#so far past the line it’s a dot

[katherine40598583-blog]

Colin: Hey, listen, I know it’s late but I forgot to give Penelope my thoughts on last night’s cocktail selection, here’s a fifty if you bring her to the garden to talk to me alone in the dark, give us some space to discuss this very vital subject in peace, and not tell anyone, deal? It’s not like we’ll do anything, everyone knows we are totally not courting.

Penelope’s maid: Sure, Jan

[d1stalker]

This is Ours [Logan Howlett]

Summary: It's your first time back at your grandparents' farm in years, and while many things are the same, one thing is not: they've hired a new farmhand.

Warnings: fem!reader, SMUT, sexual tension, angst, fluff, lots of feelings WC: 18.8k - MASTERLIST

A/N: apologies for dropping another long fic but i literally could not stop writing the juices were flowing. i really hope you enjoy this! i think its my fave so far :)

----

For as long as you can remember, summers were synonymous with your grandparents' farm. It was a tradition, one you held close to your heart. To you, your time there embodied your entire childhood—days spent under the sun, where the air was thick with the scent of wildflowers and the soothing chorus of cicadas filling the long, golden afternoons.

Mornings began early, with you bounding downstairs to join your grandparents for breakfast. The kitchen was always filled with the comforting aroma of fresh coffee and pancakes. Your grandfather would be at the table, engrossed in his newspaper, while your grandmother hummed softly as she cooked, the sound of the morning radio playing faintly in the background. Your days were spent exploring the fields, helping with the chores and horses, or sitting on the porch with your grandmother, listening to stories from her youth.

It couldn’t get any more perfect than that. 

But as the years passed, things changed. After you graduated high school, the summer visits became less frequent. University took up more of your time, and you were always busy—first with classes, then with internships, and finally with starting your career. The farm, once the centre of your world, became a place you could only visit if you were lucky, and even then, it was never for long. 

You miss it.

This year, however, things were different. You found yourself in between jobs, with the first real break you’d had in what felt like forever. And when the moment the opportunity arose, you knew exactly where you wanted to go. 

—

The drive to your grandparents' farm is a journey into the past. The country road, lined with trees that stretched out like old friends, brings back a flood of memories from your childhood: where you’re sitting in the back of your parent’s car vibrating with excitement. You pass the same fields, still as vast and green as you remember, dotted with flowers swaying gently in the breeze, and the old oak tree where you used to swing as a child stands tall, its branches reaching up to the sky as if welcoming you back.

When you finally pull up to the farmhouse, the sight of it fills you with a deep sense of nostalgia. The white paint is more chipped than you remember, the porch sags a little more in the middle, and you can tell that it’s been a while since the grass was last trimmed. 

Stepping out of the car, the screen door squeaks open, and there’s your grandmother, standing on the porch, wiping her hands on her apron. She’s smaller than you remember, more fragile, but the smile on her face is the same—warm, welcoming, and full of love. “There’s my girl,” she calls out, rushing down the steps and into the driveway as fast as she can. 

“Grandma!” you exclaim, hurrying toward her to wrap her in a hug.

She pulls back to look at you, her eyes twinkling despite the lines of age etched on her face. “You’ve grown even more beautiful, but you look tired. We’ll fix that with some good meals, won’t we?”

You laugh, nodding. “I missed your cooking.”

“And I missed having someone to cook for,” she replies with a chuckle, patting your cheek. “Come inside. Your grandpa’s been counting down the days until you got here.”

You grab your suitcase from your car and follow her into the house, the familiar scents of fresh bread and old wood enveloping you the minute you step inside. It’s just as you remember—cozy, lived-in, filled with the glow of years worth of love and memories. Your grandfather sits at the kitchen table, a pair of reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose as he reads a book. He looks up as you enter, and the moment he sees you, his face breaks into a wide grin.

“There’s my favourite farmhand,” he jokes, letting out a grunt as he places one hand on the table, slowly pushes out of his chair. 

“Grandpa,” you say, meeting him halfway for a hug. 

“Got here just in time,” he says with a wink. “Plenty of work to do, you know.”

“I figured,” you reply, playfully nudging him. “I’m ready to get my hands dirty.”

“Good to hear,” he says, leaning back against the table for support. “This old back of mine isn’t what it used to be.”

Your grandmother sets a glass of lemonade in front of you and sits down, her eyes flicking toward the window. “We’ve had to make some changes around here, sweetheart,” she begins gently. “Your grandpa and I… well, we can’t do as much as we used to.”

You hum, listening carefully. Seeing your grandparents grow older is difficult—it's a constant reminder that time is slipping away, and the moments you have together are becoming more precious with each passing day.

“We’ve hired some help,” she continues. “A man named Logan. He’s been a blessing, really, taking care of the heavier work. But he’s… well, he’s not much of a talker.”

“Logan?” you ask, glancing out the window. 

That’s when you see him. Tall and broad-shouldered, he is out by the barn, carrying some hay. He’s wearing a worn-down flannel with jeans, and his dark hair is slightly tousled. Even from a distance, you can tell he’s strong—he looks like he knows what he’s doing. 

“Yeah, Logan,” your grandfather confirms. “Keeps to himself mostly, but he’s get’s the job done. Don’t mind his gruffness; he’s just not used to people fussing over him.”

“He’s been here since last spring,” your grandmother adds. “We needed the help, and he needed the work. It’s been good for both sides. You should go and introduce yourself after you unpack, dear. Maybe get in some work before we sit for dinner later.”

Nodding, you walk up the stairs in the house and make your way to your room. It looks exactly the same as the last time you saw it. Your old stuffed animals are organized neatly on the shelf above the bed, and the quilt your grandmother made for you, with patches of faded fabric from old dresses and curtains, is spread across the bed the exact same way it’s always been. 

The posters on the walls, the little knickknacks on the dresser—everything is a snapshot of your younger self, preserved in this room like a time capsule. It’s comforting, but also a little bittersweet, a reminder of how much time has passed since you had last visited.

After a few moments of reminiscing, you stand up and begin unpacking, carefully placing your clothes in the old wooden dresser. Each drawer creaks as you open it, the sound a part of this room’s charm. You smile as you come across some of the little treasures you left behind—a pressed flower between the pages of an old book, a seashell from a family trip to the coast, and last, a picture of you and your grandparents taken one summer when you were about ten.

You’re standing between them, beaming with a toothy grin, their arms wrapped around you in a warm embrace. The three of you are standing in front of the barn, with the sun setting behind you. You can almost hear your grandmother’s laugh as the camera clicked, your grandfather’s playful grumbling about having to pose for ‘just one more picture.’ The photo captures a moment of pure happiness, a snapshot of a simpler time.

Setting the photo down, you quickly begin to change into your designated farm clothes, and head out to meet the new face around here. 

The trek to the barn isn’t very long, just a few minutes away from the main house, and from the outside, you can hear the familiar sounds of work—footsteps crunching on the hay-strewn floor, the creak of wood as something heavy is moved. You pause at the doorway, taking a moment to observe him before stepping inside. He’s focused, his movements efficient as he lifts another bale of hay and stacks it with the others. 

You take a deep breath, and step into the barn. “Logan?” you call out softly.

He doesn’t stop what he’s doing, but with a slight pause and glance over his shoulder, his eyes, sharp and intense, meet yours, and there’s a moment where you’re not sure what to say. “I’m—”

“I already know who you are,” he grunts, cutting you off. 

His abruptness catches you off guard, but you quickly recover, nodding. “Right. I guess that makes sense.”

“If you wanna help, there’s a broom in the back shed,” he continues, going back to his work as if the conversation is already over. “You could sweep up the hay.”

You bristle, a little surprised at how quickly he dismissed you, but you’re determined not to let it rattle you. After all, your grandparents did warn you that he wasn’t much of a talker.  “Sure,” you say. “I can do that.”

As you turn to head toward the back shed, you find yourself lightly imitating his gruff tone under your breath, a flicker of irritation running through you. “There’s a broom in the back shed. Yeah, obviously, I know where the broom would be,” you mutter.

In the shed, the broom is in fact, exactly where you expected it to be, and you huff, grabbing it and walking back to the barn. When you return, Logan is still hard at work, stacking the hay, and doesn’t bother to acknowledge you yet again. You set to work sweeping, the rhythmic motion of the broom soon lulling you into a steady state. The barn is quiet, save for the soft shuffling of hay under your broom and the occasional grunt from Logan as he moves the heavy bales.

Time seems to pass slowly, the light outside growing softer as the sun dips lower in the sky. You’re so caught up in your thoughts that you barely notice when Logan’s footsteps stop. It’s only when his voice breaks the silence that you’re pulled back to the present.

“Your grandma called for dinner,” he says, causing you to jump a bit at the unexpectedness of his voice in the silence. Before you can respond, he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there with the broom still in hand. You let out a small sigh, feeling the tension in your shoulders. This is going to be a long few months, you think to yourself as you return the broom to its usual place and jog back to the farmhouse.

Inside, the kitchen smells like a warm hearty stew. The table is already set, the familiar blue-and-white checkered tablecloth in place, and your grandparents are seated, chatting quietly as they wait for you and Logan to join them.

You slide into the seat across from your grandmother just as Logan walks over from the sink, two glasses of water in his hands. He places one in front of you with a quick nod, and the other at his own seat, beside yours.

“So,” your grandmother says, her eyes shining with curiosity as she looks between the both of you. “I take it you’ve introduced yourselves to each other?”

You hesitate momentarily, your mind flashing back to your brief encounter in the barn. “Yeah, we have,” you reply, managing a smile, if you can call it that. 

Logan doesn’t say anything, his focus on the bowl of stew in front of him. He doesn’t seem interested in joining the conversation, which only adds to the growing sense of awkwardness you feel. You glance at him briefly, wondering if he’s always this closed off or if it’s just his way of dealing with new people.

“Well, that’s good,” your grandmother says, either oblivious to the tension or choosing to ignore it. “Logan’s been a big help around here. We’re so grateful to have him.”

Your grandfather hums in agreement, scooping a spoonful of stew into his mouth before adding, “He’s got a strong work ethic. Doesn’t shy away from the tough jobs, that’s for sure.”

Nodding along, you feel the pressure to say something positive. “That’s great. It’s good to know the farm’s in good hands.” Even thought the words are definitely a bit forced, you mean it. 

As the conversation continues, your grandparents shift the focus to you, asking about your job search and what you’ve been up to since you last visited. You give them a brief rundown of the interviews you’ve had, the options you’re considering, and the challenges you’ve faced. You try to keep it light, not wanting to worry them with your uncertainty, but you can’t help but notice the man’s presence beside you, still silent. 

At one point, when you’re talking about finding a new apartment, you hear him let out a quiet scoff, and you cast a look over, catching the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips. It’s gone almost as quickly as it appears, but it’s enough to make you pause. You want to ask him what that was about, to challenge him on whatever it is he’s thinking, but you bite your tongue. This isn’t the time or place, not in front of your grandparents who are just happy to have everyone around the table.

They continue to chat with you, asking more about your plans and offering their usual words of encouragement. When dinner finally wraps up, your grandmother insists on cleaning up, waving you off when you offer to help. “You’ve had a long day, dear. Why don’t you go relax? Logan can help me with the dishes.”

You smile. “Thanks, Grandma.”

He’s already started collecting the dishes by the time you stand up, but it’s like he refuses to recognize your existence, and that pisses you off. 

—

The next morning, you wake before dawn, the world still wrapped in the gentle embrace of night, and for a moment, you lie still, listening to the deep, pulsing of the house—the way the wooden floors creak slightly as they settle, the distant sound of the wind rustling through the trees outside. The comfort of knowing your grandparents are asleep down the hall brings a sense of calm that you haven’t felt in a long time.

Deciding to take advantage of the early hour, you slip out of bed, your feet brushing against the cool floor as you stretch, feeling the muscles in your body slowly wake. You dress quietly, pulling on a soft, worn sweater, and pad downstairs, careful to avoid the spots on the stairs that you know will creak.

You move through the kitchen as if on autopilot, your hands knowing exactly where everything is. You set the coffee to brew, and the rich aroma sills the room.

Reaching for the eggs, you crack a few of them into a bowl, and as you’re whisking, you let your mind wander, thinking about how to spend the day. The soft sizzle of butter in the pan gets your attention and you pour the eggs in, watching as they begin to set around the edges. 

You pour yourself a cup of coffee, the steam rising from the mug in delicate spirals, and you take a sip, savouring the warmth and flavour hitting your tongue, while your gaze drifts over to the window that faces the back of the farmhouse. 

Your grandparents’ own horses, and you recognize some of them from when you were younger. It makes you happy knowing that they’re still being well taken care of. The way the early light touches the land, and the morning dew covers the grass, you can’t help but smile into your mug. 

Slowly, you walk a bit closer to the window, eager to take in the view you had been missing all these years, when a figure standing over by the horses catches your eye. It’s Logan, a small surprise given the early hour—you didn’t hear him wake up—but he stands there, leaning casually against the fence, an apple in his hand. 

You watch as he holds out the apple to one of the horses, his rough hand moving gently over its neck as it eats. There’s something unexpectedly tender in the way he interacts with the animal, a patience and care that you didn’t expect to see from him, given how he acted yesterday. 

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out another apple, offering it to the second horse, who hungrily accepts it. You continue to stare at the sight outside. This side of him—so different from the unapproachable exterior he’s shown so far—stirs something inside you, a desire to connect with him, to see if there’s more to him than meets the eye.

On impulse, you quickly turn off the stove, grab a second cup of coffee and some toast you’ve just buttered, and without overthinking it, you head outside. The morning air is cool against your skin as you make your way over to Logan. 

As you approach, he keeps his attention focused on the horses. You take a moment, then clear your throat lightly, holding out the coffee with a tentative smile. “Thought you might want some breakfast,” you offer, trying to keep your tone light and friendly.

He finally glances at you, his eyes briefly meeting yours. His expression is just as unreadable his had been in the last sixteen hours you’ve known him, and then he grunts, “Already ate,” and turns his attention back to the animals in front of him.

His curt, and honestly rude rebuffals really frustrate you. It’s not like you’re asking him to wipe your ass after you go to the washroom, so you have absolutely no idea why he’s like this. 

“Alright,” you mutter, lips pressed together in a thin line, and turn to head back into the kitchen. 

Once inside, you set the untouched coffee and toast back on the counter with a sigh. This is so fucking awkward. You’re going to be spending the next however-many-months with him, and you would love it if you could at the very least, get along. His rough-around-the-edges personality is not making this enjoyable for you, and you’re sure that he probably just see’s you as an annoying nuisance. 

And it’s not like you’re ever going to pull this card on him or anything, but you have been here longer than him, despite the fact that he’s acting like he owns the place. You get it, he’s been here for a for a while, and it’s only been him doing the work, blah blah. But you’ve been helping and doing the work your entire childhood—missing a few years doesn’t take away that fact. 

With a heavy sigh, you open a cupboard and pull out a plate, scraping the eggs off the pan and setting them on it. Because your grandparents’ are still asleep, all you can do is eat in silence.

—

You’ve decided that today you are going to trim the grass. There’s always something to do around here, and since the long grass was one of the first things you noticed upon arrival, you think it’s best to just get that chore over with, considering how long you know it will take. 

Once you’ve finished cleaning the dishes and pan, you go back upstairs into your room and get changed. Today, you put on a long sleeve, and a small vest over top. Your pants are some hand-me-down working pants from one of your older cousins, and you snatch a baseball cap from your closet for when it begins to get hotter out. 

Walking to the back shed, you grab some tools for trimming the lawn. A lawn mower, a string trimmer, and a rake for after everything’s been cut. Moving over to the back section of the lawn, you set the trimmer and rake against the barn and start using the mower. It’s the same one your grandparents have used since you were a child, so it’s a reel lawn mower instead of those newer, more electrical ones you’ve seen around the city. 

You can’t really complain about it, so you just begin, the steady repetitive action of moving the tool back and forth being somewhat therapeutic. The smell of freshly cut grass begins to hit your senses, and you truly feel at peace. 

As the minutes pass, the sun rises higher, its warmth spreading across the fields. You’re completely absorbed in your work, the rhythm of mowing and the occasional chirp of birds the only sounds around you. You’ve missed this. The sounds of cars honking and early morning city traffic has nothing on the serenity of country life. 

You’re just completing the first half when you sense movement nearby. Glancing up, you see Logan walking up to you, having grabbed the trimmer. He doesn’t say anything, just starts up the machine and heads over to the next patch of grass within the area.

There’s a brief moment of eye-contact, like a subtle unspoken recognition to the effort you seem to be putting in. He gives you a small nod, and turns to focus on his task. The two of you work side by side, the hum of the machines, the scent of fresh-cut grass, and the warm sun overhead creating a strangely comforting atmosphere. 

When you finally finish, few hours have passed, and you walk back over to the barn and grab a lawn bag and the rake. And because Logan’s machine was electric, he seems to have finished his section as well, so you begin raking up all the stray pieces of grass. 

