see,” Miguel’s heart plummets. “Your friend wasn’t just that.”

“Mm-hm. We’re still testing the waters, but I don’t think he’ll disappoint me.”

Miguel didn’t know what to say. He was nothing but bold, though.

“Who’s to say that…guy won’t hurt you?”

Who’s to say that he would treat you better than Miguel?

You pull the straps of your back over your shoulders and Miguel wants to hold it for you.

A snicker leaves you, “Because he’s made of plastic and is designed of pleasure.”

“Oh.”

“Bye. Enjoy your Thanksgiving.”

Miguel stood and watched you go, wondering if this was progress.

GymRat!Miguel whose bedroom was filled with the chatter of his friends once more.

Friendsgiving was always fun.

GymRat!Miguel who thinks that Lyla is a terrible teammate.

“You’ve got be doing this on purpose,” Miguel groaned as Lyla’s Yoshi pumps the pedal incorrectly.

“I don’t know what you’s talking about!” Her giggles float across the room as saw Miguel get more and more frustrated.

Winston and Tempest were laser-focused, their Monty Mole and Peach following a stead 1-2 rhythm to get their cart across the track.

“Lyla!” Miguel yells as her Yoshi stumbles back. “You’re selling me. You want me to lose.”

The mini-game ends with Tempest and Winston high-fiving each other and Miguel yelling at Bowser to pick his head up.

GymRat!Miguel who laughed as he watched Winston reenact his band director, nearly breaking his neck.

“I’ve never seen a bald man somersault on grass until that day.”

GymRat!Miguel who, full off of food and peach cobbler that Tempest made, stared at the bag of gummies that she placed in the middle of their huddle.

“We can just try this tonight. We’re safe with each other,” Tempest whispered.

“You guys are horrible role models,” Miguel said.

“I don’t know. That blue one is speaking to me. It reminds me of Scooby Doo,” Winston mumbled.

Lyla motioned across one, “Maybe we can cut it in half.”

“That defeats the purpose though. These barely have anything in them,” Tempest complained.

“Says you,” Miguel quipped. “You just called me about a cherry bong the other night.”

“Ok, but wasn’t it cute?”

GymRat!Miguel who nearly jumped out his skin when his door slams open.

Everyone except him shoves their gummy in their mouth with lightening speed. Miguel just holds his awkwardly as he turns to see him mom standing in the doorway.

“Yeah, ma?” he says. He chose to ignore Winston who is over exaggerating, lips smacking.

“Mijo! I have a surprise for you guys!”

GymRat!Miguel who sat awkwardly on his rug, running his wrapped gummy in his palm.

Lyla was practically in Tempest’s lap, tapping at her phone. Tempest is looking around their circle expectantly.

Winston started tapping a fast beat on his arm.

Miguel is looking everywhere except in front of him where Xina was sitting with her chin tucked into her knees.

“It’s good to see you again,” Winston said, forever the peacemaker.

Xina relaxed a bit, “You guys, too. I’ve missed this.”

Miguel saw Tempest softening up a bit at Xina’s words.

“When is stuff gonna hit?” Lyla barks out to which Tempest elbows her.

Xina cleared her throat, “Actually can we talk, Miguel?”

“Yeah, shoot.”

Xina looked around them, “Alone?”

GymRat!Miguel who was standing across from Xina in the office-turned-bedroom that his parents barely used.

“Did my mom invite you?” Miguel asked.

“Actually, Tempest did.”

Miguel raises his eyebrows and nods. He didn’t expect that but he’s not mad at it.

Xina was antsy, arms hiding themselves in the sleeves folded across her body. Miguel stayed quiet.

“So, things between us haven’t been exactly smooth sailing lately.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Miguel looked down at the shark slippers you bought him last year.

“And I have some things that I want to explain to you.”

Miguel raised his eyes expectantly. Xina was mirroring his posture, but her face looked uncomfortable, conflicted.

Her eyes flicker over his before she covered her face and huffs, “这太难了.” (This is so hard.)

“What’s hard?” Miguel asks, pulling together the few times Xina taught him anything. He sat down, hoping it would relax her more.

Her hands drop as she blinks at the ceiling, “Everything. When it comes to you, everything just gets overwhelming.”

“As in?”

She looked at him in disbelief, “As in I’m doing silly shit, again.”

A pause in her words comes as they hear laughter from down the hall.

“Last year was so surreal. I did everything right. My mailbox was full of acceptance letters. My mom finally genuinely smiled at me for the first time in what felt like years. I moved so far away from my parents that I felt like that string that kept me attached to them had broken. I had fun. I went to my first party and got so drunk that when I woke up, I was on the porch of a frat. I made friends who could relate to me more than anyone else. I made acquaintances who could have never gotten into that school without their parents painting the campus with money. Still, I worked my ass off and got kicked out because one of them hid drugs under my seat.”

Miguel’s breath hitched, but Xina continued.

“It was my word against kids whose parents could have the school shut down within minutes. My dad was so angry at me that he pretended like I wasn’t in his home. And my mom just,” her leg started to bounce. “She helped me pack up some things and sent me to go live with my aunt for the summer. It wasn’t until she dropped me off at the airport that whispered to me that she loved me. That she was proud of me. That it was ok to make mistakes.”

“I cried like a baby for half of the flight. And it wasn’t until I got to customs that I realized that I should have called you. You always knew what to tell me no matter what the situation was and I just disappeared. Everything came back tenfold and I missed you so much. So when I saw you again, it was like I fell back into my old habits. I thought ‘I’m finally going to do it!’ but would chicken out and relieve that stress. I was kind of hoping that my tipsy self would have more confidence.”

“Because a drunk tongue speaks a sober mind?” Miguel hummed.

Xina finally laughed, “Are you 40 or something? Yeah. Exactly.”

Miguel blinked and looked up at her, “So tell me what your sober mind wants to say, Xina.”

Xina’s eyes lowered, “That I. I feel like I lose myself when I’m around you. It’s why I acted the way I did. It’s why I overstepped.”

His heart picked up as he registered her words.

“I like you so much, Miguel. More than I can bear. More than I’d like to admit. More than a friend.”

dividers by: @adornedwithlight 🩵

a/n: Please don't be mad at me. 😵‍💫 Also please watch your tone in the comments. 🤠 Be very mindful, very demure.

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[ihavethedreamies]

Her Hero | Lee Know

Lee Minho - Stray Kids

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~5k

Pairing: Podocheong! Lee Know x Noble! AFAB! Reader

(The Podocheong were like the police of Joseon Era Korea)

Genre: Historical AU!, Joseon Era, Reader-Insert, Fluff, Smut, Some Plot, Frenemies-to-Lovers (ish)

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Swearing, Kissing, Pet Names (Sweetheart mostly), Fingering, First Times (Readers), Breeding Kink (kinda), Breathplay, A Single Spank, Masochist! Reader (surprise~!), Unprotected Sex (This is pre-birth control so…)

Summary: When a political rival of your father kidnaps you for a ransom, your father calls on the Podocheong (Police) to rescue you. An extremely handsome Bujang (Lieutenant) rescues you, but you would be loathe to admit you need (and like) a hero.

Author's Note: Here's Lee Know's!! Working on Changbin's, should be up very soon.

At the bottom I will have a guide for all the untranslated words I use, most of which are to do with the clothing they wear.

P.S. I'm having so much fun with these but I have to help watch our dog so she doesn't get on my uncle's furniture and so then I can't work on these during the day :\

Also, if any of my historical information/words are inaccurate, I apologize, I did the best with what research I could and what I know from watching too many historical K-Dramas.

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I am cross-posting this on Archive and Wattpad. Please reblog! If you know anyone that would like this or future fics but they aren't on here my name and icon are exactly the same on the other sites. Happy reading!

Your father was an important man who did important things. Unfortunately, some people didn't like the things he did or the way he did them. Namely, the Right State Minister…your father was the Left State Minister, so they should work together. No. They hated each other. Even more so because your father refused to let you marry the other Minister's son. That made the other man's son hate you…for some reason, like you had any say in the matter. You didn't even know the guy existed till your father told you he had prevented your marriage.

One day, as you waited by the entrance to your family's estate, you draped a sseugaechima over your head, waiting for your brother to join you. He was going to escort you to your friend's house, and you were getting impatient.

"Sorry!" He dashed through the courtyard, leaning down and panting to catch his breath. When he stood, the top of his gat wacked you on the chin and you flinched back.

"Sorry!" He floundered, peeling the head covering off so he could look at your annoyed face for any injury. He was such a klutz but at least he tried to make up for it.

"Let's just go please, orabeoni." You sniffed, recovering your head and you left the estate grounds. Your older brother weaved through the crowd, you held onto the belt of his hanbok to make sure you didn't get separated. There must have been some kind of big event or something going on because there were people everywhere.

"Ah, wait!" You cried out, someone bumped into you hard, and you let go of your brother.

"(Y/N)?" He turned around, his height allowing him to look over most of the crowd, but your own height hid you more. You were shoved and pushed as people whirled around you and called his name out.

"(Y/N)!" He shouted, but before you could reply, something hit you hard in the back of the head and you saw black.

~~~

When you woke up, you hurt. Your head hurt the most, but your whole body was sore. As your senses returned, you looked around in confusion. You were in a bedroom of what looked like an inn or other kind of lodging. Sitting up from the bed, you rubbed at the back of your head, looking around. Did your brother find you? If so, why did he bring you to a lodging rather than just back to your home? He also wasn't in the room. Did you pass out and a random person bring you here till you woke up? At the other side of the room, on the other side of a folding divider, you heard the door open. Unfortunately, it was not your brother that came in, you actually had no idea who it was. He was dressed all in black and his face was even covered.

"W-who are you?" You backed up on the bed, back hitting the wall, like that would really be of any use. He didn't say anything, but he pulled out a dagger and you froze in shock. Logically, you knew you could scream, but you couldn't physically get one out. He stalked forward and you closed your eyes, waiting for the worst. You squeaked when he grabbed your hair, right above where your daenggi was tied, and…cut your hair. He left as quickly as he came, the end of your hair along with the ribbon in his hand. What? Reaching around, you brought your hair over your shoulder to look at where he cut, nearly half of the length was gone.

"That-" you were madder more than anything else. Couldn't he have just undone the ribbon to use as proof? It was clear he didn't want to hurt you because you were in a nice room, not tied up, and other than a throbbing spot on the back of your head, you were unharmed.

After what felt like around an hour of sitting in the corner, contemplating what to do, you got up to look around. You weren't sure about trying to escape. Just because you were unhurt up until then didn't mean your captor would be so merciful if you tried to leave. Plus, you might get more hurt escaping, you were pretty sure you were on a second or even third floor. Just to check though…nope, the window shutters were locked from the other side it seemed. Plus, obviously, so was the door. Great. As time ticked by, you messed with the various objects of décor, trying to prevent boredom. Didn't work. All the drawers were empty and there wasn't even a baduk board for you to mess around with. After being nosy even more, you found a book wedged in the back of a dresser, between the back panel of the drawer and the piece as a whole. You weren't sure how it got back there and when you finally yanked it out, you sighed.

"Better than nothing." It was some old romance book that had been there for probably at least ten years. Sitting at a table in the room, you started the read, not really enjoying it, but it was better than nothing. More time passed and you were glad there was at least a separate room with a chamber pot, but it was getting dark. Your stomach rumbled and you wondered just how long you had been out cold because you and your brother had left the estate fairly early in the morning. When night fell, you found a lantern but had no way to light it. So, you had to sit in the dark, only the faint light of the moon flowed in through the slits of the locked shutters. Sitting back on the bed, your stomach growled again, and you sighed, laying down. You might as well pass time with sleep.