You quick to find out how awkward it is to hold the lawn bag open with one hand while trying to rake with the other—the grass keeps slipping out of the bag, and you can’t help but feel a bit ridiculous as you fumble with the task. You scan around, hoping Logan won’t notice, but of course, he’s right there, watching as you flail around.

You feel a flush of embarrassment creep up your neck, but before you can say anything, he steps forward. Like usual it seems, he doesn’t say a word, just holds out his hand as if asking for the rake. You falter briefly, not wanting to seem like you need his help, but at the same time you understand how much more efficient it would be if he joined. 

Reluctantly, you hand it over, and he immediately starts working with the same steady efficiency he brought to trimming the grass. With both hands free, you manage the lawn bag more effectively, holding it open as Logan rakes the grass into neat piles.

The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable; instead, it feels like a natural extension of the morning’s work. The sound of the rake scraping against the ground, the rustle of grass being gathered, and the occasional whinny from a horse nearby. 

After the last of the grass is finally raked and bagged, you tie off the lawn bag and glance over at him. He leans the rake against the barn wall and meets your gaze. There’s something in the way he seems to stare at you head on this time, rather than just a quick look, that makes your chest fill with satisfaction. 

You nod. “Thanks.”

Logan dips his chin in return, then turns and heads back toward the barn. The heat of the sun really starts to hit you now, and you take a peak at your watch, noticing that it’s already lunch time. Knowing that even if you tried to invite him, he’s probably say no, you just walk back to the farmhouse alone. 

—

The next couple of weeks unfold in the same way, moving with an almost predictable rhythm. Each morning, you wake before the sun, quietly slipping out of bed while your grandparent’s are still asleep. As you prepare and eat breakfast, you take your usual place by the kitchen window, watching as Logan interacts with the horses. 

Then, as the sun rises higher, you head out to begin your chores around the farm. Sometimes, Logan joins you without a word—his presence now a familiar and abating part of your routine—or sometimes, you find yourself working alone, but even then, you know he’s never far away. 

You’ve learned to read his silences, to understand that his gruff demeanor isn’t necessarily unfriendliness, but rather his way of navigating the world. And though he doesn’t speak much, his actions have a way of communicating more than words ever could.

One morning, as you’re finishing up breakfast, your grandparents announce their plans to head into one of the nearby cities for the day. “We need to run some errands and pick up a few things,” your grandmother explains, her hands busy packing a small bag. “But we were thinking it might be nice for the horses to get out and see some different scenery too.”

“They haven’t been to the pond in a while. It’s good for them to stretch their legs and take in some new sights.” Your grandfather chimes in. 

You nod, smiling at the thought. The pond is a beautiful spot, a peaceful place where the water runs clear and cool, surrounded by tall trees and soft grass. It’s the perfect place to spend a day with the horses. “That sounds like a great idea. I’ll take them out there for the day.”

Your grandmother’s eyes light up as she hands you a basket. “I packed some food and a blanket for a picnic. There are also a couple of towels in case you want to swim. It’ll be a lovely day for it.”

“Thank you,” you say, appreciating the thoughtfulness behind the preparations. You take the basket and head upstairs to get ready, the idea of spending the day by the pond filling you with excitement. It’s been a long time since you’ve been there last. 

In your room, you change into your bathing suit, a simple bikini that you’ve always loved for its comfort and ease. You slip on a loose shirt and shorts over it, then grab a few essentials before heading back downstairs. Your grandparents have already left, so you make your way out to the barn to prepare the horses.

As you start saddling them up, you notice Logan nearby, focused on his usual tasks. His presence has become so customary to you that you hardly think twice before calling out to him. “Hey, Logan,” you say, catching his attention.

“I’m heading to the pond with the horses,” you tell him, nodding toward the saddled horses. “Grandma’s packed some food and a blanket for a picnic. There are even towels if you want to swim. You’re welcome to join us if you’d like.”

He hesitates, his gaze shifting to the horses, then back to you. After a moment, he mutters, “I’ve never ridden a horse before.”

The admission takes you by surprise, and you raise an eyebrow. “Really? But you’ve been here for over a year. I just assumed—”

He shakes his head slightly, cutting you off. “I’ve always just walked alongside them. Holdin’ onto the reins is one thing, but I’ve never actually been on top of one.”

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “That’s okay,” you say gently. “You can still join us. You can walk alongside like you usually do, and tomorrow, if you’re up for it, I’ll teach you how to ride.”

Logan peers at you for a long moment, considering your words. Finally, he nods. “Alright. I’ll come with you.”

“Great,” you reply, your smile widening. “I think you’ll enjoy it.”

With that settled, you both finish preparing for the trip. Logan helps you load the picnic basket, blanket, and towels onto one of the horses. You mount your favourite horse, and gently click your heels into its side, starting the trip as he begins walking, horses in tow, beside you. 

The journey to the pond is beautiful. The green trees that frame the pathway, the soft buzzing of nature, the sound of the horses’ hooves. You and Logan exchange a few words, but for the most part, it’s silent. 

When you reach the pond, the sight is just as picturesque as you remembered. The water sparkles under the sunlight, the tall trees casting dappled shadows across the grassy bank. You untie the horses, giving them plenty of room to graze and explore, before you grab the picnic basket, while he grabs the towels and blankets. Making your way over to the other side of the creek, you find a nice open patch of grass to set up on.

“I’m going for a quick dip,” you say as you go about stepping out of your shorts. Logan, who is sitting down, looks up, but his eyes seem to stop dead in their tracks when they settle on your body. You swear you can physically see his gaze darken as he takes in the sight of you stripping off your shirt. It’s subtle, but a small shiver runs down your spine at the attention nonetheless.

Without waiting for a response, you turn and and head toward the pond. The temperature is perfect: just cool enough to be refreshing without being cold.

You dive in, the reservoir embracing you as a much-needed relief from the heat. Everything feels perfect—the gentle current against your skin, the refreshing sensation of being submerged, and the weightlessness of floating just beneath the surface. 

But when you lift your head out of the water, you and Logan immediately lock eyes.

He’s lying back on the blanket, propped up on one elbow, and his focus is squarely on you. The intensity of his stare is like a physical force, pinning you in place. The world around you seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you suspended in time. Your breath catches in your throat, and you can feel a heat build within you, starting in your chest and traveling down, deeper, and deeper…But then, just as suddenly as it began, he looks away, and if you were any closer, you may have been able to spot the red flush creeping up the back of his neck and to the tip of his ears.

The moment is over, but the enduring feeling of it stays with you as you swim back to the shore. Water drips from your body as you step out, and you reach for one of the towels your grandmother packed. Once you’ve dried off, you walk over to where Logan is sitting and drop down beside him on the blanket. 

You are aware of eyes on you again, though this time there’s a hesitation in the way they travel over your form, as if he’s trying to be discreet but can’t quite help himself. You pretend not to notice as you reach for the picnic basket.

“I’m starving,” you say, pulling out the sandwiches your grandmother packed. “Want one?”

He nods, sitting up a little straighter as you hand him a sandwich. After a few bites, curiosity gets the better of you, and you decide to break the ice. “So,” you start, glancing over at him, “how did you end up here, working on my grandparents’ farm?”

He takes his time chewing and swallowing before he answers, his eyes focused on the food in his hands. “I was passing through,” he says finally. “Didn’t plan on stayin’. But your grandparents… they’re good people. Needed help, so I stuck around.”

You nod, taking another bite. “They are good people,” you agree, thinking of how much they’ve done for you over the years. “But where were you headed before that? Where are you from?”

Logan pauses for a moment, then looks over at you. “Alberta,” he says. “Grew up there, mostly. Been a lot of places since, but Alberta’s home—or was.”

You smile, finding comfort in the fact that he’s sharing a bit more. “Alberta’s beautiful,” you say, remembering the few times you’d traveled through the province. “Why’d you leave?”

He shrugs, glancing out toward the creek. “Needed a change. Wanted to see what else was out there. Guess I got used to movin’ around, never really settlin’ anywhere.”

You nod thoughtfully, taking in his words. “Must have been hard, never really having a place to call home.”

His gaze meets yours, and there’s a hint of something softer in his eyes. “Yeah,” he admits, his voice quieter. “But your grandparents… they’ve made it easier. This farm… it’s good.”

You smile warmly at him. “I’m glad you’re here. You’ve been a huge help to them. And… well, I’ve liked having you around.”

He glances at you, his expression softening just a fraction. “Yeah, it’s been alright,” he mutters, a small, imperceptible smirk on his lips. You smile bashfully.

The next couple of hours pass by in a blur. Not much conversation happens, but rather, these weird periods of time where you feel as though your eyes are glued to him, and he you. It’s different—unexpected—and to put it frankly, you feel a bit shy underneath his gaze. 

Logan is attractive, anyone with eyes could see that, but it really wasn’t just his face that pulled you in, it was him. The way he would silently help you with chores, his soft moments every morning with the horses, the way he subtly looks over your grandparents’ when he thinks they arent watching. All of it. You want to spend more time with him, learn more about who he is, what he likes… all of it.

Soon enough, you both begin to pack up the picnic supplies, load up the horses, and head back to the farm. The horses seem content, having had a fun day grazing and napping by the pond, and you ride beside him as he walks. Every now and then, you catch him peeking up at you from under his eyelashes, his eyes lingering just a bit longer each time. 

You can see your grandparent’s car in the driveway as you near the farm, meaning they’ve also returned from their day in the city. Leading the horses back into the barn, the two of you go through the motions of the familiar routine of unsaddling them, brushing them down, and making sure they’re comfortable for the night. 

Once they’re all settled for the night, Logan steps back, wiping his hands on his jeans as he looks at you. 

“So ‘bout tomorrow…” He begins, shifting slightly, as if unsure how to phrase what he wants to say. “You really think you can teach me to ride?”

You grin excitedly. “Of course. I’ll come out after I’ve eaten breakfast.”

“Alright then,” he says, pivoting toward the doors, his lips twitching just barely, but enough. “Lookin’ forward to it.”

Your fingers are twitching at your sides as you watch him leave. You wait a few moments, then head out as well, closing and locking up the barn for the night. When you step into the house, you find your grandparents in the living room, their faces lit by the soft glow of a lamp as they relax on the chesterfield. 

“How was your day?” your grandmother asks, looking up from her knitting with a bright smile.

“It was nice,” you reply. “The horses loved it, and the pond was as beautiful as ever. We had a picnic, and it was really peaceful.”

Your grandfather, who’s been quietly sipping his tea, sets down his cup and regards you with a knowing look. “And Logan? Did he go with you?”

You nod, feeling a bit of warmth rise to your cheeks at the mention of their helper. “Yeah, he came along. He’s never ridden a horse before, so he just walked with us. But I’m going to teach him tomorrow.”

Your grandparents exchange a look, and your grandmother’s eyes sparkle with amusement and something more tender as she smiles at you. “That’s good, dear. He’s a bit of a mystery, that one, but I can tell he’s got a good heart. Sometimes people just need a little time to open up.”

Chatting with your grandparent’s a bit longer, you listen intently as they fill you in on their activities. You can faintly hear the sound of Logan’s footsteps upstairs as he gets ready for bed. The memory of his gaze on you makes your heart beat a smidge faster. 

—

Logan is unsurprisingly already at the barn when you arrive the next morning. He’s leaning against it, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Morning,” you greet. “You ready to get started?”

Logan glances at the horses, then back at you. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

You lead him over to the horses, choosing one of the gentler ones for him to work with, and begin by showing him how to properly saddle the horse, explaining each step as you go. Logan watches intently, though you can see the slight furrow in his brow as he takes in all the information.

As soon as the horse is all saddled up, you hand him the reins. “Okay, now it’s your turn. Go ahead and mount up.”

He wavers for just a moment, his eyes on the horse as if weighing his options. But then, with a deep breath, he grabs the saddle and swings himself up with ease. He sits stiffly at first, his hands gripping the reins a bit too tightly, but he doesn’t look as uncomfortable as you would have expected. Definitely better than your first attempt.

“You’re doing great,” you reassure him, moving to stand beside the horse. “Just relax. The horse can sense if you’re tense, so try to loosen up a bit.”

He takes another breath, visibly trying to relax his posture. It’s clear that he’s out of his comfort zone, but he’s determined to push through. You walk him through the basics of steering and controlling the horse, keeping your tone calm and encouraging.

After a few minutes, you guide him around the paddock, walking alongside the horse to make sure he feels secure. Logan follows your instructions with serious concentration, his movements becoming more and more natural as he gets used to the rhythm of the horse’s steps.

“You’re doing really well,” you tell him, smiling up at him. “Want to try picking up the pace a little?”

He glances down at you warily at first, but then he nods. “Yeah. Let’s give it a shot.”

You guide him through a gentle trot, staying close enough to offer guidance but giving him enough space to figure things out on his own. The horse picks up speed, and you watch as he adjusts, his body moving in sync with the animal’s movements. There’s a moment when he looks down at you, a spark of surprise in his eyes as he realizes he’s actually getting the hang of it.

As the morning progresses, Logan becomes more comfortable in the saddle, his confidence growing with each passing minute. You spend the next hour practicing different techniques, guiding him through turns, stops, and even a slow canter. He’s a quick learner, and despite the initial awkwardness, you can tell he’s starting to enjoy himself.

Eventually, you lead him back to the paddock, bringing the horse to a stop. He dismounts, still a bit tense but clearly pleased with himself. He hands you the reins, his eyes meeting yours with a look that’s both grateful and slightly sheepish.

“Not bad for a first-timer,” you say with a grin, patting the horse’s neck.

He huffs a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… you’re a good teacher.”

The compliment, simple as it is, makes your heart skip a beat. There’s something about the way he says it, the sincerity in his tone, that makes you feel a warm glow inside. He begins to walk toward the back shed, undoubtedly going to start on his morning chores, but you find yourself wanting to hold onto this moment just a bit longer. 

“Logan,” you call out, stopping him in his tracks.

He turns back, his eyes questioning.

“Thanks for this morning. I really enjoyed it.”

Logan studies you for a second, then he gives you a small smile. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Me too.”

—

The days come and go, blending into one another as your first month at the farm passes by in what feels like the blink of an eye. The sun seems to rise earlier and set later with each passing day, stretching the hours out in a way that makes everything feel both languid and endless, and the heat only intensifies, something you didn’t think was possible. 

Despite the longer days and rising temperatures, you and Logan’s daily routines have now intertwined in a way that feels as natural as breathing. The once solitary moments you spent watching him out with the horses have now become something shared. Every morning, without fail, the two of you meet by the barn, where the horses greet you with soft nickers and eager eyes, ready for their daily ride.

He’s improved a lot. He no longer looks uncomfortable or stiff, and he’s able to guide his horse with an ease that surprises even him. You can see the subtle shift in his posture, the way he holds the reins with a sureness that wasn’t there before. 

And just like when you work on the farm together, sometimes, the two of you ride in a comfortable silence—the only sounds being the soft snorts of the horses and the creak of leather saddles. But more often than not, you chat about everything and nothing, your conversations easy and unforced. 

Logan, who once spoke only in short, clipped sentences, has begun to open up more, sharing bits and pieces of his past, his thoughts, and his observations about life on the farm. You learn that he has a sarcastic, dry sense of humor, one that often catches you off guard and leaves you laughing in spite of yourself. He even joins you for your usual morning breakfast of eggs and toast, something that started only a few days into your new morning ritual. 

Yet throughout all of this, there’s a something growing between you and Logan, simmering just beneath the surface. 

It manifests in the little moments, the stolen glances, and the accidental touches that don’t really seem to be as accidental as you may think. It’s in the way his eyes follow you when he thinks you’re not looking, how they intensify when you laugh, or how he seems to fixate on your hands as you work, as if he’s memorizing every movement. 

You’re not immune to it either. You find yourself hyper-aware of his presence, the way his proximity seems to alter the air around you. In one afternoon, you’re in the barn, and sorting through a pile of hay bales. It’s hard, sweaty work, but the it’s kind that leaves you with a satisfying ache in your muscles by the end of the day. Logan is beside you, lifting the heavy bales with ease, his shirt sticking to his back, outlining the broad expanse of his shoulders. You catch yourself staring, and quickly look away, but not before he flicks his eyes over to yours.

He doesn’t say anything, but you can see it in his eyes. It’s like they’re telling you that he knows exactly what you were thinking, where you were staring. 

And when you’re both tending to the horses, something happens again. You’re brushing one down, your fingers working through its mane, when Logan comes to stand beside you, so close that you can smell his natural musk. 

“Here, let me help,” he says lowly, not waiting for a response as he reaches out, his hand covering yours. You glance up at him, and he’s already looking down at you. You’re acutely aware of the feel of his hand over yours, the callousness of his skin against your own, and the way his thumb brushes lightly over your knuckles as if testing the waters.

Another time, while fixing the fence out in the field, you’re both working in tandem, passing tools back and forth. At one point, you reach for a hammer at the same time Logan does, and your fingers brush against his. It’s a fleeting touch, but it feels like a spark in the summer heat, and for a heartbeat, you both freeze, caught in that split second of contact.

“Sorry,” you mumble, pulling your hand back, but the apology feels hollow in the face of what you’re actually feeling.

“No problem,” Logan replies, his voice gruffer than usual, as he hands you the tool. 

You can feel it. You’re not stupid. You know something is there, and you wonder how much longer you can resist it—how much longer you can pretend that everything is fine. But Logan is a hard man to read, and you’re not sure if what you’re feeling is reciprocated, or if it’s just wishful thinking on your part. So you stay silent, letting the tension simmer, hoping that one day, one of you will have the courage to break it.

—

You’re not the only who see’s it. 

“You know,” your grandmother says one afternoon, as you’re helping them with a puzzle. “Logan has really come out of his shell since you’ve been here.”

You blink, and glance over at her. “What do you mean?”

She looks up from the table, her eyes twinkling with a mischievous light. “Oh, you know exactly what I mean,” she says with a knowing smile. “He’s been here for over a year, and in all that time, we’ve never seen him quite like this. He’s always been polite, of course, but distant. Reserved. But now… well, it’s clear he’s become quite comfortable around you.”

Your grandfather places a piece in the board and nods in agreement. “She’s right, you know. Logan’s always been a bit of a mystery, keeps to himself mostly. But ever since you arrived, he’s been different. More… engaged, I suppose you could say.”

You feel a flush of heat rising to your cheeks, your heart skipping a beat at their words. “I-I don’t know about that,” you stammer, trying to brush it off. “We just… work together a lot. That’s all.”

Chuckling, your grandmother leans forward slightly. “Darling, don’t be modest. It’d be obvious to anyone that there’s something going on between the two of you. He’s practically a different man when he’s around you. Why, just the other day, I caught him actually smiling while you two were out riding. I nearly fainted!”

“You’ve managed to do in weeks what we couldn’t do in a year. Whatever it is, it’s good for him. And for you, too, I’d wager,” your grandfather pipes in, sending you a wink. 

Fidgeting with your hands, you feel like a deer caught in headlights, and you’re honestly not sure how to respond. “We’re… friends,” you say, though the words feel inadequate even as you say them. 

The woman across from you raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Hmm? Well, maybe so. But it seems to me that there’s potential for something more there, if you’re both willing to see it.”

“I… I don’t know,” you mumble, feeling flustered under their scrutiny. “He’s just… he’s a complicated person.”

“Everyone’s complicated, dear,” your grandfather says gently. “But that doesn’t mean they’re not worth the effort. Oftentimes, the best things in life are the ones that take the most time to understand.”

There’s a moment of silence as their words sink in, the weight of their observations leaving you feeling exposed and uncertain. You hadn’t fully allowed yourself to consider what you felt, let alone what Logan felt. But now, with your grandparents’ teasing remarks, it’s impossible to ignore the possibility that there might be something more between you and Logan than just a budding friendship.

Your grandmother reaches over and gives your hand a comforting squeeze. “Just take it one day at a time, sweetheart. Whatever happens, we’re here for you.”

—

The following week, you find yourself itching for something new—a change in scenery. While the farm has been everything you’ve wanted and more, you think it’d be nice to go on a drive, explore a small laketown you used to go to when you were younger. So, one morning, as you and Logan are unsaddling the horses, you muster the courage to extend an invitation that’s been on your mind for days.

“So…,” you begin, trying to keep your tone casual. “I was thinking… maybe we could take a break from the farm this weekend and go into town. You know, just to get out for a bit, see something different.”

He pauses in his work, his hand stilling on the brush as he peers over at you with a raised eyebrow. “The town?” he repeats, as if the idea is foreign to him.

“Yeah,” you say, turning to face him fully. “I need to pick up a few things, and I thought it might be nice to have some company. We could grab lunch, maybe do some exploring… It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. Just a change of pace.”

There’s a beat of silence as he considers your offer. His expression is guarded, as always, but you can see the wheels turning in his mind. It’s clear that the idea of leaving the farm, even for a day, is something he hasn’t done in a long time—if ever.

“I don’t know,” he eventually gets out, his tone uncertain. “Busy places are not really my thing.”

You feel a pang of disappointment at his hesitation, but you’re not ready to give up just yet. “I get that,” you say. “But it’s not about how many people are there, really. It’s about taking a break. You’ve been working so hard, and I think you deserve a day to relax. Plus, I could use your help carrying a few things,” you tease, hoping to coax him into agreeing.

Logan’s lips twitch as if he’s suppressing a smile, and for a split second you think he’s going to turn you down. But then he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Alright,” he says, the word coming out almost reluctantly. “I’ll go.”

You beam, unable to hide your enthusiasm. “We’ll leave early on Saturday, okay?”

“Saturday it is,” he confirms.

—

The rest of the week passes quickly, your anticipation for the trip into town growing with each passing day. You find yourself planning out the day in your head, imagining the places you might visit, the food you might try, and most of all, the chance to see Logan in a different environment—away from the farm and the routine that has defined your relationship so far.

So, when Saturday morning arrives, you’re up before the sun, too excited to sleep in. You dress in your favourite casual clothes—something comfortable but a bit more put-together than your usual farm attire—and head downstairs, where you find your grandparents surprisingly already up and about.

“Off to the city today, are you?” your grandmother asks with a smile as she hands you a thermos of coffee for the road.

“Yep,” you reply, unable to keep the grin off your face. “and I’m dragging Logan along with me.”

Your grandfather chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, that should be interesting. Don’t think he’s much of a city slicker.”

��Be patient with him, dear,” your grandmother adds, laughing. “He’s stepping out of his comfort zone for you.”

“I will,” you promise, taking the coffee and heading out the door.

Logan’s already waiting by the truck, and when you see him, you can’t help but falter in your steps. The shirt he’s wearing clings to his muscular frame in a way that draws your eyes, accentuating the strength that’s always been evident. His hair is slightly disheveled, and there’s an almost shy quality to the way he stands there, his hands shoved into his pockets as if he’s not quite sure what to do with them.

You try to hide the fact that you were just checking him out as you ask, “Ready?” 

“‘Course,” he replies, climbing into the passenger seat as you slide behind the wheel.

The highways are empty and the sky is clear. You chat easily about the things you need to pick up, the cute boutiques you want to visit, and even a few memories of the last time you visited the place. Logan listens more than he talks, but you can tell he’s starting to relax, the tightness in his shoulders easing as the distance passes by.

When you finally reach the town, the energy along the streets is a stark contrast to the quiet calm of the farm. The buildings tower above you, and the sidewalks are crowded with people going about their day. 

Stepping out of the truck, you glance over at Logan. It’s clear that he’s out of his element, but there’s something cute about the way he takes it all in. “Where to first?” He questions. 

“Well,” you say, smiling at him, “I was thinking we could grab some breakfast at this little café I know, then hit a few shops. There’s a bookstore I love that I think you’d like too.”

He nods, his expression softening slightly at the mention of a bookstore. “Lead the way.”

You spend the morning wandering around, exploring the shops, and enjoying a nice breakfast together. At the bookstore, you lose track of time, browsing through the shelves and picking out a few titles that catch your eye. Logan surprises you by finding a book on woodworking, something he’s always been interested in but never had much time for. You can see the way his eyes light up as he flips through the pages, and it makes you smile, happy to see him enjoying something for himself.

After spending a few more hours of exploring, you suggest one last stop before heading back—a lookout point that offers a stunning view of the lake and the surrounding landscape. Logan agrees, and you drive up to the spot, parking the truck and leading him to a bench that overlooks the water.

The view is breathtaking. You both sit in silence for a while, just taking in the scenery, allowing the peacefulness of the moment to wash over you. He is staring out into the water with a thoughtful expression when you decide to interrupt his stupor.

“Logan,” you begin, the gentle breeze from the lake rustling through the trees, “what did you think of me when we first met?”

He turns his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a hint of surprise, as if he wasn’t expecting the question. Then he pauses for a moment, looking back out at the lake, as if gathering his thoughts.

“I thought you were different,” he says slowly, each word carefully chosen. “You didn’t act like you were above the work. You jumped right in, got your hands dirty. Most people wouldn’t do that.”

You smile at the memory, remembering how you started working together the moment you met. After all, you weren’t just a visitor—you were there to help, and you knew your way around the farm. “And now?” you ask, your heart beginning to beat just a little faster.

He remains quiet for a few moments, his focus still on the water. When he finally speaks, he’s timid, almost bashful, as if he’s revealing something he’s kept hidden for a long time. 

“I think you’re beautiful,” he admits, his eyes flickering back to yours. “I thought that the first time I saw you, too. It was one of the first things that hit me. But it’s more than that. Now… now I think you’re perfect.”

The sincerity in his words catches you off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless. Your mouth parts in surprise, and all you can do is gawk, trying to process the depth of what he’s just said.

Logan shifts slightly, his gaze dropping to his hands as he continues. “I was… cold at first,” he murmurs, “Didn’t know how else to act. You weren’t like anyone I’d ever met. I didn’t know how to handle it. But what really got to me was how you didn’t shy away from that—you didn’t let my attitude push you away. That changed somethin’ in me.”

You want to say something—you should say something—to acknowledge what he just said, bearing in mind that was probably the most amount of words to come out of his mouth in one go, but for some reason, you can’t. The only thought running through your head is that you want to reach out and touch him, to close the small distance between you.

“What about you?” His voice is slightly more tentative now, and he definitely just asked that to fill the silence that you were ungraciously leaving. “What was your first impression of me?”

His question snaps you out of your thoughts, and you gulp, now knowing that your first impression of him was very different to his of you. 

“Honestly? I thought you were rude as hell,” you say a bit nervously, watching as his eyebrows raise slightly in surprise. “You were so gruff, so serious… I didn’t know what to make of you at first. But then I saw the way you took care of the horses, the way you looked after the farm, and… it didn’t take long for my opinion to change.”

He shifts, clearly caught off guard. You can see the faintest hint of a blush creeping up his neck as he takes in what you said, and it makes your smile widen. 

“And…You’re kind,” you continue. “There’s this gentleness about you that I wasn’t expecting.” You suck in a shaky breath. “I think you’re pretty perfect now too, if I’m being honest.”

The tint on his cheeks only deepens, and he looks away, flustered. It’s a rare sight—seeing him like this—and it makes you swoon. 

“I don’t know about that…” He mutters, a small, embarrassed smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“I do,” you reply firmly. “You’re more than you think you are, Logan.”

The genuineness in your words makes him look back at you, his eyes searching yours for something—reassurance, maybe, or confirmation that what you’re saying is real. Slowly, almost unconsciously, you both lean in closer, locked in a stare, your breaths mingling as the space between you shrinks. You can see the way his eyes flicker down to your lips, and you feel the same pull, the undeniable urge to close the distance and see what it would feel like to kiss him overriding all your senses.

Your chest pounds as you inch closer, until you can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. But just as your lips are about to meet, a loud, piercing scream shatters the moment.

You both jerk back, startled, and whip your heads around to see a kid nearby, his face scrunched up in disgust as he frantically wipes at his shoulder. “Ew! A seagull just pooped on me!”

The kid’s parents rush over, trying to console him as they pull out napkins, and you can’t help but burst out laughing at the absurdity of the interruption. The sound of your laughter is contagious, and soon Logan is chuckling a bit too.

“Well, that’s one way to kill the mood,” he mumbles under is breath.

You’re still laughing, the remnants of your almost-kiss still in the back of your mind, but you know the moment has passed. “Yeah,” you agree, trying to catch your breath. “Guess we should be thankful it wasn’t us.”

Logan grins, warm and wide. “Yeah, maybe we should.”

—

Driving back to the farm, neither of you say a word about what almost transpired at the lookout point, and you’re fine with that. There’s no need to fill the silence with words, no need to dissect the moment or what it could have led to. You don’t want there to be any sort of pressure between you, any expectations. Even if, deep down, all you want is to climb him like a tree, to feel the solid strength of him beneath your hands, and to finally give in to the attraction that’s been building throughout your time together. 

Pulling into the driveway and shutting of the engine, you turn to him, and turns to you, his eyes meeting yours. “Thanks for today,” he says sincerely “I… liked it.”

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words. “Me too,” you reply, your voice just as soft. “We should do it again sometime.”

“Yeah,” Logan agrees, his gaze holding yours a hint longer before he turns away, his hand reaching for the door handle. “We should.”

—

A few days later, as everyone sits around the kitchen table after dinner, the evening suddenly takes on a new tone when your grandmother clears her throat and shoots an exchanges a conspiratorial glance at your grandfather.

“We’ve got some news,” she begins, her eyes shining with excitement. “Your grandfather and I have been invited to spend a week at the Summers’ cottage by the lake.”

You smile, genuinely happy for them. The Summers are longtime friends of your grandparents, and the idea of them getting a little vacation away sounds perfect. “That sounds wonderful! You two deserve some time to relax.”

“Well, we thought so too,” your grandfather says. “But that means we’ll be leaving the farm in your capable hands.”

It takes a moment for the full meaning of his words to sink in. You and Logan… alone… for an entire week.

Your heart skips a beat and you glimpse over at Logan, who’s sitting across the table from you, his expression neutral as he listens to your grandparents. But there’s a quick flash of something that suggests he’s as aware of the situation as you are.

A voice brings you back to the moment. “Now, don’t worry,” she says with a reassuring smile. “There’s not much that needs doing, just the usual stuff. And we’ll be back before you know it.”

Your grandfather leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he scans between you and Logan. “We trust you both to keep everything running smoothly,” he says, before he drops his voice to an embarrassingly low tone. “And to keep an eye on each other.”

You can’t help but blush at his not-so-subtle innuendo, and you quickly drop your gaze to your hands, trying to hide the warmth creeping up your cheeks. The thought of spending an entire week alone with Logan is both thrilling and nerve-wracking. The lack of a buffer—your grandparents—means that literally anything could happen. 

“Don’t worry,” you finally manage to say. “We’ve got this. You two just enjoy your time away.”

Logan, who has been uncharacteristically quiet during the conversation, finally speaks up. “Yeah,” he agrees, “We’ll take care of everything.”

—

Over the next couple of days, your grandparents pack their bags and make sure everything is in order before they leave. You help them with the small details, ensuring that the house is stocked with food and that all the usual chores are delegated properly.

Finally, the morning of their departure arrives. You stand by the front door, watching as your grandparents load their bags into the car. Your grandmother gives you a warm hug, “Take care, dear,” she says, kissing your cheek before hopping into the passenger’s seat. 

Your grandfather shakes Logan’s hand, giving him a firm nod. “Take care of things.”

He hums. “I will. Enjoy yourselves.”

With that, your grandparents climb into the car, and after a final wave, they drive down the long, dusty road that leads away from the farm. 

There’s a pause. 

Suddenly, you’ve become extremely aware of how close you two are standing. 

“So,” you start, hoping to ease a bit of the electricity beginning to spark. “I guess it’s just us now.”

Logan swallows thickly, his adams apple bobbing up and down. “Yeah,” he replies a bit deeper than usual. “Just us.”

“What should we do first?” you ask as casually as possible. 

He shrugs slightly, his lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile. “Same old, I guess. Can’t let everythin’ fall apart right when they leave..”

“True. Let’s start with that.”

The two of you move into that familiar routine of farm work. Mucking out the stalls, hauling bags of feed from the shed to the barn, tending to the vegetable garden, you do it all. But even though you’re busy with work, there’s an underlying jitter to everything you do, a heightened awareness of each other’s presence that just wasn’t there before. And it’s impossible to ignore. Each time you make eyecontact it feels charged, almost like a promise of what’s to come, and it has your heart racing with exhilaration. 

That evening, after the chores are done and the sun has dropped below the horizon, you’re in the kitchen, preparing dinner while Logan finishes up outside. The quiet of the farmhouse feels different without your grandparents there—emptier, yet somehow more intimate. Domestic. You can hear the soft creak of the floorboards as he enters the house, the sound of him washing up in the sink.

And as the evening wears on, you find yourself drawing out cleaning the dishes, not wanting to end the day just yet. Logan stays close, drying the plates and placing them back in the cupboards.

“Long day,” he grunts.

“Yeah,” you agree, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “But it was nice. Peaceful.”

His eyes find yours. “Peaceful,” he echoes, though the word seems to hold a different meaning when he says it.

You both stay there, unmoving, until eventually, he takes a step back, as if sensing that the tension between you needs a moment to cool. “I’ll check on the barn,” he says gruffly. “Make sure everything’s locked up for the night.”

“Okay,” you reply, your voice softer than you intended.

Logan leaves to check on the barn, while he’s gone, your thoughts are a whirlwind of anticipation and nervous energy as you busy yourself with finishing up the remaining utensils. 

Finally, unable to stay inside any longer, you decide to step outside, hoping the cool evening air will help clear your mind. You sink down onto the old porch swing, and pull your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them as you observe the darkened landscape.