~~~

You were startled awake when there was a loud commotion outside of not just the lodging but also your room. Getting up from the bed you went to try and look through the slats of the windows but couldn't see much. There was a loud crash, and you turned around just in time to see the door break into pieces as someone kicked it open, not even bothering to try and unlock it first. It was the Podocheong! The man that came in had the uniform of a Bujang, and he sighed in relief upon seeing you. Another officer came in then, taller than the man who had kicked the door in.

"We believe we arrested all of the perpetrators, sir." He bowed slightly to the lieutenant, and he nodded, waving him off.

"Are you okay, Lady (Y/N)?" He came forward, brow furrowed in worry, looking over you. You shrunk under his gaze, embarrassed, hiding your face. His hands went to your jaw, making you look at him so he could see if your face was harmed. Your cheeks felt hot under his thumbs, he was strikingly attractive, but also familiar.

"When your brother couldn't find you, he came straight to me." He told you, letting you go, and you nodded, stepping back, looking away again. He then realized how intimate his action had been, and he bowed, apologizing.

"Are you friends with my orabeoni?"

"Yes, my lady. When we both got to your estate to look for you, your father informed us that a ransom letter had been sent for your safe return. I apologize for not getting here much sooner." You shook your head, casting a glance up at him, not sure if you were allowed to really show him your face.

"Here." He removed his jeonbok, draping it over your head so you could hide under it. Thanking him gently, you pulled it down over your more, it smelled like him, which was amazing.

"Let's get you home."

"W-what is your name?"

"Minho of the Lee clan, my lady."

~~~

When you returned home, not just your mother and brother were in tears like you expected, but your father was as well. He wasn't cold normally, but he just had better control of his emotions.

"Thank you, hyungnim." Your brother bowed to Bujang Minho, still sniffing a bit.

"Yes, we cannot begin to express our gratitude, Bujang." Your father thanked him as well and you let your mother lead you further into the estate so she could hug you. You hugged her tightly back, incredibly grateful to be home safe.

~~~

You weren't sure what Minho had asked of your father in return for rescuing you, but he seemed to be hanging around a lot. While, yes, he was mostly with your brother, you would always find him watching you if you happened to be around or passed by. One day you were sitting at the edge of your family's pond under a parasol, messing around with some embroidery work. You were not very good at it even though you enjoyed it.

"Is that supposed to be a flower?" You heard a teasing remark to your side, and you sent a glare at the owner, but, it was not your brother. Quickly, your face reddened, and you looked back down.

"U-uh yes, but as you can see, I am a little poor at this." You huffed a nervous laugh.

"Then why are you doing it?"

"I like it, just-" You yelped when you poked yourself with the needle, quickly putting the tip of your finger in your mouth. Setting the frame on the ground and putting the needle back in the cushion, you ran a finger over the messy stitching.

"What else do you like to do?" You froze when he sat down next to you, not close enough to touch you, but you weren't expecting it. He wasn't in his Podocheong uniform, the light greenish-blue fabric of his hanbok complimented him well. Looking away from where the material seemed to be struggling over his chest, you cleared your throat.

"I enjoy painting, but once again, I'm not great at it."

"Is there anything you enjoy that you are good at?" You saw him tilt his head to rest it on his fist, elbow resting on his knee, from the side of your eye.

"I…" You were a little stumped.

"N-not really." You enjoyed creative and artistic work, but you were not skilled in the field.

"That's not what your brother told me." Your eyes widened and you shot him a wary look.

"Your father isn't even here." Minho rolled his eyes, and you clenched your jaw. He was kind of getting on your nerves. Mostly because he was stupidly attractive, and you didn't like being teased to begin with.

"I haven't shot a bow in years." You whispered, still weary.

"Worried a man won't want to marry you if you can fight?"

"Archery isn't fighting, and I'm not worried about that." You stood up then, leaving the parasol jabbed in the ground, gathering up your frame and embroidery basket, walking around him to head back to your room.

"Let's go do it." He caught up to you, walking backwards, smirking as he walked ahead of you.

"No." It was too risky, you got caught last time your brother took you to his make-shift archery range.

"We can go to the Podocheong training area, no one will know. No one's there now." You had reached the stairs to get up onto the deck of your house, and you halted at the bottom. The offer was extremely tempting…

"Fine, let me get something to change into."

With a bundle of your brother's old clothes in tow, Minho helped you sneak off the estate grounds. He had at least told your brother, so no one thought you got kidnapped again. Your father didn't check on you after dark so he wouldn't know you weren't in your room. After you arrived at the training grounds, you changed in a bathing room and came out.

"You really look like your brother like that." Minho scoffed and you rolled your eyes.

"I know." You sniffed and he led you toward the back where the archery targets were set up. Without waiting for his prompt, you looked over the different bows on the rack and picked one, then grabbed a quiver as well. It felt instantly familiar, and you were glad for that, but your aim was rusty.

"You're supposed to hit the middle." Minho hummed next to you, pointing to where you had hit off to the side quite a bit.

"I know." You grit your teeth, shooting off another arrow and it missed as well. Was it the bow?

"Here." He moved to adjust your grip on the bow, and you yanked away from his hold.

"I don't need your help." You were embarrassed because you said archery was something you were actually good at.

"You did a few weeks ago." The little string of control you had snapped, the fire of your annoyance singing the ends, and you turned to him, glaring at him straight in the eye.

"What, you want me to say thank you? After my father showered you with gifts and allowed you to loiter around our estate? Fall to my knees in gratitude to my hero? Huh? If you want that go to another girl." You turned back away from him, not noticing his amused grin and you shot another arrow, hitting the red bullseye.

"What?" You nearly growled, standing at the door to your room's building, having opened it to find Minho leaning on the wooden column next to the stairs. He was relentless for the next few weeks, and you were really pissed. More so that you missed when he wouldn't show up with that stupid smirk on his pretty face. Why were you starting to like him when he just teased you all the damn time? Wasn't he your brother's friend? He constantly pestered you to go shoot with him, or go ride on his horse, or some other stuff, and you said no to almost everything. You would only eat with him if he brought snacks or a meal because who says no to food?

"I think you dropped this." You looked to see your eunjangdo dangling from his index finger.

"Give it!" You swiped at it, but he held it up and back behind him so you couldn't reach it. The silver shined in the sun, and you jumped to grab it, falling onto him when you couldn't make it.

"Give it back!" You pressed against him more, fingers barely touching the sheath of the dagger.

"Hm, no." He chuckled and you yiped when he wrapped his other arm around you, holding you to him. Your face bloomed with heat, and you could even see the red on the tip of your nose when you looked at his face, very close to yours.

"I really should stop helping you if you don't want a hero so bad." He finally relented and brought the dagger back down, but he didn't let you go. He was warm against you, and you could feel the muscle he had underneath the layers of clothes and even through your own. Your head was swimming, and you didn't even move to grab your eunjangdo from him when it was within reach.

"Have you heard the rumor about the watermill behind your house by the stream?" Instantly you knew what he was talking about.

"Y-You!" Your face's redness changed from embarrassment to rage, and you pulled away from him, slapping him hard, then turning on your heel and going back inside, the silver dagger still dangling in his grasp.

You didn't want to admit why you were crying, but you held the cushion to your chest closer, pressing your tear-stained face into the pink silk. You weren't overly fond of romance and sweet gestures, but the crassness of his suggestion hurt. Did he only want to bed you and then move on? You hoped deep inside he liked you back. And it wasn't until you cried for a good hour that you realized why you were so upset. You liked him. That’s why you wanted him to like you back.

"Dammit." You sniffed, wiping hard at your face with your sleeve.

"(Y/N)?" A soft voice called from just outside your window, only moonlight coming in through it, one small candle illuminating your room softly.

"(Y/N)? I know you're awake." You registered the owner of the voice, and you deflated further into your cushions.

"Go away." You spat at him.

"(Y/N), please?" Minho's tone was like nothing you had heard before, and it was beginning to compel you.

"No." He could probably hear the insincerity in your voice.

"(Y/N), sweetheart, please?" Your heart stopped, then sped into a gallop when he called you that. Your body seemed to act at the will of your heart and not your brain, because you got up, using a step stool, and opened the window. He smiled, genuinely, and it made you swallow hard. You wanted to cry again.

"I'm so sorry." He stepped forward, the window just the right height for him to rest his arms on the sill from where he stood on the porch. You didn't say anything, you were worried you would burst into tears if you tried.

"I said something horrible; I was just trying to tease you and I hurt you. Will you forgive me?" You hadn't heard such a sincere tone from him since he rescued you at the lodging. Your uncertain gaze met his intense one and he sighed.

"What you said awhile back made me think. You said that your father showered me with gifts for saving you? He didn't."

"But…orabeoni said you got confections and a bunch of other stuff."

"That was from him and your mother. Your father had a different gift, but I told him I didn't want it. Not without you agreeing." What?

"Huh?" He smiled at the clear confusion all over your face, the sad look falling off.

"Your father offered you as a gift. As my wife. I said yes, but I wanted to court you first. I didn't do a great job though I guess." Minho sighed and you couldn't hold back then, tears spilling over your cheeks.

"(Y/N)?" He stood up straight and you stepped closer, and he gently cupped your cheek in his hand.

"You should have just said so, you stupid idiot." You hitched a sob with each word, and he smiled, letting out a small laugh.

"Yes. I should have."

~~~

It seemed, to Minho even more than you, the wedding couldn't have been soon enough. It was also hard to hide from your family just how clingy he was. If no one was around, his arms were around you at the very least. He had you sit in his lap while you did most things, his chin on your shoulder, watching you sew or read. More than just a few times he would be standing next to you or hugging you and his hand would sneak lower than he really should have put it. The first time he got a not-very-strong hit to his chest, and he just chuckled.

You were a bit sad to move out of your family home, but you and he were given your own separate house on his father's estate, so far on the edge of the land that it felt like your own. As you stood in your new bedroom, dressed only in your sokchima, flinching at every noise as if it was your… You giggled finally thinking of him as your husband, and you hopped a little with glee. Every noise though made you hope that it was him, returning from his own bath, but most of the time it was just an animal outside, or the wind making the window shutters creak slightly.

Finally, the door to the bedroom opened and he peaked his head in, a serious look on his face.

"Are you ready, (Y/N)? Because I'm running out of restraint." The sharp look in his eyes made you shiver, but you nodded anyway. As he stalked in, the door falling shut behind him, he tugged at the goreum of his sokjeogori, and time slowed down as it fell to the floor. Your eyes skated over the skin that he revealed, and you didn't have time to react, he scooped you up in his arms and easily carried you to the bed. He pinned you to the yo, raised onto a platform and you gasped as his lips sealed over yours. His hand snuck under your head, fingers weaving through your hair at the base of your braid, pressing you even closer to him.

His other hand wandered, snaking up your leg, pushing your sokchima up higher and higher. Feeling his hands on your bare skin made you shiver despite the heat he seemed to be setting. You panted when he finally pulled his tongue out of your mouth, licking his lips like a hungry dog. His eyes though reminded you of a cat on the hunt.

"How rough can I be?" Minho's lips brushed the skin of your neck as he spoke, then his mouth attached, and he sucked hard. You huffed at the feeling; mind not able to stay on track for very long.

"Huh?" You finally managed to get out, hands balled into fists over his shoulders, your pulse seeming to thud harder where he had sucked the skin nearly raw.

"I've been waiting to have you so long, sweetheart, that I just want to breed you like a bitch in heat." The vulgarity of his words shocked you, but it somehow fueled your arousal rather than offending you.

"I want to brand you as mine." He licked a path over your throat, ending at the hickey he had left under your ear. His blunt nails dug into the flesh of your upper thigh as he pulled it up to his waist, his hand sliding down to cup your rear.

"M-Minho-!" You couldn't help but throw your head back with an airy moan as he rolled his hips against yours, his hard cock pressing to your bare core through his pants.

"Tell me now, so I can slow down." You could hear the strain in his voice, his breathing was hard too.

"Don't." So, he didn't. He didn't hesitate either and you squeaked when he rolled you over underneath him, landing on your stomach. Instead of untying your sokchima like a civilized person, he tore the straps at the seams, then yanked the white garment from you and tossed it to the side, leaving you completely naked. Your skin immediately rose into goosebumps from the sudden chill, but the heat of his bare chest pressing to your back instantly took over.

"You're just perfect." He hummed, nearly laying completely on top of you, hard cock nestled in the crest of your butt. Minho's arm snuck under you, sliding up to nestle between your breasts, his hand gripping your jaw. You whimpered at the restraining feeling even though it was nowhere close to tight, and you felt his dick twitch at the noise. His free hand also snuck underneath you, holding himself up with pure core strength, only the elbow of the arm holding you supporting him. As his fingertips ran over your lower stomach you sighed, the muscles twitching at the stimulation. He hummed and you recognized the noise that he always made when he smirked, and your body jerked when his fingers finally met your cunt.

"So wet already, sweetheart." His nose nuzzled behind your ear, the hand at your jaw loosening even further but sliding down just a bit to cup your throat. Quickly, his index finger brushed over your clit, and you whined, and he chuckled, feeling the vibration at his palm.

"M-Minho…" Your head was swimming, and you let out a choking noise when he buried a finger into you.

"Don't worry sweetheart, I'll loosen your tight cunt enough to take my cock." While Minho wasn't always outstandingly proper with you, his crass words still surprised you some. They went straight to your core though, and he felt your gummy walls spasm around the single digit. Slowly, he pumped his finger till you relaxed, the slight sting from the entrance dissipating. You had never even used your own fingers and based off what you felt nestled into your backside, you did need to get prepped. Whether it was on purpose or not, when Minho finally added a second finger, his hand at your throat tightened just enough to put slight pressure on your windpipe. Your cunt spasmed again, harder, and your heart sped up as well, wondering why the sensation excited you so much.

"Oh?" He chuckled, speeding up his hand at your pussy, palm pressing to your throat a bit harder. His palm pressed at your clit and a strong pulse hit your core, and it was getting stronger and stronger.

"W-wait, Minho!" You gasped, having an idea that you were close even if you had never felt it. The intensity startled you a bit.

"Go ahead, (Y/N), fall apart." The hand at your throat pressed enough to make your vision swim and you keened out a moan as you came. He huffed at the squeeze on his fingers, but helped you ride the high out, kissing behind your ear as he did. When he unwrapped his arms from around you, you fell limp on the bedding, still trying to catch your breath. Swallowing a few times to ease the slight soreness of your throat, you heard him shuffle. You, however, had no time to look behind you at him before his hands were on your hips, pulling them up, forcing your butt up in the air.

"What are you-?"

"I said I wanted to breed you like a bitch in heat." Oh, he meant it literally. Unfortunately for you, he hadn't given you the chance to see him bare, because you were not prepared for when he brought the head of his cock to your entrance.

"Breathe, sweetheart." His hands wrapped around your waist, thumbs rubbing circles into the skin of your back, and you focused on measured breaths as the fat head of his dick finally started to press in. Stinging heat seared through you from your core out as he entered, and you couldn't tell what it felt like. Somehow it hurt like hell but also felt so good, so much so you thought you might pass out. You fisted the bedding below you, gasping for air as he slid in, the slick of your arousal aiding the entrance.

"Your cunt's hugging my cock so good~" Minho sighed, the noise turning into a groan as he buried even further. How much further would he go? The searing heat was so deep you wondered if he would stop anytime soon.

"Just a bit…" He chuckled when he finally bottomed out, the tip pressing snugly to the base of your womb. Tears had sprung to your eyes, your whole face felt hot, and you panted hard, trying to get used to the odd feeling. Yes, it hurt, but it felt so much better than you thought it would.

"Tell em when you're ready, my love." He leaned over you again, kissing your shoulder gently and petting your hair.

"Go." You answered almost immediately, and his soft touches halted.

"Love, are you sure?"

"Fuck, please!" You weren't sure why you needed him to start already, logic told you it would hurt, but you craved it. It felt so dirty to like the burn so much, but you couldn't help it.

"Yeah?"

"Please!" Your breath was forced from your lungs when he rolled his hips, pulling out halfway before snapping back into you, hard. He felt your core pulse around him, a rush of your arousal soaking his cock, and he grinned like a madman.

"So fucking perfect." He immediately began a brutal pace, but still held back some, only pulling out half before driving his cock back home, battering your womb.

"W-wait, oh! Ah! Fuck!" The same waves of pleasure were already cresting, so much stronger than before and Minho relished in feeling the clench of your gummy walls around his cock instead of his fingers.

"So good." He mumbled to himself, licking his lips and as you got closer…

"Fuck!" You squealed when his hand came down on your ass, leaving a red print on your skin and you came again. He gasped a laugh as your arousal drenched his cock and his groin, leaving a shining trail down both your thighs. Minho laughed at your whine of disapproval when he pulled out, but it turned to a gasp as he flipped you over. He threw one of your legs over his shoulder, ankle at his ear, holding the other to his side, and he filled you again. Your vision spotted from the stinging pleasure the overstimulation was causing you, but you focused on his gorgeous face. He had that cocky smirk on his face, sweat beading down from his forehead and you whimpered at the sight. With what little strength you had, you propped yourself up to see where he was splitting you open. Whether it was the sight or his next thrust, you fell back limp and fisted the sheets as he fucked you like a rabbit. His shallow movements were even harder than before, and your eyes rolled back, back arching as your next orgasm rose.

"Oh, what a good girl, cum for me, love." Minho took your hands in his, your legs barely wrapping around him to hold on. His fingers wove through yours, lips meeting once more as his pace stuttered. He must have felt your moan against his tongue as you came once more, the tight vice of your cunt spurred him over the edge as well. Your core burned even hotter as his cum filled you to the point where it spilled from you, mixing with your own. Your body went limp, and Minho hummed, kissing your forehead.

"I love you." He left little pecks all over your face and you giggled sleepily.

"I love you, too. I'm glad you saved me that day."

"No, (Y/N), I think you saved me."

Sseugaechima - this is the extra-skirt looking garment women would wear over their heads. Gat - this is the hat that noblemen would wear, more specifically the ones that were black and made of mesh. Orabeoni - more archaic/historical word for older brother to a girl. Hanbok - traditional/historical clothing, most people think of women's dresses, but men's clothes were called this as well. Daenggi - the ribbon that was tied around a unmarried girl's braid. Baduk - Korean word for the Chinese game of Go. Podocheong - essentially the Joseon era police. Bujang - a Lieutenant-level position in the Podocheong. Jeonbok - kind of like a long vest worn over a hanbok. Hyungnim - a more commonly used term historically for a man to an older brother or friend. Eunjangdo - a silver dagger that many women wore as an accessory, mostly nobles. Sokchima - basically a dress/skirt like under-garment. Goreum - the ties that fastened the top of a hanbok. Sokjeogori - a shirt worn as an undergarment. Yo - a Korean floor mattress.

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Taglist: @huldrelokken, @estella-novella, @astrobebba, @kayleefriedchicken, @minghaosimp, @cassandramrn, @qwonyoung23

[billskeis]

Hello!

I wanted to ask if it's possible that you write double smut with bill and tom? Like, they share her? At the same time, of course 😏

Thank you.

ᡣ𐭩 the kaulitz twin’s after-party “party”

“hey y/n! glad you could make it!” bill exclaimed as the two of you exchanged kisses on each side of the cheek, “thank you guys for inviting me!! ‘nd congrats on the awards, i’m so proud of you guys, hi tom!” you reach out an arm to hug the older twin, his arm wrapped around your waist lingering tightly, and longer than expected.