A few minutes later, you hear the soft crunch of gravel underfoot, and you glance over your shoulder to see Logan approaching the porch. He walks up the steps and pauses momentarily as if debating whether to join you. Then, with a soft sigh, he settles down beside you, his shoulder just barely brushing against yours.

It’s now or never, you think.  “We have the place to ourselves now,” you state. 

He turns his head slightly, giving you a sidelong look, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a small, knowing smirk. “Indeed we do,” he replies.

The simple acknowledgment—and the way he says it—makes your pulse quicken, and you can’t help the small huff of exasperation that escapes your lips. He’s always been so tame, so careful with his words, and while you appreciate the way he’s respected your space, you’re done with tiptoeing around.

“Do I need to spell it out for you, or—” But before you can finish the sentence, Logan moves. 

His hand reaches out, rough and warm, to cup the back of your head. Your eyes widen, and your heart thuds in your chest upon realizing what’s about to happen. And with a firm but gentle pull, he closes the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours.

You lose track of your surroundings—the night, the farm, everything—as you give yourself into feel of his lips against yours. It’s intense and claiming, a declaration of everything you’ve both been too afraid to say.

His hand tangles in your hair, holding you close as he deepens the kiss, his other hand coming to rest on your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt as if to ground yourself in the moment, to make sure this is real, that he’s really here, kissing you.

Moving your lips against his with equal fervor, you pour the longing you’ve been feeling all this time into it. The taste of him is intoxicating. It’s something that’s so uniquely him—so uniquely Logan—and you can’t get enough. You’ve imagined this moment in the dead of night, but nothing compares to the reality of it—to the way he kisses you like you’re the only thing that matters.

When you finally pull back, out of breath and a little dazed, Logan’s forehead rests against yours, his breath coming in heavy, uneven pants. His eyes are smoldering and intense and his smirk is gone, replaced by a deep look of yearning.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admits huskily. The way his voice has dropped three octaves isn’t missed on you. You can practically feel it vibrate down in your pu—

“You’re not the only one,” You whisper, interrupting your own thoughts. The connection between you has finally been acknowledged, and you feel a huge sense of relief.

He exhales a breath you didn’t realize he was holding, and his hand slips from the back of your head to cup your face, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because I don’t think I can hold back anymore.”

You lean in, pressing another kiss to his lips. “Then don’t,” you whisper against his mouth.

The spark that has been ignited between you flares up into a full blown fire, and the next kiss quickly becomes more heated. Without breaking it, Logan’s grip on your waist tightens and you let out a soft gasp as he effortlessly lifts you onto his lap. Your legs straddle his hips, and you can feel the beginning of something growing underneath you. 

The sensation is dizzying, and you instinctively press yourself closer, your fingers curling into his hair. The swing beneath you creaks softly with the movement, but neither of you pays it any mind, too lost in each other to care.

You shift slightly on his lap, grinding your hips against him, and the movement draws a deep, throaty groan from him. He pulls back just enough to catch his breath, “God, you drive me crazy,” and then he’s on you again. 

It’s wild. Hot, and heavy, and utterly consuming. His hands move from your hips to grip your ass, guiding you to move against him. It feels so good, you release a relieved sigh into his mouth, before dropping your head onto his shoulder, too caught up in the pleasure. 

The sounds of your moans fill the air as he continues grinding you against him, his own hips bucking up into your core. 

Biting your lip, you lift your head slightly, a teasing smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as your eyes dart toward the open door of the farmhouse. “You know,” you begin tilting forward to bite his ear, your voice low and playful, “as much as I’m enjoying being out here, I think we should take this inside.”

Logan’s lips quirk up into a sexy smirk. “As you wish,” he murmurs.

As you stand up, your legs a little shaky from what just occured, you peek back at him, and see that he’s already risen to his feet. Stepping closer, you slip your hand into his as you guide him toward the door. But just as you reach the threshold, a thought crosses your mind, and you pause, turning to look up at him with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

“We gotta go to your room,” you say, running your hands up and down his arms, feeling them flex underneath your touch.“I don’t think I’m ready to defile my childhood bedroom just yet.”

He raises an eyebrow, a grin spreading across his face as he catches on to what you’re implying. “Oh, is that so?” he asks, his tone filled with mock seriousness. You wink in return. grabbing one of his hands and dragging him inside. 

By the time you reach his door, you’re practically vibrating with excitement, your breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. The room is simple, and the bed, neatly made, sits in the center of the room. You can’t help but laugh at the thought of how different it will look in just a few moments.

You turn to face Logan, but he doesn’t give you time to say anything, his hand reaching out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a touch that is both tender and possessive. His thumb traces the line of your jaw as he cups your face, his eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation.

But there’s none. You’ve never been more sure of anything in your life. The need for him, for this, is so overwhelming that it’s taking every ounce of strength in you to keep from throwing yourself onto him. 

His lips find yours once more, this time more urgent, more demanding than before. He pulls you closer, his body pressing against yours. “Are you sure about this?” he asks in between kisses.

“Absolutely,” you mumble breathlessly, your hands sliding up his chest to curl around the back of his neck. The word barely leaves your lips before Logan reacts, a low hum rumbling in his chest as if your answer has unleashed something primal within him.

He kicks the door shut behind him with a force that makes the room tremble slightly, and in the same fluid motion, he pins you against the wall, lips never leaving yours as his body cages you in.

One of his thighs nudges its way between yours, the rough fabric of his jeans brushing against the sensitive spot between your legs. The friction is maddening, electric, and it hits just right, sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine that rips a moan from your throat.

The sound only spurs Logan on, his own need evident in the way he moves against you. He moves his mouth to your neck, trailing up and down it with hungrily. The feel of his mouth on your skin, the way his teeth graze your pulse point, causes you to arch against him, your hands clutching at his shoulders for support.

You can feel the warmth of his breath as he presses his lips to the sensitive spot just below your ear, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin, as his hands explore your body. They’re everywhere—one gripping your hip, holding you steady against the wall, the other sliding up your side to brush against the curve of your breast. His fingers find the hem of your shirt, tugging it up, and you lift your arms to help him, the fabric sliding up and over your head before it’s tossed carelessly to the floor.

Bringing his lips back to yours, the kiss is fiery, stealing all the oxygen from your lungs as he pushes you even harder into against the wall, his thigh still working its magic. You can’t help the way your hips rock against him, the need for more—more pressure, more friction, more him.

Logan seems to sense your desperation, moaning when his hand slips down from your breast to the waistband of your jeans. He fumbles with the button for only a moment before he gets it open, his fingers slipping inside to brush against the soft skin of your lower belly. He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze tempting and filled with a desire that matches your own. 

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he mutters, voice thick with want. “No idea why I waited so long.”

You can barely think, let alone form words, but you manage to breathe out, “Don’t need to wait any longer.”

The words seem to be all the encouragement he needs. In one swift motion, he slides your pants and underwear down your legs, his hands careful as he helps you step out of them. You’re left standing before him, bare and vulnerable, but the way he’s staring at you—like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen—makes you feel powerful, desired in a way you’ve never felt before.

He pulls you back into him, and this time, you can feel the hardness of his own desire against yours—bare— and it drives you insane. His grip finds you thighs as he lifts you off the ground and carries you the short distance to the bed. He lays you down gently on his bed, and breaks away long enough to strip off his own clothes. The sight of him—strong, muscular, yours—makes your breath catch in your throat. 

There’s a moment where he’s standing above you, just staring, his chest rising and falling with the effort to control himself. But then he’s on you again in an instant, his body pressing yours into the mattress, his lips claiming yours and leaving you dizzy.

You lean up into him, your hands sliding up his back, feeling the play of muscles beneath his skin as he moves against you. The need for more builds up to a breaking point, and you can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips as he grinds into you, hard and insistent against your core.

“Logan,” you breathe out. “Please.”

His name on your lips seems to break the last of his control, a desperate groan ripping out of him. He begins travelling down your body, taking his time, his lips tracing a slow, deliberate path, each kiss leaving a burning trail in its wake. His hands follow the curve of your waist, your hips, his fingers digging into your skin with just the right amount of pressure to make you gasp. Your body is practically begging for him, and you know that you’re on the verge of begging too.

Once he makes it down to your thighs, he nudges them apart, giving him better access to you. He nips and bites at them, moaning along with you. And then, with a deep, almost possessive growl, he finally lowers his mouth to you, his tongue flicking out to taste you. You react immediately, a wave of pleasure coming over you, your hands fly into his hair, tugging at the strands as you try to pull him closer.

Logan’s hands tightening their grip on your thighs as he delves deeper. You’re lost in the sensations, the pleasure growing and growing until it’s all you can think about, all you can feel. Your body is on fire, every nerve ending alight with desire, and the only thing that matters is the way he is making you feel, the way he’s driving you toward a release that you know will be earth-shattering.

And then, just as you think you can’t take any more, he pulls back slightly, his lips still hovering over you as he looks up at you, eyes black. “Tell me what you want,” he commands.

You can barely think, let alone form coherent words, but you manage to breathe out, “You. I want–I need you.”

That seems to be wanted he wanted to hear, so with a final kiss to your inner thigh, he moves back up your body, connecting his lips to yours again. You can taste yourself on his tongue as his hands slide under your thighs, lifting you slightly to position himself at your entrance.

The anticipation is almost too much, the need for him so immense that you can’t hold back the whimper that escapes your lips as begins to push, the tip of him just barely inside you, teasing, testing your patience.

“Oh god,” you moan. “I need you. Please.”

And then, finally, Logan gives you what you’ve been wanting since that time at the pond. With one slow, deliberate thrust, he pushes inside you, filling you up completely. 

Everything seems to stop for a moment, the only sound the ragged gasps of breath between you, the only feeling the overwhelming pleasure of being joined together like this, of finally having what you’ve both wanted for so long.

He pauses, lowering his head in the crook of your neck as he lets you adjust to the feeling, his breath hot and heavy against your collarbone. And then he begins to move, slow and steady at first, each thrust driving you closer to the edge, the coil inside you tightening with every stroke. The feel of him inside you, the way he moves against you, is everything you’ve been dreaming of and more, and you can’t help the way your body responds to him, your hips lifting to meet his every movement.

The gentle, deliberate pace soon gives way to something more urgent, more desperate, as the need for release takes over. Each thrust drives you higher, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable level, until teetering on the edge.

And then, he sends you over it. The orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, your entire body shuddering with the intensity of it, your voice lost in the cry of pure ecstasy that escapes your lips. Logan follows you a moment later, his own release crashing into him hard, his body trembling against yours as he buries himself deep inside you, his breath hot and ragged against your neck as a loud, deep, groan reverberates in his throat. 

Neither of you can move, lost in the aftermath of your shared pleasure, your bodies still entwined, as you come down from the high. He tightens his arms around you, pressing a kiss to your temple as he tries to catch his breath. And when he does, he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes.

“You okay?” he murmurs. 

You nod, reaching up to cup his face in your hands, your thumbs gently brushing over the rough stubble on his cheeks. “I’m more than okay,” you whisper back, voice full of emotion. “That was… everything.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of Logan’s lips, and he leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, his arms still wrapped securely around you. “Yeah, it was,” he agrees.

Eventually, he eases out of you with a tenderness that makes you sigh softly. He walks out into the washroom, and gets a warm towel, wiping you and himself down. After, he settles beside you on the bed, his arm draped over your waist, holding you close. The two of you stay like that for a long time, wrapped in each other’s arms, until the exhaustion of the day begins to catch up with you, and you feel your eyes growing heavy.

“Get some rest,” you hear, “We’ve got plenty of time… no need to rush.”

You nod sleepily, snuggling closer to him as you let your eyes drift shut, the steady pulse of his heart lulling you into a peaceful sleep. 

—

You wake to the feeling of warmth and security, Logan’s breathing against your ear, his arm still clinging possessively over your waist. The events of the previous night come rushing back, and a satisfied smile curves your lips as you snuggle closer to him.

But it isn’t long before that peaceful contentment becomes something more. As you move around, the feel of his skin against yours, the warmth of his breath on your neck, and the memory of the passion ignites a familiar heat low in your belly

He stirs beside you, his hand tightening around your waist as if sensing your thoughts. Pulling you closer, his nose nuzzles against your neck, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin there. 

His voice is rough with sleep as he murmurs against your skin, “Morning…”

The simple word, spoken in that deep, gravelly tone, is enough to make you ache for him all over again. You turn in his arms, meeting his gaze, and the look in his eyes—dark and hungry—tells you that he feels the same way. 

The morning starts in the best way possible, the both of you breathless, spent, and with the knowledge that this isn’t a one-time thing. The connection between you is too strong, too consuming to be satisfied with just one night or even one morning. And as the day stretches out before you, the realization hits that this hunger, this need, will follow you both everywhere you go.

Throughout the week, the two of you are completely insatiable for each other. It’s like the floodgates have opened and have no intention of closing. Every moment you’re together becomes an opportunity. 

It starts innocently enough—just a kiss in the barn when you’re supposed to be checking on the horses. But that kiss quickly spirals and before you know it, Logan has you pressed up against the wooden wall, his lips on your neck, his hands roaming your body. The scent of hay and leather mixes with the heady scent of him as he takes you right there, the barn filled with the sound of your moans and the creak of the old wooden beams.

Or when you’re in the back shed, ostensibly looking for some tools to finish up some chores, the moment the door closes behind you, and you both know there’s no point in pretending. Logan’s hands are on you before you can even say a word, lifting you onto the workbench with ease as he claims your lips in a searing kiss. 

At the pond too, the tranquil, secluded spot now holds an entirely different kind of allure to what it had before. One afternoon, you find yourselves there again, the cool water calling your name. But as you strip down to swim, the sight of him watching you is enough to make it seem less inviting than the feel of his hands on your skin. You pull him in with you, the rippling water doing nothing to muffle the sounds of your shared pleasure.

By the end of the week, you’re exhausted but in the best possible way, your body and soul both filled with the kind of satisfaction that comes from truly giving in to what you want, to who you are together. And as the sun sets on the final day of your week alone together, you find yourselves back in Logan’s room, the place where it all began. 

The bed, once neat and tidy, is now a tangle of sheets and pillows, the evidence of your shared moments of bliss scattered around the room. Logan lies beside you, his hand gently stroking your hair as you rest your head on his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

“This week… it’s been more than I ever expected,” he admits quietly, his fingers brushing gently over your skin. “I don’t want it to end.”

You lift your head to look at him, your eyes meeting his, and you can see the same emotion reflected there—the same desire to hold on to what you’ve found together. “It doesn’t have to,” you reply. “We don’t have to go back to the way things were before.”

Logan’s hand tightens around yours, a small, almost imperceptible smile curving his lips. “No, we don’t,” he concurs. 

—

The morning your grandparents arrive, you and Logan are in the kitchen, finishing up lunch. Your grandmother is the first to step through the door, her face lighting up as she sees the two of you. “We’re back!” she announces, her voice cheerful as she sets her bag down by the door.

You rise to greet her, giving her a warm hug. “How was the trip?”

“Oh, it was lovely,” she replies, her eyes twinkling as she pulls back to look at you. “The cottage was just as beautiful as ever. And the Summers send their love.”

Your grandfather enters next, a gleeful smile on his face as he takes in the sight of you and Logan in the kitchen, together. “Everything go smoothly while we were gone?” he asks.

You blush. “Yes, everything was fine.”

Then they do that thing they’ve been doing the whole time you’ve been with them, where they exchange a glance—and share a look that speaks volumes. It’s the kind of look that only comes from years of understanding each other without words, and you can tell they knew exactly what they were doing when they left you and Logan alone for the week. 

“Well, that’s good to hear,” your grandmother says with a mischievous smile, her eyes flicking between you two in a way that makes you wonder just how much they’ve guessed.

“Seems like you two managed just fine without us.” Your grandfather says, patting Logan on the shoulder. 

You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, and you steal a look at Logan, who meets your eyes with a small smirk. It’s a way to tell you that he’s just as aware as you are of what your grandparents are thinking. But there’s no embarrassment on his face, only a quiet confidence, a certainty that whatever happened between you was exactly what was meant to be.

—

The next month flies by, the routine of everything staying largely the same except for one thing. You and Logan are inseparable, drawn to each other like magnets, and with each passing day, it seems like that attraction only grows stronger. 

It’s not just the passion that binds you, though that spark is always there, and most often times doesn’t go ignored. It’s the little moments that fill your days—the way his hand brushes yours as you walk side by side, the way he rests a gentle hand on the small of your back when you’re working together in the barn, or the way his fingers grip your waist as he helps you mount your horse (even though you don’t need it). 

The work on the farm continues to get done, but there’s a new layer to everything you do—a sense of shared purpose, of partnership. And even though the days are long and tiring, you find yourself looking forward to each task, knowing that Logan will be there beside you, sharing the load, offering his quiet support and his easy, comforting presence.

As the sun begins to rise one breakfast, you grandfather announces that he needs to run into town to pick up some tools for a repair project. He’s heading out the door, and as he grabs his keys from the hook, he turns to Logan with a nod.