a smirk frames his face, “lookin’ good tonight,” you playfully spin around in your dress as you blush at his flirts, “oh you, you know i had to; couldn’t show down for my two best friends!”

and that’s what you guys would call it. best friends. you were there when tokio hotel weren’t tokio hotel. devilish, black question mark. since the beginning of time, you supported the four on their rockstar journey whilst also venturing yours. being one of the top soloists right now, tokio hotel and you were a hit! however, what comes with being so close with the twins, comes unwarranted feelings.

the twins eyed you up and down, and eyes just had to linger a little longer than they should’ve to where you’d noticed. cheeks flushed. you stood there in a little tight number, standing tall with your red black pumps.

adjusting themselves, bill clears his throat whilst tom adjusts his t-shirt collar, is it getting hot in here? you can’t help but look down at your heels, feeling small between the kaulitz twins that tower each one of your sides.

“so uh, y/n, you.. busy after this?” tom asks, your eyes widen at the sudden question. what could they possibly want to do after their after party? you were hoping to just go home and rest, considering your busy schedule that consumed most of your social life, but staying up a little later couldn’t hurt right? you take a swig of your alcoholic beverage as you smile, “nope! wanna do something?”

mischievous. as one would call it, the look on their faces. you, oblivious, were not aware of their intentions behind such a question. maybe you weren’t smarter than you looked, or perhaps you were. but you definitely didn’t have any social cues when it came to men. tom wrapped an arm around your waist yet again, you let it rest there. it’s a friendly gesture, to protect you from other men of course!

that was half true.

“let’s go to ours, we have better drinks there,” bill suggests.

that was a total lie.

“but what about the after party?” you cocked your head to the side in genuine curiosity. why would the twins leave their own party that they hosted for their band? odd, you thought, but because it wasn’t your party to begin with and you were JUST a guest, there was no point in further questioning it.

“don’t worry about it, georg and gustav are handling it, see?” as tom points towards the crowd to find double g gyrating with one another and some fans.

you laugh, not realizing that the two of them now have you enclosed even closer between them. as tom’s arm still remains, bill’s hand adorns your shoulder.

“shall we?” he asks.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

“i—um—fuck! we.. shouldn’t be doing t-this..” saying that aloud sounds stupid, because how could anybody believe you while you slam your hips down onto tom’s lap, bill’s lips attached to your neck as he paints your neck with various shades of blue, reds and purple.

tom groans as your silky walls clench down on his length, tip hitting your g spot as you wince out in pleasure, “relax baby, paparazzi didn’t follow us back so you have nothing to worry about,” bill unlatches his mouth from your neck, a string of saliva remaining as he giggles looking at the state he’s left your upper body in.

“perfect,” a pleased hum emits from bill as he frees his hard-on from his boxers, whining as the cold air hits his throbbing and needy member.

with a shudder, bill guides one of your hands to the head of his tip, smearing the pre all over the sensitive mushroom head as you work your way up and down his cock.

“oh fuck, just like that..” bill placing his hand over yours in an aid to jerk him off as he would himself, kissing atop of your mouth as his tongue piercing glides over your oral cavity, feeling every nook and cranny of your mouth that has you gasping for more. with a lack of attention, tom pouts as you prioritize bill over him. tilting his pelvis, tom jerks his hips into yours, abusing your walls at a new angle that ends up deepening your kiss with bill, squeezing the head of his cock, “mmphh!”

“tom. be nice.”

“she can handle it, right y/n? you can handle this dick..” tom says with a low chuckle.

melting into the kiss, both you and bill ellicit sweet little cries to one another, “i did it ‘cause i wanted more attention, schatz,” you hear from behind you. as you break the kiss between you and bill turning your head to face the figure you rode, that looks at you with puppy dog eyes.

your cunt is already sensitive, it’s been about two hours since you’ve guys began, well, this. you really wondered how you got yourself into such a mess. maybe it was the way that tom’s little movements on you had your knees buckling, or the way that bill’s smile warmed your heart. you think to yourself, you’re just friends. juuuust friends.

friends don’t do the things you’re doing.

while getting off of tom’s lap, you position yourself onto bill’s, cunt already leaking onto his member and wasting no time and sliding down on his length. bill grips balls of sheets into his fists as he restrains himself from taking you all for himself, “oh gott, y-y/n,” his mouth hanging low as he lets out a strained sob from how sensitive he is. you’re warm, and still tight, and bill can’t help but feel as though he’s in heaven.

tom is still and watches with wide eyes as he soon realizes your mouth engulfs his dick, tongue swirling over his tip as you messily spit and drool saliva all over his cock, “damn.. you little minx, didn’t think ya’d be into this,” holding your hair into a makeshift ponytail with his hand, using his opposite to pet the top of your head, bobbing up and down.

bill hands hold each side of your ass as he guides your hips up and down his cock, biting his lip as he gasps from how greedily your pussy swallows his cock, “such a slut huh? like the way we take you at the same time.. one cock wasn’t enough, you needed two?” be nice, he said. fucking hypocrite. his dirty words are mean, but have an inverse impact on you as your cunt tightens around him along with a moan vibrating in your throat, tom curses, “oh fuck ‘m not gonna last long..”

tom does everything in his power to hold himself from fucking his hips into your mouth, but it also isn’t helpful considering the fact that bill’s thrusts from behind pushes tom further down your throat. “shitshitshit, bill.. ya close?” “m-mmhm..”

like a pig roasted on a spit, like the slut you truly are, holes fucked by your two best friends, your hips and mouth stutter to escape both ends.

“gonna cum sweet girl?” tom asks as he cups your cheek with one hand, thumb swiping over the tears that spill from the ongoing pleasure that surges through your body. both twins are close as well, eager to finish as there’s an unrelenting tempo to bill’s thrusts and tom hastily working his hands on your head in guiding your mouth, fully savouring his taste.

“coming..!”

one quick thrust all at once, you slightly gag on tom and tense your body as the three of you came simultaneously, shaky and trembling. cum paints your insides from opposite ends, filling you to the brim as electricity jolts from the inside out. as bill and tom empty their loads, they finally let out, you’ve managed to swallow all of tom’s, but bill’s seeps from between your legs.

quickly, bill shoves his fingers into your cunt, leaving them there as you wail, ‘b-bill!’ overstimulated, he scoffs jokingly, letting out a quick ‘what?’ as he then removes his fingers admiring his cream-pie.

laying flat on the bed, your body slightly twitches from the lingering pleasure. tom reaches out to hand you a water-bottle as bill uses a warm washcloth to clean you up. thanking the two, both join you in the king-sized bed for a long needed cuddle session.

now let’s just say, the media has found a new scoop on their new hit rockstars.

but you’ll deal with that tomorrow morning!

guys am losinggg my mind i miss my moots i missed my passion for writing i miss thriving :c lmk if i suck i’ll do better

interact if ur still active , pls </3 pls comment and talk 2 me i wanna be more engaging

[minwonsgirl]

a pool of hidden love.

— dino x gn! reader

— fluff with tiny tiny plot

— best friends to lovers, kissing, smoking, unpromped confessions, chan and y/n are both kinda stupid tbh, marriage talk, cute cute stuff, and like 1 joshua mention.

"wanna hang out at the pool tonight?" chan asked, after puffing out a wad of smoke and twirling the cigarette in his fingers. I grabbed it from his hand and press it in between my lips, inhaling a good amount of that toxic poison in my body.

when we were younger, chan and I came across the huge abandoned pool in the middle of the forest next to our home town. apparantly a drowning incident caused the pool to close down, but before they could tear it down the owner died and the property came under the government. no one really visited it so we decided to keep the spot as our own.

chan and I had to go to different states for college, we could only meet during the holidays. every time we would meet we would sneak out and meet up at the pool.

the pool was completely empty and dry, but overtime we managed to make it comfy by adding in a mattress, blankets, a mini fridge full of snacks, an internet cabel, and a nice little roof made out of cardboard boxes and a whole lot of water proof tape to protect us from the rain.

on nights with particularly good weather, we would open up a part of the cardboard roof, and stare into the sky's beautiful paintings, we would point at and try to recognize as many constellations as we could and then fall asleep in each other's arms.

"not tonight, we have our friends pre wedding thing tomorrow morning remember?" I said, laying my head back on his stomach, my legs were propped up against the wall. I hand him the blunt and wait for him to take it.

chan groans out loud and uses my pillow to cover his face so that he could scream into it. then he grabs it from my hand. "why is everyone getting married so quickly?" he asked in the middle of blowing out, "it's so annoying."

"I think it's cute" I said, tapping my foot on the wall. I felt chan lift his head up to side eye me, "cute? you find marriages cute?" he raised an eyebrow judgementally. then he laughs and says "oh jisoo your so cute, our love is so cute, let's get married" in a high pitched mocking voice.

I punch his chest and he starts coughing, "shut up asshole" I rolled my eyes. "they've been dating since eighth grade it makes perfect sense for them to get married at twenty four."

chan laughs but nods his head in agreement. the cigarette had almost died out by the time we both fell silent. he holds it above my lips so that I could take the final blow. when I'm finally done the extinguishes it on a platter on my bedside table.

the silence streches out for awhile before chan breaks it by asking "do you ever think we would get married?"

I lift a brow in confusion, "like, to each other?" I asked sitting up on my bed so that I could face him, chan does the same and leans against the head board. "no silly, I meant in general" he said, then he lifts his head to a side and adds, "though it's not really a bad idea, is it?"

"getting married, to each other?" I pointed between us. I scoffed and fixed him with a pointed glare, "channie are you high?"

he rolled his eyes, "we shared one joint." he said in an unimpressed tone. I shrug my shoulders, "sorry but I am not the one suggesting we get married"

"didn't say we should get married today" he let's out in an exasperated voice, "we have chemistry, and be honest there is no way you don't like me back" he adds defensively.

I crawl my way to sit beside chan and hand him the soda can he had brought up from the kitchen awhile ago. when he takes a sip and let's out a satisfied sigh, I shove him to get his attention, "ofcourse we have chemistry, we're best friends," I said, "by your logic our moms would have some very serious explaining to do."

chan rolls his eyes and snorts, "oh yeah sure, our moms most definitely want to marry each other."

"chan!"

"how devastated do you think our daddies will be?" he asked while laughing at me.

I punch his arms, "for a person who just confessed to his long time best friend, you seem awfully well" I said. chan freezes as a wave of realisation crashes over him, "fuck" he cursed, while a sweet blush covers his cheeks.

I laughed softly and let him revel in his embarrassment for a little while. "I— I didn't say I like like you." he mumbled, avoiding my eyes and I felt a smirk crawl up my lip.

"relax chan, I don't think it's a bad idea" I said, grabbing the magazine from the foot of my bed and opening it to continue reading from where I last stopped.

I felt chan freeze beside me, "you don't think it's a bad idea?" he asked, genuine confusion clouding his features.

I shrugged my shoulder to feign nonchalance. "your a great guy, an we make a greater team. why shouldn't we get married?" I said, the words on the page mocking me by not letting me understand what they meant.

chan pushes his hand on the magazine and catches my attention with his voice, and a hooked finger lifting my chin to hold eye contact, "wait hold on, are you proposing?" he asked with the same smugness I was feeling a minute earlier (and am lacking in now).

a sudden wave of shyness hits me but I refused to acknowledge it, "no— no way." I said, turning my head away from his piercing gaze, "you did it first" I said in an exasperated voice as if I was a child being accused of doing something only after I saw someone else do it.

chan looked taken aback for a second, then he shakes his head lightly as if to throw away all the useless doubts "I'm gonna kiss you" he said, holding the sides of my neck, "and I want you to slap me very hard if you don't want me to" he said.

as if in hell I would do that.

I don't wait for him to lean down and just reach up myself to meet his plush lips. he almost pull back in surprise but I grab onto his shirt and pull him close to me.

he gives in and melts into the kiss, giving me every suppressed feeling and every fluttering emotion he kept hidden for I dont know how long. when he finally pulled back he rests his head on my shoulder and pants.

when he pulls back theres a wide grin on his face and he laughs. he stops for a moment to think, the grin never leaving, then he falls on the bed and starts laughing again.

I raised my eyebrow at his maniacal behavior, "did i kiss you dumb or what" I asked, resting my hand on his forehead to check his temperature.

chan rolls his eyes but smiles anyways, "I was right," he sings, "our moms do have some explaining to do!"

[bookyeom]

A/N: Merry Christmas to all who celebrate, and a special Merry Christmas to my boo @gyuminusone. This is my Christmas gift to you!! I hope you have the best holiday, M! Sending love across the country!!!

Parties and Pickup Lines

Pairing: Mingyu x Reader Genre: friends to lovers Rating: PG (because of the swearing.. i think that's the only reason? also alcohol consumption) Word Count: 4.3k Warnings: kissing, alcohol consumption, reader & squad celebrate Christmas somewhat traditionally (Westernized)? Um... there's a kiss and some swearing also

“Mingyu.” You drag out the last syllable of his name, aggressively dropping your head against his arm as he continues to carry on conversation with Joshua, your host for the evening. He had hosted a dinner party that, in true Joshua Hong fashion, was full of expensive and foreign wines. It was great, but now you’re sufficiently tipsy, tired, and ready to go home, and Mingyu and Joshua just won’t shut up. 

“Are you giving her a ride?” Joshua nods in your direction and you narrow your eyes at him from your place against Mingyu’s side. All he does is smile back.

“Yeah,” Mingyu responds with a dramatic sigh, and you can feel him shift as he turns to look down at you. You want to lift your head to glare up at him, but you’re tired. 

“Of course you are,” Joshua quips. “Don’t know why I even asked.” He’s teasing, and you can’t see Mingyu’s reaction, but you imagine he uses his free hand to flip the other man off. 

You’re used to it — the way everyone teases you and Mingyu. Sure, you’re a little bit in love with him, but isn’t everyone? Sure, you’re always together, and you take care of each other, and sure, every time he looks at you, or smiles at you, or laughs because of you, you feel yourself falling just that little bit more. Sure, the two of you might be on the edge of something more than friends, but you don’t know what, and you don’t know how to get there. 

All you know is that right now, you want to go home.

Mingyu finally stands up from the couch, pulling you with him while bidding farewell to an amused Joshua. As he tugs you by the hand through the apartment towards the door, he calls out goodbyes to everyone you pass. You somehow manage a few hugs and waves yourself before you reach the exit, where Mingyu hands you your coat, and then you’re finally out in the fresh air.

“Our Uber is two minutes away,” he informs you. 

You nod and regretfully let go of his hand, pulling your gloves from your coat pocket and squinting down at your fingers as you clumsily put them on. You can feel him watching you as you wait, and you meet his eyes. The corner of his mouth turns up when you catch him looking, and you can’t help but stick your tongue out at him.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” you manage — quite smoothly if you do say so yourself — but all he does is smile bigger.

“I have lots of those.”

You gasp. “Blackmail is a crime.”

He ignores you and looks away, eyes scanning the road for your ride as he says, “It’s not my fault that you’re so nice to take pictures of.”

You stare at him, and even in your tipsy state, you feel it again — the overwhelming affection that blooms in your chest. You want to push him on it, you want to know, but for the millionth time, you can’t seem to get the words out. So you say nothing as your Uber arrives and drives the two of you back to your place.

Your apartment is basically Mingyu’s second home, and the same goes for you with his. “It’s just easier, convenient to know someone on the other side of town when you need to crash,” is the excuse you tend to use the most. You never say that it has a lot more to do with the way he looks in your kitchen in the morning as he makes your coffee, or the way he always makes you take his bed while he sleeps on the couch, or the way he knows exactly where you keep the popcorn for movie nights.

He knows where you keep everything else, too — makeup remover included.

“I personally don’t care if you take your makeup off or not,” Mingyu points out from his spot by your bathroom door, “but you are going to care in the morning, and I am going to be on the receiving end of your wrath if I don’t make you do it now.”

“Well then, help me,” you say, and it comes out as a whine. You’re too tired to care, and you say as much. You miss the way Mingyu’s entire being softens when you pout dejectedly, exhausted, and lean back against the mirror from where you sit on the counter. He lets out a dramatic sigh, but you know you’ve won when he moves to stand in front of you.

“Sit up,” he instructs, reaching over your shoulder to open the cupboard above the mirror as you do what he says. He’s careful not to hit your head with the door as he takes out your makeup wipes, doting as always. You watch as he opens the package while you sit there waiting, eyes intent on him and his movements. You try to stay still as he lifts a hand to your face, holding your breath as he gently begins to clean your makeup off. His free hand lifts to your chin to steady you after a moment, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. You wish you could blame the alcohol for the intense desire you feel to just… kiss him, but it’s not the first time, and you’re sure it won’t be the last. 

You realize it again, then, as you watch him — that your feelings for him run so irrevocably deep. 

You don’t know how long it takes as he stands between your legs, thoroughly cleansing your face with gentle motions. Once or twice, he catches you staring; the first time, he teases you, and the second, he pulls a face that’s meant to make you laugh (it works). When he announces that he’s done, adding on something about how grateful you should be for his hard work as he leans down to find your trash can, you can’t help it.

Your hands have a mind of their own. As soon as he straightens from throwing the cloth into the trash, they gently find his face, and he stills. He doesn’t pull away. He just waits, eyes wide and imploring, and you let his silence spur you on. You don’t say anything as you begin to map his features out with your fingertips, and you can feel his eyes on you the entire time. The high of his cheekbones, the beauty mark on the very edge of his nose; his mouth, lips softly parting as you brush over them, barely noticing the breath he’s holding as you do.

“You are so beautiful,” is what finally breaks the silence. “I think about you and how beautiful you are all the time.” It’s you that says it, and it takes you a second to register that you said it out loud. You vaguely register an alarm going off in your brain, a loud fuck! Fuck! Fuck! in quick succession, but you don’t take it back, because it’s true.

Mingyu blinks, staring back at you for a few moments before he finally looks away. 

“Thank you,” he says as he grasps onto your wrists to pull your hands away from his face. “And you’re drunk.”

“Both of these things can be true,” you quip, and he lets out a laugh at that. 

“Come on, brush your teeth. I’m not doing that part for you.”

A week passes, and you’re not avoiding Mingyu, per se, but you’re not not avoiding him, either. 

The morning after your slip-up, when you wake up sober and embarrassed, you think maybe you’ve fucked up your friendship for good. You get a text from him, explaining that he’d gone to the gym and that he’d text you later, and all seems relatively normal — everything except for the fact that you’d blatantly ogled him and called him beautiful to his face the night before. He doesn’t say anything else about it. 

Throughout the week, his texts seem to be coming in slower and fewer, though you imagine that might have something to do with the short and accidentally-on-purpose delayed responses from you. He hasn’t asked, and you’re grateful. Thankfully, your work had actually been a welcome distraction in the daytime since you were rapidly approaching a deadline. You had only needed to fill your evenings so that you weren’t thinking about him. Today is Friday though, and that means another work week is over — and another holiday festivity is waiting for you at Seokmin’s. 

Unfortunately, your feelings for one of your closest friends are waiting for you there, too. 

You don’t know if it’s better or worse that Mingyu is already a few drinks deep when you arrive.

He greets you at the door as if the place is his own, ushering you in before pulling you in for a bone-crushing hug. You sink into him, eyes squeezing shut briefly before he pulls away, eyes bright as he holds you by the biceps.

“Hi!” He beams. “I missed you.”

That thing in your chest shifts and jumps around as he smiles at you. You are my favourite person in the entire world, you think. And I have no idea what to do about it. 

“I missed you, too.”

You had wondered if Mingyu would notice the space you’d taken from him over the week, the space you’d needed to try and gather your feelings, but if he had, he doesn’t show it. He’s just Mingyu, who stays close to you the whole night while remaining the life of the party. Tonight, he doesn’t comment when you don’t return his physical touches or flirtations. You wonder if it’s because of the alcohol or just how excited he is at the idea of Christmas being so close — because Mingyu usually notices everything, especially when it comes to you.

You finally get a reprieve when he’s called into the kitchen to help clean up a spill, and you let out a sigh as you sink further into the couch cushions. You would never have the heart to ask him for the space you need, not when you know how affectionate he always is, but at least you can breathe a little right now. He hasn’t said a word all night about last weekend, and you’re not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. 

“Gyu said you had a busy week. You okay?”

You’re startled when Seokmin plops down next to you. 

“Yeah,” you affirm, smiling tiredly over at your friend. “But the project is finally over now.”