“Logan, why don’t you come along? Could use an extra pair of hands,” he suggests, his tone casual.

Your man agrees without hesitation, always ready to lend a hand. But as he follows your grandfather out the door, he pauses for just a moment, whirling back to look at you, and what you see on his face is insane—there’s a deep yearning, a longing that tugs on your heartstrings. It’s almost as if to say that he wishes he could stay, he doesn’t want to be apart from you, even for the short trip into town. 

You have half a mind to join them. 

The intensity of that look lingers in the air long after he’s turned away and stepped out the door, and your grandmother doesn’t miss a thing. Once the men are in the truck and begin to drive off the property, she turns to you with a teasing smile, one eyebrow raised in amusment. 

“He’s really got it bad for you, doesn’t he?” she says affectionately. “I’ve never seen a man look at a woman the way he looks at you.”

Your heart blooms in your chest. “I guess he does,” you reply, your voice soft,  breathless as the weight of your feelings for him wash over you. 

Your grandmother chuckles, stepping closer to place her hand on your arm “And you’ve got it bad for him too, I’d say.”

You laugh. “Yeah, I do.”

—

Several weeks later, it’s raining. That should have been the first sign that this day wasn’t going to go to plan. You’re sitting inside, curled up next to Logan on the old chesterfield, his arm wrapped around you as you both enjoy the warmth and quiet of the afternoon. 

But then you decide to go through some emails—just a quick check, nothing more, to clear out any lingering notifications. You unlock your phone and start scrolling through your inbox, Logan’s fingers tracing lazy circles on your shoulder as you do. Most of the emails are routine—newsletters, updates, the usual clutter—but then you see it, nestled among the others like a tiny, unexpected bombshell.

It’s an email from the company you applied to months ago, the one you almost forgot about in the blissful haze of farm life. The subject line makes your heart skip a beat: Congratulations! Offer of Employment.

Your breath catches, and you sit up a little straighter, your heart pounding in your chest as you open the email. The words leap off the screen: We are pleased to offer you the position, starting in two months.

You stare at the email, a mixture of shock and elation washing over you. This is it—your dream job, the opportunity you’ve been working toward for years. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted, the kind of position that could set the course for your entire career. But as the initial wave of excitement begins to ebb, a heavy weight settles in your chest, pulling you back down to earth.

You glance over at Logan, who’s still relaxed beside you. His eyes are closed, his head resting back against the couch. The sight of him, so content, makes your heart ache, because with this job offer comes a harsh reality: accepting it means leaving him, leaving this life you’ve built together, at least for a while. And you don’t know when—or even if—you’ll be back.

Suddenly, his eyes flutter open in response to your shifting, and he looks over at you, concern flickering across his features. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “I… I just got an email,” you begin shakily as you turn the screen toward him so he can read it for himself.

He takes the phone from your hand, his eyes scanning the email. You watch his expression carefully, searching for any sign of what he’s feeling. At first, there’s no reaction, just the steady, focused way he reads the words. Yet as he reaches the end, you see it—the subtle tightening of his jaw, the pinching together of his eyebrows. 

He hands the phone back to you wordlessly.

Then, “This is what you’ve been waiting for.” His voice is steady, but there’s a sadness there too, a heaviness that you can’t ignore.

You nod, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Yeah… it is.”

There’s a long stretch of nothing, the sound of the rain outside filling the silence between you. Logan looks away, his gaze fixed on the fire as if trying to find the right words. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, measured. “You have to take it.”

You swallow hard. “But what about us? I don’t know when I’ll be back… or if I’ll even be able to come back.”

Logan’s hand tightens around yours, his grip firm, grounding. “We’ll figure it out,” he says, though you can hear the strain in his voice, the way he’s trying to hold back his own emotions for your sake. “You’ve worked too hard for this to pass it up.”

His words are supportive, encouraging, but you can see the the way he’s starting to close in on himself, as if already bracing himself for your departure. The thought of being apart from him is unbearable.

You lean into his touch, your head resting on his shoulder, and he wraps his arms around you, holding you close. “I don’t want to leave you,” you whisper as the tears finally spill over.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there as if trying to convey all the things he can’t bring himself to say. “I don’t want you to leave either,” he admits. “But I’ll be here when you get back. However long it takes.”

And so begins the countdown to your departure. You always knew it was going to come, always knew you were going to have to leave your grandparents again, but you didn’t expect to find the love of your life here, and that makes it so much harder.

—

The remaining two months become a bittersweet blend of cherished moments and a looming sense of inevitability. Each day feels both precious and fleeting, a constant reminder that your time together is running out, and it shapes every decision, every action, every word between you. 

In the past, your days had been filled with the rhythm of farm life—early mornings, long hours of work, and evenings spent in each other’s arms, exhausted but content. But now, there’s a conscious effort to carve out time just for you two, time that’s not dictated by chores or routine. You start taking more trips to the pond or into town, something you hadn’t quite as often before. 

These dates are different from the intense, passionate moments you’ve shared on the farm—they’re softer, more tender, as if you’re both trying to imprint each other’s presence into your memories. You hold hands as you walk on the streets, your fingers intertwined, and every now and then, Logan will pull you close, pressing a kiss to your temple or your lips, as if he needs to reassure himself that you’re still there with him.

Even the way you make love changes during these months. The hunger and desire that had once defined your physical relationship are still there, of course—Logan’s touch still ignites a fire in you, and the need for each other still burns as hot as ever—but now, there’s a new dimension to your intimacy, a slow, sensual depth that hadn’t been there before. 

Your grandparents, upon hearing the news, immediately noticed the change too. While they were so extremely happy for your new job opportunity, they also knew what it meant. They’ve seen the way you and Logan have grown closer, the way your connection has deepened, and there’s a quiet sadness in their eyes whenever they see you together. 

It’s not a sadness for themselves, but for the both of you. 

They don’t say much, but their understanding is palpable. They seem to give you more grace when it comes to doing work around the farm, trying to volunteer and do as much as they can so you two can spend time alone. No matter how much you refuse, they insist, pushing you two out the door with picnic basket and blankets. 

Sitting on the porch one evening after a long day, your grandmother comes out to join you. She sits beside you, Logan’s arm is draped around your shoulders, and for a brief second, the three of you just sit in silence, watching the sunset.

“You know,” your grandmother begins, her voice soft and filled with emotion, “I see the way you two look at each other. It reminds me of your grandfather and me when we were young.”

You smile, leaning into Logan’s side as you listen to her. “You two have always been such an inspiration,” you say, meaning every word.

She chuckles, a wistful sound. “It wasn’t always easy, you know. There were times when we had to be apart, times when I wasn’t sure if we’d make it through. But we did. And looking at you two now… I know you’ll find a way.”

Logan squeezes your shoulder gently.. “We’ll figure it out,” he says, echoing the promise he made when you first told him about the job.

Your grandmother nods, reaching out to pat your knee. “I believe you will. But just know… it’s okay to be sad, to be scared. That’s part of loving someone.”

The words resonate with you, and you feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

She smiles, a small, sad smile that holds a lifetime of wisdom. “You’ll be alright, my dear. Both of you.”

The days continue to slip by, and as the final weeks approach, your chest constantly feels tight. You try to make yourself feel better by lying in each other’s arms at night, whispering about the future, about the dreams you have, and the plans you’ll make when you’re together again. But still, it’s sad. 

—

Your last day creeps up on you like a shadow at dusk—inevitable, inescapable, and suddenly there, looming over everything. You wake up with a rock on your heart, the realization that this is it—your final day on the farm, your last full day with Logan before everything changes.

He is still asleep beside you, holding you close, his face peaceful in the early morning quiet. For a moment, you just watch him, memorizing the lines of his face, the way his chest rises and falls with each breath, the way his hair falls across his forehead. You want to remember everything, to carry this image of him with you when you leave.

With a soft sigh, you carefully slip out of his embrace, trying not to wake him. You pad quietly to the window, staring out at the familiar landscape that has become so dear to you. The fields, the barn, the trees swaying gently in the breeze—it’s all so beautiful, so full of memories.

You don’t realize you’re crying until you feel the wetness on your cheeks, and you quickly wipe the tears away, not wanting to start the day with sadness. But as you turn back to the bed, you see that Logan is awake, his eyes open and watching you. He doesn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes says it all—he knows what today means, and he feels it just as deeply as you do.

Wordlessly, you crawl back into bed, curling up against him, and you can feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek, grounding you in the moment.

“Morning,” he murmurs.

“Morning,” you whisper back, your voice trembling slightly as you press your face into his chest, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to fall..

You just lie there together, wrapped in each other’s arms, the weight of the day pressing down on you both. Eventually, Logan pulls back slightly, his hand cupping your face as he looks into your eyes. “Let’s go to the pond,” he says delicately. “Just you and me.”

You nod, unable to find the words to respond. The pond has always been your special place, a sanctuary where you’ve shared so many intimate moments, where it feels like it all began, and so it’s only right that would spend your last day there, away from everything else, just the two of you.

You decide to walk to the pond. Logan’s hand is warm and solid in yours, and you hold on to it tightly, physically unable to tear yourself from his touch. And when you reach it, a fresh wave of emotion crashes over you. 

You and Logan stand at the water’s edge, just staring out into the pond. Then, you turn to him, your eyes filled with tears, and without hesitation, he pulls you into his arms, holding you close.

The kiss that follows is desperate, full of the need to feel connected, to hold on to each other for as long as you can. It’s not like the slow, sensual lovemaking of the past weeks—this is something desperate. Stumbling back toward the soft grass by the water’s edge, Logan gently lays you down, his hands trembling slightly as he undresses you, tears stinging behind his eyelids. As he moves over you, his body pressing against yours, there’s only this moment. 

With his skin against yours, his breath on your neck, your bodies move together. Tears spill from your eyes as you hold him tight, your hands unable to stay still, running over every part of him you can touch, needing to feel him, to anchor yourself. His lips find yours again, and the kiss is deep, full of all the love, all the emotion that neither of you can put into words. 

It’s a kiss that says goodbye, that says I love you, that says I’ll wait for you.

After reaching the peak of pleasure, you cling to each other, the tears flowing freely now, a mix of sorrow and love and everything in between.

Logan holds you close, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath ragged, his eyes wet with tears. “I love you,” he whispers, his voice cracking with emotion. “I’ll always love you.”

“I love you too,” you choke out. “More than anything.”

—

Driving away from the farm was probably the hardest thing you've ever had to do in your entire life. Harder than moving away for university, harder than securing your first full-time job, harder than living alone in a city where you knew no one. This was different—this was leaving behind a piece of your heart, a part of your soul that you knew would never be whole until you returned.

Your hands grip the steering wheel tightly, your knuckles white as you try to focus on the road ahead, but it’s impossible to shake the image that’s burned into your mind—the image of Logan and your grandparents standing on the porch as you drove away. The sight of them, standing there side by side, watching you leave, is something that will haunt you for a long time. 

Logan, his stoic expression barely masking the pain in his eyes, his hands clenched at his sides as if holding himself back from running after you. Your grandmother, her face a mixture of sadness and pride, eyes glistening with unshed tears. And your grandfather, standing tall and strong, but with a heaviness in his gaze that spoke of understanding, of experience, of knowing just how hard this had to be.

The tears that had been threatening to fall finally break free, streaming down your face as you drive, blurring your vision and making it hard to see the road ahead. You swipe at them angrily, frustrated with yourself for breaking down like this, but it’s no use. The emotions are too strong, too overwhelming, and soon you’re bawling your eyes out, the sound of your own crying filling the car. 

You can barely catch your breath, each sob wracking your body with a force that leaves you feeling drained, exhausted, and utterly broken.

—

The time apart is worse than you ever imagined it would be. In the beginning, you and Logan make every effort to stay in touch. The calls and texts are your lifeline, little threads that keep you connected to the farm, to him, to the life you left behind. 

At first, you talk every day. his voice a comfort, a reminder that you’re not alone, that he’s still there, waiting for you. He tells you about his days, about how he still rides the horses every morning, just like he used to when you were there. 

But as time goes on, the time between each call grows. Your demanding work schedule, and the unreliable service in the countryside, make it harder and harder to find moments when you’re both free to talk. The texts, once long and filled with details about your lives, become shorter, more practical. You try to stay connected, but the distance feels like a growing chasm between you, one that neither of you can quite figure out how to bridge.

Years pass by in a blur. You have no time to spend at the farm, with it being too far away for just a weekend trip, and other commitments seem to always get in the way. 

Then, one day, the call comes—the call you’ve dreaded but somehow always knew would happen. It’s your grandmother, her voice trembling as she tells you that your grandfather has passed away. 

You take leave from work immediately, making arrangements to drive back to the farm and spend a night. The funeral is simple, attended by a few close friends and neighbours, but the absence of your grandfather is felt deeply by everyone.

And he’s there too—Logan. He’s standing off to the side, his broad shoulders slightly hunched, his face etched with grief. When your eyes meet, it’s as if no time has passed at all. You walk over to him, and without a word, he pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly as if afraid to let go. 

The few years apart, the pain of the distance, all of it melts away in that embrace. You bury your face in his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him that you’ve missed so much, and the tears you thought you had run out of begin to fall. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, everything hitting you at once—the loss of your grandfather, the years you’ve spent apart, the life you could have had together.

He hugs you tighter, his hand gently stroking your hair. “I miss you,” he murmurs thickly. “Every damn day, I miss you.”

You spend the rest of the day together, holding each other, talking, catching up, and remembering your grandfather. Logan tells you about the farm, about how he’s kept things going, but you can hear the weariness in his voice, the toll that time and loneliness have taken on him. It’s clear that the farm hasn’t been the same without you, just as your life hasn’t been the same without him.

Later that evening, after the guests have left and the house has grown quiet, your grandmother pulls you aside. Her eyes are tired, full of sorrow, but there’s a calm acceptance in her expression. “I’ve made a decision,” she says softly, her voice steady. “I’m going to sell the farm.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, but before you can protest, she continues. “Not to just anyone,” she adds quickly. “To Logan. He’s been more than just a farmhand, you know that. This place is as much his as it was ours. But… I need to move into permanent care. I can’t manage on my own anymore.”

You nod, understanding but feeling a deep sadness all the same. The farm has been a part of your life for so long, and the thought of it changing hands, even to Logan, feels like another loss. But there’s also a sense of relief, knowing that it will be in good hands, that it will stay in the family, in a way.

That night, you’re tangled in Logan’s arms. Leaving him the next morning is just as hard the second time as it was the first.

—

Five years since that fateful summer have passed, and in that time, your life changes in ways you never expected. You’ve built a successful career, made some amazing friends, travelled the world, but the hustle and bustle of city life has taken its toll. The stress, the strain, the dissatisfaction—it begins to weigh on you more and more. 

So, you make a decision.

You quit your job, find something remote, something that allows you to work from anywhere, as long as you can drive into the city every few weeks to drop off documents. It’s a drastic change, but it’s one you need. You realize that the life you want, the life you’ve been yearning for, isn’t in the city. 

It’s back at the farm.

As you step out of your car, you see him. He’s by the paddock, feeding the horses apples, just like he used to. His back is to you at first, but then he turns, and his eyes meet yours, and time stops. 

There’s a lifetime of emotions in that look—love, longing, hope. Most of all, there’s recognition, as if both of you know that this is it, that this is the moment you’ve been waiting for all these years.

And when you’re finally standing in front of him again, he reaches out, his hand trembling slightly as he cups your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek the same way it did all those years ago. 

----

[sunsetsimon]

oral is a non-negotiable for simon. you aren't having penetrative sex if he isn't able to have you in his mouth first. you have to be prepared - worked thoroughly and loosened up to be able to take his dick. he wants to slide right in with no resistance, your walls practically suffocating him with how tight they squeeze his cock with desire.

you're whining underneath him, begging him to put it in, saying you're ready and don't need to wait but he's not listening. your dainty panties are soiled already, a growing wet spot visible in the thin fabric. he pulls them down slowly, kissing your knee that's propped up against his chest. your slick sticks to the fabric, a line of dribble sticking to your inner thigh as they're removed.

cold air caresses your clit first, an exhale escaping your pretty lips in anticipation.

"'s fuckin wet already. maybe you are ready for my cock, huh, love?" simon mumbles, more to himself than to you. you can only whimper in response.

his thick fingers spread your swollen lips, exposing your wet clit to him, feeling the throb of your heartbeat against his fingertips. you watch with anticipation as he adjusts himself between your legs, licking his lips as he leans down, your feet coming to rest on his shoulders. he gives your clit a soft kiss, a sharp inhale making your body tense, awaiting his next move.

his hands move to grip your thighs, his slick covered fingers spreading your wetness along your own skin, but you're too worked up to feel embarrassed. you mewl as his hot tongue swipes along your entrance back to your clit, sucking it in his mouth as he flicks his tongue quickly against the sensitive bud.

your legs are already beginning to thrash against him, body involuntarily twitching and shaking as he devours you, shoving his tongue into your creamy pussy as far as it'll let him.