“Congrats!” Seokmin lifts his glass in a toast, and you lift your wine glass to clink it with his. His eyebrows furrow as he eyes your drink. “Isn’t that the exact same amount of wine you had an hour ago?”

“No.”

You’ve never been a good liar. 

“What’s up? You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want it, obviously. No sober shame here.”

You laugh at that. “Yeah, thanks, Seok. I know.”

He continues to look at you, and you wish this was one of those times that Seokmin decided to let something go, but you’re not so lucky. Curse him for loving his people so much. 

“You sure everything’s okay?”

You get distracted when your eyes catch a glimpse of Mingyu as he pops his head out of the kitchen to call for Seungcheol, and they linger on the doorframe long after he’s gone. 

“Ah.”

“Hm?” You turn back to Seokmin, cheeks flushing at being caught.

Instead of teasing like you’d expected, Seokmin’s smile is gentle. “You should tell him.”

You almost drop your wine. “Seokmin—“

You don’t get a chance to say anything else because Mingyu reappears over the back of the couch, his arms lazily hanging around Seokmin’s shoulders as he rests his cheek on the other boy’s head. 

“Can we go home? I’m tired,” he pouts.

You don’t hesitate for a second.

You stand up with a nod, all wariness from the moment in your bathroom last weekend flying out the window as you take his hand. Because this is what the two of you do. He takes care of you, and you take care of him. No questions asked.

“Bye, Seok,” you offer, and he sends you another smile as he lifts his glass. “Thanks for hosting.” He glances between the two of you, at your joined hands, and you shrug with a sad smile before turning to leave.

The walk to Mingyu’s from Seokmin’s isn’t very long. It’s cold, but you’ll manage. You feel warm all over from the way he refuses to let go of your hand, anyway.

“I love Christmas.”

You smile over at Mingyu, who’s been fairly quiet since you left Seokmin’s apartment. 

“I know.” You squeeze the hand he has attached to yours, and he smiles back. You ignore the ache in your chest at the sight of it.

It’s quiet for another few minutes as you walk slowly down the sidewalk before he speaks again, pulling you to a stop and catching you entirely off guard with his words.

“What does Santa say to Mrs. Claus when she dresses up nice?”

You hold back a laugh. “What does he say, Gyu? Tell me.”

He giggles, and then with a wiggle of his eyebrows, he leans in close and he says, “‘Ho ho ho-ly shit, you look good’.”

“Incredible. Great joke.” You tug on his hand, hoping he’ll decide to keep following you — because you’re not getting his ass anywhere without him wanting to go — but he plants his feet even more and shakes his head.

“Wait,” he whines, “hang on. I’m Santa!”

You snort. “Of course you are,” you try to appease, gesturing for him to start walking. To your relief, he finally takes a few steps, but his hold on your hand only gets tighter. 

“No,” he pouts, and you almost groan as he pulls you to a stop again. “I mean, I’m Santa in this story! And you’re Mrs. Claus!”

“Gyu, I’m not following. And it’s cold—“

“‘Ho ho ho-ly shit, you look good’,” he repeats the punchline, but this time, he uses his free hand to emphasize your outfit. “Do you get it now? I’m Santa and I’m saying that to you!”

You blink as you process. A pickup line?

All night, you’d managed to avoid… this, for the most part, because people were around and he was busy. Now, it’s just the two of you. Your body feels warm all over at the silly flirtation, at the insinuation, and you’re not sure how to respond. You don’t even get a chance to open your mouth, though, before he’s speaking again. 

“I don’t care what Santa says… you’re at the top of my nice list.” He winks, pulling you in closer to him so quickly that you stumble a little. It’s freezing outside, but you suddenly feel far too warm. 

“Can we please go home?”

Mingyu begins to giggle, and you half think he’s going to kiss you as he leans in. Then his forehead is falling into the crook of your shoulder, laughing into your scarf, arms sliding around your middle. You can’t do anything but hug him back while he calms down, your cheeks burning, until he stands up straight again and nods, smile still on his lips.

“I’m sleepy.”

You don’t know how you make it the rest of the way, but you do. When you arrive, you head into the bathroom to try and compose yourself.

“Hey!” Mingyu says abruptly, startling you when you exit his bathroom. He’s got his phone in his hands and he squints down at it, giggling to himself before meeting your expectant gaze. “Are you the Grinch?”

You blink. “Pardon?” 

“Because you’ve stolen my heart.”

You groan, ignoring the tingling feeling that shoots through your entire body at the stupid line. “Get changed,” you order, turning around to give him — and yourself — some space. “Where the hell are you getting these from?”

“From my brain,” he attempts. When you don’t say anything, he admits, “from Soonyoung.”

“Can you tell Soonyoung to shut up so we can go to sleep?”

“We?” 

You turn back in surprise to find him already in his bed, sheets pulled up around his waist. He’s beaming.

“Yeah,” you stammer, “you in here and me out there.” You jut your thumb in the direction of the living room, and Mingyu pouts again. 

“Oh. Well, hang out with me in here for a bit longer, then.”

“Fine. Fifteen minutes.” You cave, moving to sit next to him on the bed, leaving as much space between you as you can. 

Mingyu isn’t having any of it, though, as he rolls over and snuggles into your side. He holds up his phone, giggling, canines on full display as he wiggles his brows, before he says, “Mind if we take a picture? I need to show Santa exactly what I want for Christmas.”

“Remind me to kill Soonyoung for this.”

“Rude.” Mingyu is suddenly pouting, the change so quick that it takes you a second to process. “I asked him to send them. I wanted to tell them to you.”

Oh.

“I’m going to go to sleep,” is what you respond with, praying that he doesn’t notice how flushed your cheeks are as you stand up.

He catches you by surprise though, his fingers reaching for yours as he speaks, gently closing around them in an attempt to keep you close. “How come you won’t talk to me about it?”

You tilt your head in question. “Hm? Talk to you about what, Gyu?” 

His eyebrows furrow, and his frown deepens. With a tug, he’s pulled you back onto the bed next to him, his arm thrown over your legs as he presses his face into your side. You let yourself tangle your fingers in his hair, just one more time.

“This,” he murmurs, squeezing you gently on your thigh.

“Huh?”

You can feel it when he hums against you. “Us.”

Your hand stills its motions against his scalp, and the blood rushes to your ears.

“I’ve given you so much space,” he continues, his voice so sad that your heart sinks even lower. “And I don’t know what else to do.” 

“Mingyu—“

“Do you like me?” He interrupts, sitting up abruptly. His honey eyes are piercing as he asks it, as he delves as deep into your soul as he can go. You can tell he’s sobered up quite a bit as he looks at you, as he waits for your answer. 

“Yeah, I do,” you finally say. It’s quiet, soft, but he hears you.

Mingyu tilts his head, voice low as he presses on. “And do you really think I’m beautiful?”

You feel your cheeks flush even deeper. “You are.” 

Mingyu sits back, shoulders suddenly deflating. “Then why won’t you talk to me about it? Why do you keep it to yourself?” He looks away before he adds, quietly, “I don’t want to keep it to myself anymore.” 

His name comes out in a whisper. “Mingyu…”

He sighs, falling back down onto his bed and throwing an arm over his eyes. “Y/N,” he mumbles back.

You’re frozen. Your mind is racing, heart stumbling over itself as you search for the right words. You can’t find them. “Goodnight,” you say softly.

Mingyu nods, but he doesn’t look at you again as he responds, rolling over and away from you. “Goodnight.”

Needless to say, you don’t sleep very well.

Y/N [9:13am]: morning

Y/N [9:13am]: I had to go home to prepare for Jeonghan’s party. I didn’t want to wake you up 

Gyu [9:47am]: you should have woken me up.

Gyu [9:52am]: I’ll see you there 

You’re a bundle of nerves when you reach Jeonghan’s, every nerve standing on edge as you try and prepare yourself to see Mingyu. You know that tonight is the night – you can’t ignore what’s happening, not when he means so much. 

You greet the rest of your friends, trying to play it cool. You follow Chan into the apartment and to the table, freezing when you catch sight of Mingyu. He’s got on an ugly, green Christmas sweater with bells attached, and his hair is gently falling across his forehead as he chats to Jeonghan. Everyone turns as you walk in, but your eyes can do nothing but find him first. All he does when he sees you is raise his glass in your direction in acknowledgement, before he’s turning back to his conversation. It hurts, but you can’t say you don’t deserve it. 

I don’t want to keep it to myself anymore. 

His words replay in your mind over dinner and during the entire movie afterwards, where you happen to somehow be sat across from and beside anyone but Mingyu. It’s funny, you think, how you’re finally ready to face this, and you can’t even get close to him tonight. 

The entire night, you can feel him watching you from across the room. Every time you look back, he just smiles a bit and looks away. He doesn’t go out of his way to try to come find you, and you can’t say that doesn’t hurt. Should you have stayed this morning? Should you have talked about it? Probably.

You miss him, but he’s in the same room. 

I don’t want to keep it to myself anymore. 

You know you have to be the one to initiate this time – you know that he was vulnerable with you yesterday. It’s your turn now.

When the movie ends, Mingyu is the first to start cleaning up. You follow him into the kitchen, ignoring the stares from your friends as you practically trip over yourself to get to him. 

“Mingyu.”

He turns around from where he’s placing dishes in the sink in surprise. “Hey.”

You take a deep breath, debating starting with small talk – but you can’t do it. “Will you come outside with me?”

His hands stop halfway to the sink when you blurt the words out, abrupt, and you hold your breath. You don’t know if you’re imagining how tense he is. You hate this. You’re sure you’re about to be sick when he doesn’t respond for a moment, before he nods and dries his hands off on a towel. 

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

When you step outside, the awkward silence continues. Then the two of you are speaking at once.

“Mingyu, I need to—“

“We should—“

You let out a nervous laugh, biting down on your lip, and gesture for him to go first. He looks down, kicking at the ground with his boot, but your eyes are rooted to his face. Snowflakes are getting stuck in his hair as they fall, his lip drawn between his teeth, and you can’t look away. 

“Did you mean what you said last night?”

Your heart leaps into your throat. “I was the sober one, Gyu. Of course I do.” you try to joke to lighten the mood, but he doesn’t take the bait. 

“Did you say it just to shut me up, then?” His eyes fly to yours again, piercing. He’s tense, jaw clenched as he waits, and your stomach flips.

“Why would I do that, Mingyu?” 

He shrugs. Then he shoves his hands into his pockets, the bells on his ugly Christmas sweater chiming as he does, and you’d laugh if you didn’t instantly recognize his reaction for what it is: a defence mechanism. A defence mechanism to protect him from you. You can practically feel your heart begin to shatter.

“If you meant it,” he says, voice soft and low, “then say it again.” 

“Mingyu—“

You’re caught by surprise when he takes a step forward, cutting you off as he says, “I like you, and I need you to say it back right now if you meant what you said. If you don’t, I’ll never bring it up again, but I’m not going to keep guessing how you feel about me.”

“Of course I meant it.” The words come out so quickly, so desperately that you stumble over them a little. “I really, really like you, Mingyu. So much that I feel sick to my stomach about it sometimes.”

Another step closer. “So why did you leave this morning?” He doesn’t sound angry anymore. His voice is soft, almost uncertain. It’s you that closes the final step.

Your arms wrap around his waist and you pull him in tight, face muffled against his coat as you murmur, “I’m terrified about what this means for us.”

He moves back just enough to see you, hands finding your face. “What are you so scared of?” 

“I don’t know.”

“I like you,” he says again, eyes intent on yours. Your eyes flutter shut as he leans forward to rest his forehead against yours. “And you like me.” 

You nod, your hands lifting to rest on his chest. “Yeah,” you whisper.

“I know you better than anyone else.”

You open your eyes, leaning back so that you can look at him this time. “You’re my favourite person in the world,” you say, and you watch as his smile begins to grow. You feel all sorts of giddy, fingers grasping the material of his coat tighter as he beams down at you.

“Yeah?” He teases, and your eyes fly to his mouth.

“Mhm.”

His expression grows serious again, eyes flickering across your face as he asks, “Do you want to give this a shot, then?”

You hope the kiss you press to his lips answers his question well enough. 

A/N: please please please reblog if you liked! it's what us writers rely on :)

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[lyculuscaelus]

Telestratus

So, we have the word ὁμοφροσύνη (homophrosynē) which approximately means “like-mindedness, oneness of mind”. The word seems to be an ideal state for a man-woman relationship, as proclaimed by Odysseus in the Odyssey, book 6, line 180–185, when he was wishing Nausicaä the best kind of marriage:

σοὶ δὲ θεοὶ τόσα δοῖεν ὅσα φρεσὶ σῇσι μενοινᾷς, 180 ἄνδρα τε καὶ οἶκον, καὶ ὁμοφροσύνην ὀπάσειαν ἐσθλήν: οὐ μὲν γὰρ τοῦ γε κρεῖσσον καὶ ἄρειον, ἢ ὅθ᾽ ὁμοφρονέοντε νοήμασιν οἶκον ἔχητον ἀνὴρ ἠδὲ γυνή: πόλλ᾽ ἄλγεα δυσμενέεσσι, χάρματα δ᾽ εὐμενέτῃσι,  μάλιστα δέ τ᾽ ἔκλυον αὐτοί. 185 May the gods grant you all that your heart desires, A man and a household, and may they send with like-mindedness, A good gift—for nothing is better or greater than this, When a man and a woman maintain a household together, Their thoughts like-minded—a great pain for their enemies, Yet pleasure for well-wishers, and they know it best themselves.

Many scholars have been analyzing like-mindedness in man-woman relationships in Homeric epics, the most famous examples should be Odysseus and Penelope, Menelaus and Helen, etc. Apparently, like-mindedness is a strong bond to keep their family together, and their love intact.

But that’s not what I’m gonna do at the moment, cuz I’d like to bring up another text where this word appears once more in the Odyssey. Basically, Book 15, line 194–202, when Telemachus was asking Peisistratus not to bring him to the house and hear Nestor yapping this time:

καὶ τότε Τηλέμαχος προσεφώνεε Νέστορος υἱόν: ‘ 195 Νεστορίδη,  πῶς κέν μοι ὑποσχόμενος τελέσειας μῦθον ἐμόν; ξεῖνοι δὲ διαμπερὲς εὐχόμεθ᾽ εἶναι ἐκ πατέρων φιλότητος, ἀτὰρ καὶ ὁμήλικές εἰμεν: ἥδε δ᾽ ὁδὸς καὶ μᾶλλον ὁμοφροσύνῃσιν ἐνήσει. μή με παρὲξ ἄγε νῆα, διοτρεφές, ἀλλὰ λίπ᾽ αὐτοῦ, 200 μή μ᾽ ὁ γέρων ἀέκοντα κατάσχῃ ᾧ ἐνὶ οἴκῳ ἱέμενος φιλέειν: ἐμὲ δὲ χρεὼ θᾶσσον ἱκέσθαι. ’ And then Telemachus addressed the son of Nestor: “Son of Nestor, can you make me a promise and fulfill it, as an order of mine? We can claim that we’re guest-friends forever, Through our fathers’ friendship, but we’re also of the same age; And this journey will greatly inspire our like-mindedness. Don’t lead me past my ship, O you cherished by Zeus, but leave me here, In case that old man keeps me in his house against my will, Eager to treat me kindly; I need to go home quicker.”

So Homer, you’re telling me that Telemachus was using a word commonly used for the bond of a couple, to describe his relationship with Peisistratus???

…Sure. And they were roommates.

[lvrhughes]

Jack's Best Friend | L. Hughes

pairing: Luke Hughes x fem!reader

warnings: none?

word count: 1.4k

summary: You and Luke have always liked each other and Jack has always known, so he helps get you together

not my gif!

“You can sit on Luke’s lap!” Jack's words rang silence through my ears at the thought, a blush covering my face at the realization. Looking over to Luke to see him shake his head, patting his leg for me to sit. 

It’s like Jack could see that no matter how hard I tried I’d get flustered around Luke, it’s like the minute Jack had read those five words in my diary before I caught and yelled at him, he’s been doing everything to force me with his brother. 

Not that I was complaining, maybe I was. 

Growing up with the Hughes was truly something, Jack became my best friend instantly. The little brunette running over to befriend me within five minutes of my family moving beside them. When they moved it was harder, yet Jack and I stayed the same. He was always the boy I was closest with, despite being younger than him. 

It was after I’d moved out, moving to New Jersey for university, getting a job there quickly, it was perfect. And I was close to my best friend, who randomly showed up once while I was in the shower and began reading my diary. 

“Jack! Drop the book!” The yelling scared him, dropping it and immediately hopping off the bed he was laying on. 

I had hoped he hadn’t read anything, but the following days when he made various remarks about Luke and how cute he was, it was clear what he had read.

I think I like Luke. 

I slowly walked over to luke, his arms open for me to sit, it was like the world was in slow motion as i got closer to luke, opting to sit on the arm of the couch when i got there. 

“Y/n/n, just sit on Luke's lap, I know that isn’t comfortable.”  Jack groaned when I sat down, sending a look to Luke so he’d pull me onto his lap. 

“Hey! It wasn’t umcomfy!” I groaned, lifting slightly from Luke’s lap to be immediately pulled back down. 

“You say that as if it isn’t my couch, that I’ve sat over there many times, I know it’s not comfy.” Jack argued back.

“Would the both of you shut up?” Quinn groaned from the other side of the couch, his head leaned over the armrest. 

“Sorry, most of us didn’t go out last night so we aren’t hung over!” Jack played back, earning a smack from quinn before he groaned again. 

“Quinn went out?” I asked, curiosity dripping from my voice, Luke’s grip tightening as i leaned forwards. Quinn was never the party-er, I would’ve expected Jack to be out last night, not quinn. 

“Oh yeah, he found a cute girl when we went out for drinks last night,” Jack started a grin on his face, “Me and Luke went home at 10, he stayed out til 2am doing shots with her!” Jack cheered, finding amusement in Quinn’s hungover state. 

“I’m going to my room before I throw up on you.” Quinn glared, getting up slowly, kicking jack in the groin, making him bend over with a groan. 

Laughter erupted from Luke and I, his grip tightening as we laughed, keeping me set on his lap as Jack glared at us. 

“I’m sorry,” I managed to get out in between laughs, “it’s funny though!” 

“Sure, sure, laugh it up.” Jack glared again, staring down me and luke, a smile growing on his face at the scene.

 Luke's arms tight around my waist, both laughing while he holds me, smiles on both our faces as he sits beside us and grins at the scene. 

Luke caught Jacks grin, sending a look his way, ensuring I’d catch on after getting us to both send a confused look towards Jack. 

He just wiggled his eyebrows at us, earning a smack from Luke, making him groan again, and me to turn away with a blush covering my cheeks. 

“Don’t hit me! You’re the one who-” Jacks cry was cut off with another hit, harder this time, to his arm. “Ow.” He complained, holding his arm.

“Jack?” Luke’s voice was soft, scared of his brother's reaction to telling him. 

“What’s up?” He looked at his little brother, pausing his game to look at him. 

“I think I have a crush.” Jack’s eyes widened at the confession, fighting not to play with him but instead try to help his brother. 

“Why’re you telling me this?” It seemed a fitting question, Luke usually talked to Quinn about everything, so why was he telling Jack now?

“Because you know her.” Then it hit Jack, his little brother liked his best friend. 

“You like her.” 

That was when Luke was 14, Jack was 16. Luke had never outgrown the crush on his brother’s best friend, no matter how many times he lied and said he had. It was clear to Jack that he’d always like her, if not love her. 

Luke’s arms wrapped around my waist again, holding me against his chest while he leaned back. Jack’s glare on Luke again, letting out a quiet laugh at the sight. 

“What are you laughing at? You’re not innocent here either, you also li-” Jacks words cut off again by me hitting him, hitting his arm as hard as I could, earning a muffled sob from him before he cradled his arm.

“Ow.” His winced, Luke laughing beside him as I sat back on Luke’s lap. Letting Lukes arms hold me in place again, listening to Jack’s whines beside us. 

“Shut up and you won’t get hit, crazy idea, huh?” The sarcasm dripped from my voice, turning on Luke’s lap to face Jack, earning Luke's hands to tighten their grip on my waist. 

I could see the gears turning in Jack’s head, a smile returning to his face. Luke could see the plan forming, panic covering his face. 

“I’m going to say something, and run, okay?” Jack said, his hands on the couch bracing himself to get up and run quickly. 

“No, you’re not.” Luke countered, making you nod in agreement. 

“Nope, saying it.”

“Jack-” Luke’s plea was cut off by Jack.

“Luke, you like her. Princess, you like him.” The words came out rushed as he got up to run, darting into the kitchen to cut through the house to his room. The use of the nickname stunned be for a second before realizing what he had said. 

“JACK!” The yell of his name was full of panic, getting off Luke quickly to run to Jack’s room, opening the door quickly. The window was open, Jack not inside, instead his silhouette could be seen running to the boat where apparently Quinn was passed out. 

Luke came rushing in shortly after, pushing his way into the room to see me standing in front of the window.

“Where’d he go?” 

“Jumped out the window, running to the boat.” The clear tone of un-amusement in my voice, turning to look at Luke. 

His hand in his pockets, leaning on the heels of his feet, his hair messy from running through the house. He looked perfect. 

“I’m sorry.” Both of our apologies spilling out at the same time, leaving a confused look on both of our faces. 

“What are you sorry for?” He asked.

“Jack just told you I um,” the words tapered off, not wanting to admit what was shared again. 

“And Jack just told you I love you.” His words confident, the opposite of mine. 

“You love me?” 

“I think I’ve loved you since I was 14.” He admitted, stepping closer, taking his hands out of his pocket.

“That long?” I didn’t honestly know how to reply, saying the only thing that came to mind. 

“I think honestly, I’ve always loved you.” 

The words were enough to encourage stepping forward, wrapping my arms around his shoulders while he leaned down. Pressing a kiss to my lips, his arms wrapping around my waist to pull me flush against him. My hands tangled through his hair, gently tugging on the strands, making him softly groan. 

“Don’t do that” He mumbled against my lips, making me giggle before he pressed his lips back into mine. 

“Ew! In my room!” Jack’s high pitched squeal interrupting the moment.

“Your fault, you're the one who jumped out the window, we just went to follow you.” I answered, leaning my head against Lukes chest, his head tilting down to press a kiss to the top of my head.

[seraphicsage]

Destiny

A/N this is the longest fic I have written in a longg time! I really hope you enjoy this! I would love any feedback. If you want any short fics based in this universe I would love to do that!! thank you!!

Summary: Reader and Feyd were friends from a young age until she went away to be trained, now she has been chosen to continue his line

My father was a very powerful man, the head of a very powerful house. He was close friends with the Baron and our houses are firm allies, this meant that from a young age I knew the Baron’s nephews and was forced to spend time with them during meetings and diplomatic events. 