"fuck si!" you cry, gripping onto his short blond hair while your other hand braces the sheets for dear life. your hip flexors burn from being forced open, stretched past comfortability as he holds them down toward the mattress.

"tastes so fuckin' good baby," he groans as he pulls back for air, giving your clit a quick slap that has you nearly jumping off the mattress in shock before he sucks you back in, shaking his head side to side as he flattens his tongue on your clit, dragging you past pleasure to pure ecstasy.

two thick fingers shove into you with ease, stretching your gummy insides and curling against that spongy spot within you that makes you see stars. an immense pressure builds within your stomach, a wet squelching sound echoing throughout the room with each thrust of his fingers, fucking you with them hard and fast.

"gonna cum! gonna fucking cum-" you cry, holding his head in place against your clit as your ass and thighs lock, tensed so hard you can feel them cramping but you're too fucking close to care. simon's dark brown eyes watch your face twist, eyes rolling back as he flicks his tongue against your clit just how he knows you need it.

your hot walls grip his fingers as you release, a rush of liquid squirting out onto his face and chest as he continues to finger-fuck you through it, coaxing all of the liquid he can get out of you. black dots cloud your vision, unable to move or control your body, feeling like you're floating.

"thas' good baby," he comforts you, "y'did fuckin' amazing for me."

his fingers slow to a stop, allowing you to catch your breath and your consciousness to return to your body. your heart pounds in your ears, the pressure almost dizzying. "doin' okay, love?" simon's brows furrow, caressing your outer thighs as you slowly pull your shaking legs closed.

"too good," your voice is weak, "can't feel my legs because of you."

he laughs, wiping his chin from your wetness that drips down to his neck, "good. means you're ready f'me. now why don't you get on your stomach for me, little thing?"

[fayes-fics]

A Beneficial Arrangement

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: A marriage pact with a Viscount. What could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, oral sex (m to f), loss of virginity, vaginal sex. Bickering, developing relationship.

Word Count: 6.1 k

Authors Note: Unbetaed. Anon request fill from HERE (Anthony and a headstrong independent reader make an unconventional marriage pact). Sorry it's taken so long to write this, but I hope you enjoy! <3

It’s a dreary, rather ordinary Tuesday in spring when your life takes a turn.

“The Viscount is in want of a wife.” 

That statement is all you hear as you walk past the drawing room where your mother is taking tea with her good friend, the dowager Viscountess Bridgerton.

“My eldest needs a husband,” your mother responds, offering you as if merely chattel; bile rises indignantly as she does so. “But I fear she is far too outspoken to be a suitable Viscountess.” 

You sigh in relief, ear pressed to the closed door now.

“Oh, believe me, nothing would be a better match for my darling Anthony than someone who will challenge him, stand up to him,” Violet peals a knowing laugh. “We should arrange a meeting.”

——

3 days later.

He assesses you with a cool eye as your gaze drifts briefly over to both of your mothers, watching expectantly from a nearby table in the tea shop.

“You should know I will only be taking a wife to fulfil my societal duty,” he sniffs airly. “However, I do not expect you to produce an heir. The title may pass to my younger brothers; they are more inclined to form romantic attachments than I. Their offspring can inherit this title; it feels like a curse anyhow,” he adds quieter, his tone mildly embittered.

“Well, on your attitude to marriage, I can wholeheartedly agree,” you state, stirring your tea primly. “I do not wish to be shackled. I wish to remain free. I shall marry, as there is no other path available to me, but I do not plan nor do I ever want to be someone's wife.” You utter the word with disdain as if it is toxic. 

His admittedly very handsome face transforms into one of surprise, a faint dot of colour on his cheeks as he peers at you as if assessing you in a new light.

“What?” You frown at him, his silent stare becoming too heavy to bear as his interest and engagement intensify.

“You are the first woman I have ever met who shares my outlook,” he confesses, seemingly caught off-guard. “It is so utterly refreshing… and, frankly, novel.” He pauses to pass his fingers slowly over his lips in a way that makes your stomach swoop, even if you refuse to acknowledge such even to yourself. “I do believe we should meet again to discuss this further,” he concludes.

And thus, you find yourself with the suit of one Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, both of your mothers overjoyed at the prospect.

——

9 days later.

“If I must marry, you are the most tolerable woman I have met, I must concede,” he states nonchalantly as you meet to promenade. 

It’s quite an opening line for only your third meeting, even for someone as renownedly blunt as the Viscount.

“And a good afternoon to you too, Viscount Bridgerton,” you drawl pointedly with a raised eyebrow, subtly hinting how his greeting may have been lacking.

He chuckles, a flash of what looks like admiration in his dark eyes.

“As such,” he continues, “I would not be averse to a martial arrangement with you. An agreement, a pact if you will, based on our mutual understanding of what we both want from such an endeavour.”

The speed and pragmatism of his apparent proposal do not surprise you in the least. In fact, you are actually grateful for the lack of ceremony around it. If you must marry, you prefer it be swift.

“Did you mean what you said last week? In the tearoom?” You quiz as you begin to walk shoulder to shoulder through Hyde Park, the early summer air heavy with the scent of roses.

“Every word,” he replies solemnly.

“Then, I suppose this is a beneficial arrangement for me too,” you shrug as if agreeing about the weather, not the very course of your future. But there is something about this man that feels inevitable, fateful, but not in a way you dread. Also, his face is so very pleasing. If you must indeed marry, at least the view across the dinner table will be nice.

“Then it is decided,” he nods decisively, a brusque smile passing over his lips. “I so greatly appreciate your candidness with regard to this matter. It makes the whole business so much easier to deal with.”

He offers a hand to shake, and you take it, bemused, shaking on the deal, pretending this mere touch doesn't make every butterfly in your stomach roar to life.

“I shall make the arrangements swiftly,” he states, again with a short smile and nod.

You are married within three weeks.

——

6 weeks later.

‘‘What on earth is this?” he practically spits as he rounds the corner of Bridgerton House onto the back lawn.

“What does it look like?” you sass, tearing the netted visor from your face.

“It looks an awful lot like my wife is fencing,” his reply dripping with conceited judgement.

“Well, I’m glad to know you do not need glasses, husband,” you respond dryly, nodding to accept the excuses of the butler you were sparring with, who suddenly seems very keen to scurry away now the Viscount has arrived.

“Perkins, do not think this has gone unnoticed,” Anthony calls pointedly after the retreating man.

“Leave him alone!” you bark, taking your husband aback with your ferocity, him turning to you and almost gaping in surprise. “Perkins must do my bidding as lady of the house, and I told him to fence with me,” you elucidate, keen that the innocent party not suffer any consequences for your decision. 

“Women do not fence,” he sniffs, changing the subject somewhat.

“This one does,” you riposte, spearing your epee tip into the grass to remove the suede gloves.

“It is unbecoming of a Viscountess,” he adds almost haughtily.

“Good thing such matters hold no truck with me,” you shrug, knowing you are likely provoking him. 

To hell with what is appropriate for a titled lady. The title, and all of its stifling rules and expectations, is the very last reason you married the man standing before you. No, the reason is far, far more simultaneously complex and simple than that. He excites you—in ways you don't even want to admit to yourself.

It’s not something you would divulge to anyone, but arguing with your new husband has become your new favourite pastime. On the rare occasions you see him, that is. Since your wedding day, you have mostly been ships passing at the dinner table; otherwise, your lives have been very separate. At night, his rooms are at the other end of the long hallway from yours, and his days are apparently filled with business obligations. While the utter freedom to fill your days as you wish has been a blessing, it’s also been perhaps a touch lonely.

When you do see Anthony, you invariably end up clashing about something. And, well, it’s often the highlight of your week. A thrill zipping down your spine as you do so. The only person you have met who can keep up with your verbal sparring. It makes you excited, breathless, dizzy, a fizz low in your belly that feels entirely beguiling. Today is no different; you feel that same sensation as he stares at you, arms crossed, exasperated.

“Well, if you insist upon this rebellious pastime,’ he sighs after a few beats, snatching your epee, “the least you can do is improve your grip,” he grouses, rolling his eyes.

You startle as he crowds into your back, a warm hand wrapping around yours as he passes you the blade and demonstrates a different way to wield it that you concede feels better. The spike of victory in your bloodstream from winning the argument morphs into something entirely different as he stands behind you, his breath tickling your ear and the tendrils of your hair as he provides instruction. 

You try to take the details on board, but your thoughts scatter with his overwhelming proximity. How have you never noticed the stirring amber notes of his cologne before? Or how very broad his chest is compared to his slim hips? Perhaps because this is the closest you have ever been, his body heat seeping into your spine, your heart fluttering hard against your ribs. You can’t decide if this effect your husband can have on you is the best or the worst thing. Somehow, it feels like both.

——

1 month later.

You are both relieved to avoid most of the season on the pretence of being on honeymoon, but inevitably, the time comes when you must debut as a married couple. Speculation about you growing ever since Lady Whistledown breathlessly reported your nuptials, a nearly unknown minor Ton member rapidly snaring the most eligible of perenially eligible bachelors.

So when you enter your first ball as Viscountess Bridgerton, all eyes are upon you. You feel mildly uncomfortable bedecked in jewels and a heavy silk dress, but know refinement is of importance at events such as these. You just cannot wait to get home and get out of them. This will never be your preferred milieu, a sentiment you apparently share with your husband—underneath his calm, unruffled exterior, you sense his dampened disquiet.

“Smile politely, nod in acknowledgement, but don't engage for any longer than necessary,” he counsels under his breath as an inevitable hush falls over the room when your arrival is announced. You are grateful for his steadfast support, his arm looped reassuringly through yours as you follow his advice, knowing he has navigated these waters much more than you have needed to. “The best thing to do is seem frightfully ordinary,” he explains quietly as you complete a circuit of the room. “They are ravenous for gossip; if none is to be had, their preoccupation will swiftly wane.”

Indeed, the initial excitement about your appearance soon dies down as other, perhaps more flamboyant, guests arrive. People approach expressing surprise about your union, but once he economically explains you just knew you were right for each other, they often quickly move on, seeming almost disappointed at the lack of apparent scandal.

As the evening progresses, you school your tongue at some of the barbs you overhear, more out of a wish to be left alone rather than any adherence to social rules. Most of the things that appear to preoccupy the Ton you have little patience for. As Anthony spends some time with business acquaintances, you eventually find yourself in the company of the female members of his family, whom you are quickly becoming very fond of with every passing day in their company. Particularly his benevolent mother and headstrong sister, Eloise. In fact, the latter is the primary witness to the flare of your true nature, fatigue overriding your ability to remain silent.

Cressida Cowper is being particularly venomous about a mutual acquaintance. Eloise is quick with her witty tongue in reply, and you cannot stop yourself from piling on your scorn as well.

“Perhaps if the braiding of your hair were less painful, it would allow you greater empathy,” you retort before you can stop yourself.

Eloise’s responding guffaw sprays lemonade all over Cressida, whose shocked mien is the last thing you see before she turns heel to attend to her ruined dress in private.

“That was sensational!” Eloise wheezes in awe as she blots the remnants of her beverage from her chin.

You sigh.

“It was unwise,” you correct, knowing you have probably just made an enemy of one of the worst gossips of the Ton.

“It was wholly accurate and justified,” a cool, authoritative voice cuts in, and you look up to find your husband before you, a rapt glint in his eye that makes your lungs feel tight. It appears he may have also been witness to the moment.

Eloise’s eyes briefly ping-pong between the two of you, and then she loops an arm into the crook of Anthony’s as you continue to gaze at each other, cataloguing something new about each other that you mutually admire.

“I like her,” Eloise nods at you. “Excellent choice of wife, brother,” she grins.

It breaks the spell between you but seems to further ingratiate you with at least one member of his family. And that makes you feel light as air in a way you don't fully understand.

——

2 months later.

Funnily enough, it’s another random Tuesday when your life takes a complete turn. Yet again, you find yourself in another heated debate with your husband of barely twelve weeks. This time while sojourning at your country estate, Aubrey Hall.

“Must you?” Anthony gripes, standing up from his desk and rounding towards where you stand.

“Must I what? Speak my mind?” you bite back, hands on your hips.

“Be so damn argumentative,” he expounds, hands also on hips, chest heaving a little, “urghh, you are so aggravating!”

“Same!” You shoot back. “I have never met a man quite as disagreeable as you,” you add, not realising as you argue that you have taken steps closer and are now huffing irritated breaths close to each other's faces.

“Why did you agree to marry me then?” he snarls, his gaze suddenly fixated on your bottom lip, unbeknownst to you, it’s glistening and swollen from biting in irritation at his demeanour.

“Right now, I have no earthly idea,” you volley in return, but your pounding heart gives away the real reason. No one makes you feel quite as alive as Anthony, even when he is driving you up the wall, like right now. “Why did you agree to marry me, seeing as I am so very ‘aggravating’?” you spit, parroting the word back at him.

His stare blisters as he draws himself to full height right before you.

“We made a pact,” he huffs, “this is duty, nothing more.” 

But the way he breathes and holds himself speaks to something else. A war in his body and mind. The maelstrom in his eyes belying his words… and then it hits you. So singular it knocks the wind from your lungs. This is desire. He wants you. In all the ways a man can want a woman. 

And damn it all to hell if you don’t feel precisely the same.

“For me as well,” your tart, mendacious reply is bitter on your tongue.

The tension in the air is taut like a cord, ready to snap. You both toe to toe, noses almost touching, laboured breaths as you stare each other down like some game to see who will capitulate first. 

“I do believe we are at an impasse… wife,” the last word dripping with disdain, but he is leaning closer than he ever has, his lips fractional inches from yours.

“It would appear so…,” you concur, “…husband,” you roll the last word slowly, lingering on the end of the first syllable as if it is both a treat and a bitter pill on your tongue.

“I have been raised a gentleman,” he hisses, “but there are times that you test my resolve.”

“I do nothing of the sort!” you decry, knowing you are lying even to yourself now. Somedays lately, you live to simply push his buttons, just to see what he will do. “And resolve of what? To not be a good husband? Because I can tell you, forthright, you are doing a wonderful job of being a terrible husband,” you goad, knowing you are poking the proverbial beast now.

“I give you a wonderful home to run as you please, I give you the freedom to pursue whatever pastimes you wish, I let you speak your mind. As Viscountess, the world is yours. What else could you possibly want in a husband? I do not ask you to do things, wifely things, that I could,” he warns, his voice buzzing low. “I could demand you submit to my will; it is my right,” he growls.

A flame behind your ribs catches fire, even as your eyes flash indignant.

“You do not wish for that sort of wife; you told me as much yourself.” It’s a heated whisper, much breathier than you mean it to be.

“A man can change his mind,” he gravels, “same as a woman can change hers if she wishes.”

“What made you change your mind?” 

He fixes you with a hypnotic, weighted stare.

“You.”

The way that one word drips from his lips tilts your whole existence. It’s so loaded you don’t know what to say. Unmoored, your system awash with chemicals, your mind flooding with images of sketches you have seen of men and women together. Of what the marital act can entail. It’s something you believed would not ever be a part of your marriage, your life, even, but now…. 

Now your handsome husband is staring at you, ragged breaths, face wild, telling you he has changed his mind. Maybe he wants that sort of marriage, that sort of union. Something gallops hard in your chest as he steps away, as if wrongly intuiting you are about to turn down his suit, and something bubbles up from deep inside you.

“Do not dare,” you growl.

His mouth falls open in shock.

“Do not tease me so and leave me wanting,” you continue with a boldness and timbre you barely recognise as your own. “‘Tis crueller to build false hope than to take what you want,” you sniff and stare him down, so wholly decisive in your intentions and desires. If this is the nudge he needs, you’ll give it.

“You want me to exercise my conjugal rights?” he falters, appearing utterly stunned.

You don’t answer; just do one thing, your heart pounding loudly in your ears. You close the last few inches and press your lips to his. 

They are soft and plush against yours, making your insides warm and glowing. Then, Anthony makes a noise in the back of his throat, and suddenly, he is kissing you back. So ferociously, you squeak into his mouth as he opens your lips and slides his tongue over yours, his strong arms pulling you into an embrace so you are enveloped by his warm body.

Good lord.

You feel like you are drowning in him as he grabs your jaw, directing the kiss, turning it into something wholly other. Your lips move endlessly together as you both greedily take from the other for what seems like ages. When you pull apart, you are both heaving breaths and staring at each other, almost confused.

“Don’t you dare do that again,” you snarl, wanting to rip every item of clothing from your body and his.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he responds airily.

And then you crash into each other again. Drinking desperately from each other's mouths, powerless to resist whatever flame draws you together. 

He walks you backwards as your tongues tangle, and you startle slightly as your bottom hits his imposing desk. Hands loop around your thighs, and he hoists you into the surface, never breaking the intoxicating kiss.