Feyd and I are the same age and we got along quite well, having met when we were merely toddlers. The Baron’s eldest nephew, Rabban, was older and cruel. For as long as I can remember he was nasty, pulling on my hair and pushing me over, laughing at my misery. He would call me names and make attempts to humiliate me, but Feyd always enjoyed playing knights and was determined to defend me to his brother, standing in between us and attempting to push Rabban over in retaliation. 

When we were 7, Feyd told me that his uncle had named him as the na-baron, something he was incredibly proud and excited for. He was determined to be the best Baron there had ever been. When he asked if I was going to be the next leader of my house I knew even then that it would not be possible, I imagined I was to be married off to some lord that I hardly knew. Feyd said he would marry me instead so we could be friends forever, it sounded like a much better idea than my parents. 

Feyd was 9 when he killed his mother. When the Baron forced him to kill his mother, telling him he could never be a good leader if he allowed himself to be weak, telling him it was a test to see if he was worthy of his title. When I heard the news from my mother it shocked me. He loved his mother, and he had always been so kind. It made me wary of him the next time I saw him months later, scared. But when we were finally left alone by my parents and the Baron, I asked him why he did it, prompting him to break down and sob in my small arms about how he missed her and had no choice. How she reassured him it was okay as he did it, that she forgave him. I never saw him cry like that again. 

Every visit after that I could see the changes taking place due to the Baron’s cruelty. I saw him hiding bruises and watched as his soft shell became hard as stone as he started finally being able to take his brother in a fight and even began enjoying the fights in a strange way. 

The last time I saw him I was 11, my birthday just before I left to be trained with the Bene Gesserit, as the reverend mother had decided for my parents. I hadn’t been allowed to tell him that I was leaving, especially not why I was leaving, but I had known and had almost wept when he left in the evening. Despite his almost psychotic behaviour, we were still friends and he still defended me from the cruelties surrounding me when he could, including ones he was not aware of at the time.

Now I’m watching him walk into the arena at his coming of age event. I have not spoken to him since I left my home, but my dedication to my training has allowed me to keep updated on his house as I have had to remain informed on current politics and states of affairs. The reverend mother informed me early in my training that I showed a lot of potential in my role in the Bene Gesserit, telling me that if I continued to stay ahead of my studies then I could be chosen for a more important destiny than merely continuing a ‘pointless lord’s line’. That was motivation enough for me to fully invest in learning the Bene Gesserit ways and excelling in my training. I hadn’t expected this to be the destiny she chose, but truthfully I couldn’t help but feel honoured to be chosen for this. 

Despite Jessica’s attempts to ruin the plans of the Bene Gesserit, the reverend mother insisted that Paul Atreides would be taken care of, that my child would be the Kwisatz Haderach. The reverend mother knew of my old friendship with Feyd but she reassured me that she knew I would not let something like that distract from my true mission. 

Seeing Feyd having such an influence on the crowd and begin fighting the prisoners is a thrill in a sick way. He had changed. I knew that would be the case, the rumours surrounding how he had become a brutal and merciless fighter over the years, hearing how his behaviour had become ever more psychotic had made me feel sorry for him at first. The looks that I got from my fellow sisters when the news spread that I would be the one to test him and secure the bloodline, they felt sorry for me. Truthfully, it gave me a power rush. Knowing I was trusted with such an important task, knowing it would be my child with such a strong destiny. 

His performance in the arena is impressive. A small part of me worries when one of the prisoners is clearly not drugged, glancing over at the Baron to see his sinister smile, I couldn’t help but be angry as I knew this must be another sick ‘test’ of his. Instead, I am proud when he wins the battle, an honourable fight where I could easily see the skills he has learnt during my absence. 

It was not hard to find him after the events, I had heard him fighting with his uncle, and heard his uncle’s promise to give him the empire. I stayed out of sight until he had wandered much further away from his uncle’s chambers before allowing myself to be heard by him. It doesn’t take long before he stops walking and I slow my movements down. “Are you lost, witch?” He practically snarls without turning around. 

I can’t help but chuckle, “I was expecting a warmer welcome from you, Feyd.” I stop walking a couple steps away from him and watch him spin around to face me. His eyes wide for a short moment before his face went hard, hiding any emotions. He takes 2 strides towards me and brings a knife up to my throat, I feel his breath warm against my face. I don’t hesitate to meet his eyes, having expected this reaction. “Is this any way to greet an old friend?” 

“We are not children any more. Things have changed since we last saw each other. Clearly that is not exclusive to me.” His eyes trail over my outfit, a clear sign of my involvement in the Bene Gesserit. He seems incredibly unhappy. “Why are you here?” The press of his blade against my neck loosens slightly. 

I hum slightly before pulling away from his grasp and walking away from him, towards the guest room I am staying in. “Now where are you going?” He sounds as exasperated as he used to when we were children and I’d drag him around my home. 

“To my guest rooms.” I keep walking and feel him follow me as I sit on a hard surface and he approaches me. “Kneel.” I use the voice on him and he slowly lowers himself down in front of me. I bring the box level with his hands, and bring the Gom Jabbar to his neck. He meets my eyes as he places his hand inside the box. 

I’m impressed by his lack of reaction, he doesn’t break eye contact with me for a moment. When the test is over I remove Gom Jabbar from threatening him and pull the box away from his hand. “You’ve passed the test.” I keep my voice steady and let my eyes trail down his body. I am surprised as I see an unmistakable bulge in his trousers. I bring my eyes up to meet his eyes again, seeing how heavy they seem to be now. 

I lean down slightly and lift his chin with my hands. I had been prepared to need to convince him to bed me, apparently the pain did that for me. He watches me as I bring my lips close to his, not quite meeting them yet. His breathing stops for a moment, and I take that moment to press my lips firmly against his. He kisses me back, turning it heavy and groaning into my mouth. The kiss turns deeper and presses himself into me. I feel his hands trail up my legs and he grips onto my thighs. He drags my body into him and wraps my legs around his waist, before standing up and bringing me with him with practised ease.

His mouth trails away from mine, kissing along my jaw and down my neck as he moves to the bed, lying me down beneath him. He pulls back for a short moment, holding one of my legs to ensure they stay wrapped around him, and he removes his shirt before swiftly returning to kiss me. 

I bring my hands to gently trail along his back, feeling every movement as he starts to undress me. His lips trail lower as he reveals more skin. His kisses become rougher and he starts sucking on my skin, making my back arch into him and I dig my nails into his back. He groans in response, licking on the spot before moving to form marks all along my collarbones. “Again,” he mutters out as he moves to a new spot. I take a moment to register what he’s said, and another moment to realise what he means. I drag my nails up his back again, gentler than before. I hear him breathe out a deep sigh as he stops his attack on me, resting his forehead against me. “Harder,” he says, then in a quieter voice, “please.” 

I feel an excited pit in my stomach form as he says it, and I let my nails dig further into his skin, dragging it up his back. He lets out another groan and I bring one of my hands close to my face and see the small flecks of blood on the tips of my nails. I can feel that Feyd has become more desperate as he practically tears the clothes off of me, continuing marking down my body as I slowly continue to scratch his back. I enjoy seeing the marks I left as he trails further down between my legs, perhaps too much. 

The whole thing is a blur in my head as we lie in the bed, panting and staring at the ceiling. Honestly, I had not expected to enjoy the act itself, my sisters had warned me that it was usually not enjoyable for them, but Feyd had been very good at bringing me pleasure as well as himself. My body is pressed close to him and his arm is stretched out underneath my shoulders. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” he says into the silence after a while. 

I turn slightly to look at him properly, he doesn’t meet my eyes but I can see a hint of the vulnerability he used to show me when we were young children. “I didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter. The reverend mother told my parents her decision after she had met me, and honestly, it was better than my other option so I couldn’t bring myself to fight it.”

“What was your other option?” He looks at me now, confusion etched onto his face. I smile slightly at his ignorance of the fate of someone like me, I bring my hand up to his cheek, smiling softly at him. 

“My father was not far from arranging a betrothal. I had heard him speaking to my mother about it many times. The lords he was considering,” I cannot meet his eyes for a moment, “it disgusted me even then. Men far older than me, adult men.” I shake myself out of my thoughts, bringing my eyes up to his again. “The reverend mother promised me early in my training that if I continued to exceed expectations then I would not be destined to sire a random heir for a pointless house. I would have done anything to stop myself being married off and turned into some submissive wife. Or worse, a concubine.” 

“Your father was a disgusting man.” His hands brush lightly against my legs, in a comforting touch. “I would have stuck to my word. I could have convinced the Baron to speak to your father about allowing us to marry, they would have both liked the idea of our houses joining.” His softness surprises me. Apparently underneath everything, he has not changed since we were children, at least not towards me. I can’t help my widening smile towards him. 

“Not much has truly changed since we were children has it? You’re still trying to protect me from things you have no power over. I’m safe now.” I look towards my stomach and place a hand over it, I can feel that we’ve been successful in securing the line. This means that as long as the pregnancy is successful, I will be able to dedicate my life to raising him. 

I see his eyes trail from my eyes to where my hand is resting. I see understanding pass over his eyes. “Does that mean you’re leaving again?” He sounds guarded again, like he did when he first saw me again. I let out a sigh as I consider my words. 

“The reverend mother wants him raised in the Bene Gesserit way. He is destined to be the Kwisatz Haderach, and he needs to be trained for it from a young age.” I feel emphatic as his eyes grow sad, I wonder how he can still feel all these things after the cruelty I know his uncle will have inflicted on him over the years. 

He pulls me in close to him, resting his head on my shoulder and I feel his hand ghost my stomach. “I’m not letting them take you again, either of you. Don’t worry, I can protect you this time.” I let him hold me, allowing myself to realise how his uncle has truly affected him over the years. He said it so softly, with so much care, but with his extreme behaviours over the years, it is clear that he truly means it. Even if I did not want to stay with him, it’s clear I don’t have that choice.

tags: @thenatallie