He tries to step between your legs, but your column dress is too tight to allow it. You attempt to wiggle the hem upwards as you kiss, then, with a frustrated grunt, he bats your hands away and, using a strength that shocks you, rips the silk material asunder from the hem to your hip.

“I loved this dress!” you decry over his lips, unwilling to admit you’d destroy every single dress you own if he just kept kissing you like this.

“I’ll buy you another,” he dismisses, pushing your thighs wide with his hands. “I’ll buy you as many as you want.” 

“You had better,” you challenge, scarcely able to believe you even have the wherewithal to debate with him, especially as this is the first time a man has ever touched your bare leg.

He pulls back from the kiss to stare intently into your eyes as his fingertips trace from your kneecap up the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You don’t mean to, but you tremble, having never been touched this way before. You gasp as his palm cups the apex of your thighs, his hand feeling so warm through the thin silk protecting your modesty, his fingers swirling circles over your patch of hair as the heel of his palm presses against your slit.

“I can feel your heat,” he hisses.

You can barely process what is happening, your body rioting as he touches and teases you, staring you down. Instinctively, you reach for the tiny buttons at your hip, but your hands fall away as he flicks his middle finger downwards and catches a nub that makes your body buck.

“Anthony,” it falls from your lips unbidden with a halting breath. It may well be the first time you have uttered his first name in his presence.

He groans at the sound. “Please, always say my name like that,” he pleads through gritted teeth.

So you repeat it, the same intonation, even as that finger drags slowly up and down over the swollen pearl between your legs, undone by how good it feels.

“Are you chaste?” he inquires; it’s not judgemental in tone, just pure curiosity, his ministrations lighter.

“Yes,” you admit quietly, “but I do know of the marital act”, you add, wanting him to know you are not entirely innocent.

“Hmm,” he hums, looking at once thoughtful and blistering, his finger moving more insistently again, “I am glad to hear it. Then you shall not be entirely shocked by what is about to happen?”

“So… we are to undertake it? The act?” you stutter, his finger making you feel so good you have to bite your lip.

But he doesn’t answer your question directly. 

“Wife, how attached are you to these undergarments?” his tone almost idle, cocking his head to the side as his gaze lingers over them.

You shrug practically. “I have many exactly the same.”

Then, you gasp loudly as the sound of silk tearing fills the room. You are quaking as the warm air of his study swirls around your exposed, damp slit. He shocks you by dropping to his knees before you. Pushing your thighs wide on his desk and looking up at you with burningly intense eyes, he presses his face to your flesh, inhaling deeply, his nose buried in your pubic hair before his tongue peeks out and nudges the swollen nub he was teasing through the silk. 

Your mouth drops open, and something inhuman escapes your lungs. Then he does it again, this time enclosing the whole area between his lips and sucking hard on your flesh, tongue curling and ploughing into your folds. The heat, the suction, the muscular swipe of his tongue feels so good your mind blanks out, a tremor in your splayed thighs that he holds forcibly open with warm hands. He keeps doing so for a few moments as your fingernails curl hard into the edge of his desk, scarcely able to do anything but writhe and gently moan. IIdly you think upon all of your curious research, never once had you heard of or read about a man doing as he is now, placing his head between his wife’s thighs and sniffing, drinking from her body.

“You are plenty ready for me, wife,” he huffs, his warm breath tickling your responsive folds, little ripples of pleasure deep inside scattering your thoughts. “Are you averse to me taking you right here?” he waves a hand nonchalantly at his large, imposing carved wooden desk.

“I… I rather thought su-such things could only ha-happen in a bed,” you confess stiltedly, a quiver in your voice.

He smirks up from between your thighs, turning his head to kiss the fragile skin there. “Oh, no, wife. We can fuck anywhere we please…” he pauses and looks sincere, “however, should you prefer a bed…”

“Here is fine,” you rush out, so very keen to have your husband make a woman of you. As if leaving this room may break the spell you are under. Location be damned. You just want to know him. He smirks again, placing a final quick kiss on your flesh, looking very pleased at your response.

“I wholeheartedly concur,” he rumbles as he hoists himself back up to stand, stepping inwards to rock his clothed pelvis against your pulsing nub. There is something hot and swollen in his trousers now, and you realise this must be his member. 

“Show it to me,” you enthuse, nodding at the insistent bulge.

“So very impatient all of a sudden, wife,” he scolds with a bemused chuckle, grabbing your wrist and guiding your hand over the bump. It feels so hot and steely even through the fabric. “Unbutton me,” he orders casually, pointing to the fastening at his hip. 

Exuberantly, you undo them quickly, keen to see if his member matches the sketches you have viewed. As the front of his trousers falls away, he quickly pushes down his white underwear. There, nestled in a thatch of dark hair at the base, is your husband's cock. Your eyes widen at the sight. It seems more considerable than the drawings you have seen, and you are temporarily taken aback by how red and almost angry it looks at the tip.

“Go ahead, touch it,” Anthony encourages, and with a slight tremble in your fingers, you reach forward and make contact with him.

“Oh!” you exclaim without thought, “it’s so soft, your skin, and so hot!” 

He chuckles warmly at your assessment. “Indeed,” he huffs as you wrap your hand instinctively around it, feeling its weight and mass in your palm.

“This will not fit inside me, surely?” you blurt out.

“It will, I promise,” his tone mellow, tinged with understanding even as his breath staccatos when you start to move your hand, the instinct to rub inexplicable, but seemingly precisely what he wants. “Yes, perfect,” he rasps, eyes closing and tongue peaking out to lick his lips.

The odd mix of total honesty and soft appreciation between you as you acquaint yourselves with each other's bodies seems very apt, as if this is the only way such a development would ever transpire. And you realise, as you cradle his most intimate parts, that you trust this man with your very being. Despite your bickering, there is a thread of mutual respect under it that makes you feel safe, seen, and known in a way that no other person has.

“Take me now, husband,” you rattle through your teeth, watching a bead of something sticky form at the tip of his cock as you squeeze him in hypnotic, repetitive motions. The sight makes something in your body turn to fiery liquid, wanting him and that substance inside yourself in a way that doesn't make logical sense. 

He growls at your words, grabbing your hand away from his cock and bringing it to his mouth, kissing the back of your knuckles as your eyes lock, a chaste, almost romantic interlude.

But then his hands grab your hips and haul you almost roughly to the very edge of the desk, your torn dress framing your splayed thighs, his trousers around his ankles as he takes his cock in hand and rubs the tip over your folds of flesh in a way that makes you moan under your breath.

“Are you certain?” he checks, even as he pants anticipatorily.

“God, yes,” you confirm, craving him in a way you have never felt about anything before. An urgent hook tugging deep inside your loins, calling to him like a siren song.

“Watch,” he murmurs darkly, his other hand rounding the back of your neck so your gaze is tilted down to where his cock nudges your opening.

So you do, as does he. Stare down to where your body meet, hissing loudly as his tip slips inside your soaked channel. Your eyes want to roll back at the sheer overwhelming sensation of it, but equally, it's such an enthralling sight that you can’t look away.

He moans loudly, lewdly, decadently as he pushes further into your heat, pausing to readjust your legs wider and tilt your pelvis more open.

“This next part may hurt, darling,” he whispers quietly, the first time he has ever used such an affectionate term for you, making your heart race. 

“It's alright,” you reassure mutely in return, “I have heard as such.”

The hand around the back of your neck slides gently until he tilts your chin up to meet his tender gaze.

“You are quite the woman,” he says, almost reverential, as he leans in and captures your lips in a sweet, soft kiss. 

The movement propels his cock deeper into your body, and you cry out into his open mouth at a stab of sharp pain inside. 

“That's it done,” he mutters reassuringly into your lips as you whimper gently. 

He stills as you adjust to the girth, the heat, and feeling so very filled.

“More…” falls from your mouth spontaneously, the want rising, hungry for a need to be met, a thirst slaked, unlike anything you have experienced.

The smile that breaks out over his face makes your nipples pebble hard in your stays, and he slides deeper as you cling to him, exhaling unevenly as he keeps sinking further into your pussy, pushing you open. Just when you think you cannot take more, he stops, and you feel his body pressing wholly against yours.

You stare at each other, eyes wild and wide, unable to form words but knowing instinctually how good this feels for both of you. He looks untamed, something urgent rippling in his being. And without breaking the gaze, he pulls his hips back until just the head of his cock is inside you, then ploughs back in, in one determined, decisive stroke.

You don't stop the decadent noise that escapes your lungs, your toes curling into the soles of your feet at how wonderful and all-encompassing that feels. Same as you don't miss the victorious smirk on his face at your reaction.

Then it’s a hungry blur of movement as your hands grab his biceps through his clothing, clinging on for dear life as he proceeds to move just like that first thrust. Over and over. Building in pace and with increasing intensity, him sensing your need for such things.

“Anthony…” his name spills over your lips again, and the impact on him is nothing short of extraordinary.

His hands clamp vicelike to your hips, branding heatedly over your skin through your dress, straining the tendons of your inner thighs as he pushes your legs open impossibly wide, his pelvis crashing into yours in a way you are certain may leave bruises. And what shocks you most is just how much you want it. Want him to leave signs of his presence, want to look in the mirror and see the outline of his digits in the globes of your bottom.

He moans your name, hot and desperate, into your ear, his pace never wavering, a drop of sweat forming on his forehead that you can't look away from when he pulls back to tilt your heads together.

“I want to see,” you stumble out, pantingly, as he takes you harder.

“See what?” he sounds almost winded, his thrusts still spearing his cock into your body.

“See you entering me,” you huff into his cheek.

His responding noise is feral and has every inch of your body alight. He bows his spine outward so your bodies only touch where you are joined, and his hand feels heated and heavy on the back of your neck as you tilt your chin down to take in the sight.

His cock, rigid and huge, ploughing repeatedly into your body, shining with a slick substance you can only assume is from within you, the sight making you shudder, but not with anything approaching disgust. It’s something primal. A need to chase a conclusion, the power of the vivid tableau burned into your retinas.

“Don't stop, please don't stop,” you petition, looking back up to his face, your hands sliding up and down his torso now, raking urgent fingernails over his clothing.

He swears, and his lips are back on yours, searing and demanding. This feels like a frantic wave you are riding together, a trickle of moisture running down your spine as you start to push your hips forward as much as you can, meeting his thrusts halfway.

“You are fucking perfect,” he snarls over your tongue, and you couldn't agree more.

Time seems elastic as he lowers you so your back rests on the piles of no doubt important paperwork, not that he pays it any mind, him hunched over you, pulling your hips out over the edge now, the range of motion it allows him making you gasp. He is taking you without mercy now, breath hot on your throat as he moans your name, his hand squirrelling between your bodies and making your vision dance with dots as he passes a slightly calloused tip over your clit.

“Come for me,” he breathes, the request both hopeful and commanding.

“What does that mean?” your question puffed into his lush hairline.

“Oh my darling, just you wait,” his voice dripping with promise even as your skin feels like it wants to vibrate off your very bones as his fingers and cock take you somewhere you never envision. An ecstasy both outside but rooted deep in your being.

He murmurs encouragingly as you struggle for air, your lungs burning, scarcely remembering to breathe, skating some kind of precipice that feels dangerous and addictive. Then, with a flick of his thumb and a gentle bite of your earlobe, you fall into an abyss. Everything all at once quiet and loud, eyes screwed shut as colours burst behind them, and every fibre of your being seems to snap and break, rearranging in a mind-shattering way. Your pussy convulsing hard around his cock that now seems impossibly large.

Then, with a deep booming cry, you feel him lance deeper than ever, his whole body tensing and jerking. A warmth spreads inside, and you vaguely realise he is reaching completion, spilling his seed inside you. For what seems like ages, your mind and body float somewhere, utterly sated, suddenly understanding why this act can be so all-consuming and there is so much written of it.

When your mind returns to the room, you are panting into each other's necks, both breathlessly stunned at how animalistic your first intimacy was. Somehow, your antagonistic chemistry transmuting into an explosive, consuming passion.

“We are going to bed right now,” his tone wrecked, rough, so damn irresistible you want to bite his flesh, even while you still recover from what transpired. Fires stoked again just by those seven words.

He pulls up his trousers haphazardly, picks you up bridal-style, and sweeps you out of his office and up the grand staircase, ignoring the shocked looks of staff at your torn dress and his roughly pulled clothing. 

“We are not to be disturbed,” he barks at his valet, who blanches and leaves the room as Anthony practically throws you onto his imposing four-poster bed. Then, as you lay there, he strips naked before you, and you want to nuzzle every inch of his toned, magnificent body. 

___

It’s three days before you reemerge from what is now your joint bedroom. From that day on, you are never without your husband for more than two days; such is your magnetic need for each other. And when your belly swells with the first of your many children, he confesses his ardent, undying love for you, you returning the sentiment instantly, having felt the same for what seems like forever. 

A hurried, naive pact between two proud, independent souls becoming something wholly other—a loving, passionate marriage of equals. You still squabble with unerring frequency, but now it ends in lovemaking, the intensity sweeping you both into an ephemeral bliss.

A beneficial arrangement indeed.

Anthony taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @delehosies @m-rae23 @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @vane28282 @kisskissshutmydoor

[evilminji]

Okay, as I have mentioned, I'm Ace AF. And you know that plot line in kids cartoons where the alien or foreign Warrior Royalty just sort of *violently kicks down door in full armor* "We Will Marry."? I?? Always said:

"Sure!" (#OhThankFUCK!)

Like what do you mean "No"? The powerful, attractive, monarch that is very into you has travel a great distance JUST to marry you! Now you don't have to date! They seem nice! You can skip the whole "trying to find a life partner" awkwardness.

So, Sudden New Fiancee(tm) how we doing this? Blended customs? Two weddings? One in your peoples traditions, one in mine? Should we invite your family? Tell me more about yourself.

God, this solves just... SO MUCH for me? No having to make small talk. No "do they like me?" Or "am I reading the signs here right?" No failed dates! It's positively ideal! AND they announced why they were qualified, in a VERY impressive show of power and prestige, when they arrived! Good lineage AND accomplished!! Very nice.

Don't get why everyone's so upset.

Sure the "we leave at once" thing that usually follows would have to be discussed, but that's what you DO as spouses. Really guys, it's like you think I'm incapable of common sense here.

And you know who probably agrees with me? Damian Wayne.

Hell is other people, INDEED. You expect him to just... randomly go up to people and try Courting them? What do you MEAN it's "creepy" to compile portfolios on eligible individuals of worthy bloodlines? How ELSE is he supposed to know if they are worth attempting to talk too?!

There are BILLIONS of humans on this gods forsaken rock, Richard! Is he supposed to just GUESS? Gamble and hope for LUCK? This is a MARRIAGE not a "best friends club"!

Then? Danny showes up.

Gotham heard her baby talking. Heard her KING being harassed by clearly plotting Observants and power hungry ghosts MANY times his age. Connected some dots. Formed themselves a new OTP.

Danny says "Fuck It". Worst he can say is No. According to Gotham, he is neither Shy not the meek obedient sort. Is in fact, VERY stabby. So if he's not interested he'll no doubt be BRUTALLY clear about that.

So? Danny gets Fright Knight. Go get him a horse. Someone fetch Cujo some armor. He's been told the guy like weapons and animals.

TIME TO BE IMPRESSIVE.

He goes FULL Regalia. Armor of solid night sky. Cape of frost and stardust. Crown like crack in reality itself, through which the cosmos gleam and shift. He gets a horse from the far frozen. They're wooly and carnivorous. Gets THE most impressive sword he can find to wear.

It's gonna be a gift, since he doesn't need it.

He does the whole "rend the skies open" thing. Fan fair and knights. Every title he's ever been given, no matter how embarrassing he find them in reality. And announces his intentions. Declares that ONLY Damian Wayne, aka. Robin, is WORTHY to Marry Him. And (in the traditional Ghost proposal of "either accept or tell me to fuck off" /w violence) Demands Damian accept his offer of Marriage.

Right there.

IN THE WATCHTOWER.

In front of EVERYBODY. And yes, ESPECIALLY the Bats. Who are making glitching, vaguely threatening DEMONIC NOISES. Because? You... you THREATEN the BABY? Death. Ten thousand years DEATH.

People are :O ing and backing away from the visible heatwave of unadulterated FURY being put off by Batman. Danny is nano-second from every bone his ANCESTORS had being reduced to a fine paste.

Then? Damian consider him... considers the sword being thrust in his direction, still held aloft in a steady and armored hand... contemplates those titles for a second...

And goes: "Acceptable. Very well, but I have demands."

N..... Nani the FUCK? Says local Bat-Dad. No??? You are NOT GETTING MARRIED.

Try to stop him. He very obviously IS, according to Damian, the man brought him a kick ass sword and has a giant green dog. Is the king of an ENTIRE REALITY. Yes, he realizes he probably COULD do better... but frankly? This one's cute. But if it upset you so... extended engagement. There. Happy?

NO! Because the JLA Dark are LOSING THEIR SHIT. Damian is still UNDERAGE. We don't even know how OLD this being is! NO MARRIAGE.

Damian is unimpressed. A whole six months? That he's likely already LIVED thanks to various timeloops, temporal shenanigans, and reality warping bits of fuckery? You're reaching.

Just? Marriage Meet Cute.

@hdgnj @ailithnight @the-witchhunter @nerdpoe

[millersfinest]

pluto and charon | e.w

astrophysicist!ellie & aerospace engineer!reader

wc: 4k

blurb: there’s a new planet that formed in the milky way galaxy—and it’s dr. ellie williams’ (and a few research assistant’s) job to prove that life can exist on it. oh, and you’re the second opinion there to back her up and steer the ship (whether she likes you or not). but, when a sector of the shuttle malfunctions, locking the two of you inside… what will two analytical scientist do to fix it? was it a dignified sign from the cosmos?

warnings: nothing much, vulgar language, enemies to lovers (?)

note: ellie loves space, so i wanted to write her as an astronaut—please, enjoy! i haven’t written anything in awhile so…. had to get this off my mind.

⋆·˚ ༘ *

The thick sound of silence and machinery crowded the ears of everyone on board. It had been approximately one hundred and twenty-five earth hours since you have taken off from the ground—to and through the stratosphere. The ship was in autopilot, cruising through the nothingness of the milky way; passing whirling planets and asteroids that shied away from prying eyes.

This wasn’t your first time estranged from earth. It was your second. But there was no feeling like floating in metal that you concocted—stitched together with wires, buttons, and joysticks. You marveled at the large windows that displayed your universe just as enthusiastically as the research assistants on board.

Jackson’s planet was where you were headed. Previously named, J-74.

Through many study sessions and research assignments, it has been theorized that it could withstand human life. Earth’s depletion of resources has been making it difficult to live—for average people. With the atmosphere rapidly thinning, livestock, farming, and health sustainability has been dramatically decreasing.

There needed to be an intervention—and Dr. Williams was the one to jump start it.

You have been working off and on with her since your early years at NASA. Initially, the two of you came in as forthright interns who were too smart for their own good—arguing every chance you got because you both wanted the same thing; to see what space looked like from space. Not from a camera or laptop or extreme telescope.

Eventually, you split into separate fields and concentrations. It was engineering that began to pique your interest. You worked hard to curate materials that could withstand dramatic changes in temperatures and weather. Still studying planets and galaxies, but with a distinct perspective.

The space shuttle was made for damage—only certifying the safety of the mission. There was very little risk traveling to Jackson’s planet.

You couldn’t decipher if it was morning, noon, or night, but you just couldn’t stay asleep. Checking the watch on your wrist you have only been asleep for three hours. How puzzling. Typically, you sleep well in silence and whirring, but it was different this time. The sounds prickled under your skin, pulling you from the absorbing mattress in your sleeping quarters.

Finding your way toward the center of the shuttle, you used a key card to enter each sector. A ziplock of dried fruit was pinched between your fingers—reaching inside every few minutes for a bite. Wanting to estimate time of arrival, you navigated toward the flight deck. A pair of dark sunglasses resting on the bridge of your nose to dim the fluorescent lights.

Shuffling your feet against the floor, you slipped into chair of the pilot seat. There were many screens and buttons before you. All bright in different colors and hues—blinking. However, you focused on the screen that determined the path of the shuttle. It showed the ship following a dotted green line, with the time in the far-right corner. Six hours.

Time of arrival was only a few hours out. You were almost at the very planet you’ve been studying for the past two years. A tired smile stretched onto your lips, leaning back in the cushioned chair.

In the comfort of silence, you watch the celestial bodies minding their own through the three panel windows. Legs folded up, comfortably. You were currently passing Pluto and Charon. There were four other moons of Pluto, but Charon was the largest. And even bigger up close.

The coolest thing about the pair was that they always shared a face. There wasn’t a time where they weren’t looking at each other—scientifically, it was called mutual tidal locking.

“I didn’t think you’d be up…” A raspy voice muttered from behind your chair. She must’ve heard you crunching on your dried raspberries.

Turning around, you noticed her walking toward the co-pilot chair with a yellow notepad in her hands. Her gray NASA jumpsuit was tied around her waist, exposing the white, ribbed tank top she had on. “I couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d kill some time up here.” You responded, watching as she sat down.

“What’s our ETA?” Her green eyes focus on the destination screen.

“Oh-eight hundred— we have six hours left of travel.” You pushed the glasses above your head, eyes glancing at the screen. “Raspberries?” Holding the ziplock toward her, you offered.

Ellie shook her head, clicking the pen in her hands. Pressing your lips together, you shrugged, zipping it tight before placing in the crevice of the chair. She quietly scribbled on the yellow pages—her thick eyebrows knitted together in concentration.

The other moons of Pluto came into your line of sight. They weren’t all close on your path, but Hydra and Nix made a clear appearance. Their shapes were not as circular as Charon; they were like any other moon on any other planet.

She hummed to herself, clicking her pen in thought. “Can you check this equation for me? I’ve been thinking about this since we boarded The Firefly…” Ellie hands the notepad to you. “It’s an estimation of sustainable oxygen and energy— if Jackson’s planet doesn’t provide us with enough… How much can we manually create for it to be habitable?”

It was your turn to hum in thought. Dragging your finger along the inked lines of her equation, you sucked your teeth. The numbers appeared to be correct—Ellie was always good at the math part of theory. “This seems about right, but we can only theorize so much.” You begin. “The only way we can thoroughly verify this equation is by settling on Jackson—running physical tests.” You hand the notepad back to her. “We need specificity, not estimation.”

“I’m just making sure that we’re prepared.” She grumbled.

“We are prepared, Ellie. If we have too many hypotheses, it may confuse our students… Overwhelm them.”

She pressed her lips into a line, averting her eyes toward the three panel windows. You could feel her level of irritation rise, as she adjusted in her seat. The ship was slipping past Pluto and Charon, leaving the bodies in your wake. “Do you have to challenge everything that I say?” Ellie muttered, leaning her chin on her fist with a pinched expression.

You deepened your eyebrows. “I don’t challenge everything you say… You asked for my opinion.”

“On the equation!” She whisper-yelled, pinching the bridge of her nose to calm herself. “Not your opinion on how to teach my students.”

“Our students—“ You corrected, but she abruptly cut you off by standing to her feet.

Scoffing, she ran her fingers through her choppy auburn strands. Rolling your eyes, you watched as she threw an adult tantrum. Ellie’s capacity for managing her emotions has never changed; she’s always been angsty and easily frustrated. “I knew I shouldn’t have listened to him— I should have chosen someone else for this mission.” She tossed her notepad onto a table, shaking her head.

With that, you stand up. Leaning your arm against the back of the pilot seat. “Oh, yeah? Who?” You squinted your eyes, condescendingly. “Jerry the fucking receptionist? So, you can feel intellectually superior enough to feel good about yourself?” Raising an eyebrow, you chortle. “Wow, Dr. Williams… Didn’t know you could stoop so low.”

“Fuck off…” She sucked her teeth, shaking her head, dismissively.

“Gladly!” You snatched the bag of dried fruit from your chair, before stomping toward the sliding mechanical door. Before raising your key card to the receiver, turned toward her one last time. “This isn’t just about your findings. It takes a team's effort for a mission like this to succeed. Challenges foster discovery— even if I’m the one doing it.” You wave your card over the receiver, the door releasing air as it slid open. “See you in few hours…” And back to your sleeping quarters you went.

It was difficult, but you managed to get four extra hours of sleep after that little argument. Typically, bickering with Ellie lasted more than just a few minutes, but you’ve matured—you’d like to think. Times have changed, and you were in space; you were working. There was no time for petty, egotistical arguments. Even so, you couldn’t help but wonder why you ground her gears so bad. Yet, somehow, she was always around you—orbiting you like the beautiful celestial bodies you know and love. Was she stuck in a gravitational pull—unable to flee? Or was she fully conscious?

Two hours until Jackson’s planet arrival!

The automated voice announced over the intercom. Which pulled everyone on board from their own devices—whether that was sleeping or exercising. The classes you and Ellie taught were basically conjoined; two in one. So, each of you had your own research assistant that tagged along on this mission. But they both worked for the both of you— you were their supervisors.

However, for some reason, Ellie’s assistant appeared to be distant from yours. Allan was his name. When everyone met at the breakfast table, there was a quietness in the room that felt unfamiliar. Usually, Allan and Sophia, your assistant, would be filling the room with casual chatter. About their personal lives. This morning was drastically different. Scraping your plastic fork against the plate, playing with your powdered eggs, you glared at Ellie. “Dr. Williams, how old are you again?”

“Dr. Jones, isn’t it disrespectful to ask a woman her age—?”

“Thirty-one, right?” The legs of your chair screeched against floor as you stood up. Taking your plate, you toss the food into the trash bin. Scoffing, you use your key card to leave the eating area. You navigated toward the flight deck to guide the ship the rest of the way. Flicking off the autopilot switch and taking ahold of the joystick. For as long as you’ve known her, you never thought she’d stoop as low as admitting to choosing another for the job.

You’ve never done anything to Ellie for her to be so adamant about being a pain in the ass. Academically, you rivaled each other, but that was it. At least, that’s what you thought.

In the distance you could see the blue-green planet ahead. Looking like the long-lost sister of Earth. You mused at the sight, grinning to yourself. That was what you were here for.

The sound of air puffing from the sliding door leading to the flight deck, caught your attention. For a moment, you thought it was Ellie, but a much softer voice called your name. “Dr. J,”

It was Sophia wandering into the room. “Tense morning, huh?” She raised her slender eyebrows, taking a seat in the copilot chair. You jutted your eyebrows in response. “I thought it’d be more enthusiastic considering we’re almost there…” Her light eyes glanced toward the three-panel window, glimmering with excitement.

“You and me both.” You responded, dryly.

A beat passed between the two of you. Sophia awkwardly rocking in the chair. “I can’t help but ask— what’s going on between you and Dr. Williams?” She questioned, softly. “I’ve seen you guys' bicker before but…” She dragged on, hoping you’d respond before she rambled.

You sigh, glancing at her. “We’re just having a disagreement. That’s all.” You swallowed, clenching your jaw. Keeping the relationship between you and your student professional, you change the subject. “We’re nearing Jackson. I suggest you suit up and start taking notes on what you see as we approach. Meaning asteroids, moons— anything.”

“Copy that.” Sophia quickly got up, to leave the flight deck.

Focusing, within the next hour you enter the atmosphere of the planet. The ship shuttering through turbulent clouds and temperatures. The ground resembled the dirt of Mars, just darker and muddier. The ship released stilts to prop itself on the ground of Jackson. With a hopeful sigh, she jumped from her seat. Going to slip into her protective suit and helmet. The whistling of heavy winds sounded against the ship, rocking it slightly.

You met the rest of the group in the airlock. Allan was about to press the button to shut the door into the hall—locking them out with an airtight seal. But Ellie stopped him with a wave of her gloved hand. “Your suits not zipped up all the way. Turn around.” She told you, gesturing with her hand for you to turn. Her voice echoing in your helmet, you do as she says; as it’s a safety concern. But you were still annoyed with her—and you were sure that she was still annoyed with you.

She zipped up the back, latching it with a metal button. Ellie even made sure that your helmet was sealed and secure. You grabbed your pack, swinging it onto your back. Then began locking everything into place with buckles and latches. “Thanks…” You muttered, barely sparing her a glance. “Allan, the door.”

He glanced at Sophia with eyes you couldn’t read, before pressing the button. The airlock sealed, puffs of air releasing from the hinges.

The hatch creaked as it fell open, hitting the ground with a thud. The assistants marveled, stepping toward the threshold. You and Ellie mirroring them, approaching where they stood. The morning sky’s were clear and blue. With the reflection of two, perfectly circular moons in view. Allan turned around, looking at his main supervisor.

“It’s your mission— you should be the first to step foot on it.”

Ellie smiled through her helmet, glancing at you, briefly. You didn’t spare her much of a glance, you just rocked on your feet. She should be lucky she has such supportive students.

“I think its just as much as Dr. Jones’ mission as it is Dr. Williams’.” Sophie spoke up, lifted her eyebrows. “If it weren’t for Dr. J… We wouldn’t have The Firefly; I think they both should go. Together.”

“Holding hands…”

You put your hand up, scrunching your eyebrows. “All right, that’s enough.” Rolling your eyes, you chuckled, dryly. “We can go together… If you don’t mind.”

Ellie shrugged. “It takes a team’s effort to succeed…” She held out her gloved hand.

Sighing, you took her hand. She held onto your gloved hand, gently, pulling you toward the hatch. The wind whistled, nearly blowing the two of you over, but when your feet jumped into the mud—the assistants cheered. “That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind!” Ellie exclaimed, swinging your arm, unintentionally.

You meet her eyes, laughing at the reference. “Be original.” You playfully, jested. Turning back to the team. “Let’s begin our testing— shall we?”

The team was out there for hours with test tubes collecting matter of different forms. You grabbed bites of temperature and took notes of the environment. The assistants diligently worked—doing exactly what they were told. Ellie kept her distance from you, but never forgot to spare you a glance every now and then. Pretending not to notice, you kept to your work. Walking in and out of the shuttle, collecting data. Trying not to mind it one bit.

Fatigue began to rain over everyone—including yourself. Despite your incessant need to prove otherwise. It was reaching twenty-one hundred; it was past their bedtime. Allan and Sophia had grabbed the supplies propped outside, bringing them back into the shuttle. They were the last touch the ground for the evening. But, you and Ellie had been hibernating inside the shuttle running chemical tests on the matter collected.

A makeshift dinner was prepared by the leading astrophysicist as a prized delight. She was proud with how hard everyone worked—giving the pep talk of a lifetime. Her influential words were really meant for your students. You even added a few supportive statements to hers. Applauding their work. Then, eating ensued; chowing down on the blandest food known to mankind.

It was not long before half the crew went to bed. You disappeared into the comms room to film the first scientific update of Jackson’s planet. The sliding door shutting with a smooth sss sound. In your hand, you held a personal vial of the dirt you found. With pieces of rocks and, what you could only assume to be, grass stuffed into the top. White scotch tape labeled the small glass: J-74.

There was a small television screen built into the wall. Touch screen. With a little camera at the top center of the shape. You pressed the screen until the recording option came up. Clearing your throat, you started by saying the date and time, then your name. “We just finished day one on Jackson’s planet— it was a busy day.” You held up the vial of dirt, shaking it around. “But it was well worth it.” A grin stretched across your face.

“The team has loads of research ahead— thank God for Allan and Soph; they’ve already made this trip easier— but the odds are looking up.” You nod, continuing. “Jackson just might be everything that we need for our survival. Just like Dr. Williams anticipated.”

Sss!

The door opened, revealing the auburn-haired academic. “Shit-talking me in the comms room?” Ellie raised an eyebrow as she entered. But, upon noticing your filming, she paused in her steps. Cursing to herself. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” She cursed herself, again, for swearing on company file. Her notepad was glued to her hand—as per usual.

“Speak of the devil and she shall appear.” You chortle after glancing over your shoulder at the woman. “Dr. J, signing off.” Ceasing the recording, you swiveled around in your rolling stool. Ellie wandered around the room with a nervous aura. Bending the notepad back and forth. “I hope you’re not wanting my opinion on another equation… I’m on too much of a high to bicker tonight.”

Ellie chuckled, dryly. “Not this time. I actually wanted to apologize for this morning.” She inhaled, stiffly. “I was unprofessional— you’re the best this team has; I could never replace you—“

“Okay, I get it. Apology accep—“

“Let me finish!” She held up a hand. You blinked with a slightly surprised expression, pursing your lips. “I could never replace you nor would I want to” Ellie paced the floor before you. “And, yes, it was very childish for me to ask Allan to take a vow of silence when communicating with Sophia and you. That was wrong. But, in his defense, he argued me down about it…” She rambled, messing with her hair, notebook, fingers—everything to busy herself.

This may have been the first time that she has ever thoroughly apologized. Usually, the two of you let the frustration from arguments simmer; then, eventually talk to each other. “Where’s Ellie Williams and what have you done with her?” You joked, standing to your feet. She was a nervous person, but never this nervous. “Seriously, it’s fine. No hard feelings— we do this all the time.”

You move to leave the room, pressing your key card against the receiver. That familiar puffing of air doesn’t sound—the door doesn’t open. The light flashes red. Deepening your eyebrows, you try again. Ellie watches you, intently. Her lips parted, wanting to speak. The focus on you breaks when she realizes she can’t leave either. “Let me try.”

She waves her card, and it flashes red. You swear, stepping backwards, in thought. Was it the high winds? When you built The Firefly, you made sure to consider every possibility externally. Did you really forget about the smaller details—like doors? You weren’t the only one working on this contraption, so this issue couldn’t have been on you. “Have there been any complications in any of the other sectors of the shuttle?” You asked.

“Uhm, not that I know of— I haven’t had any problems.”

“So, it’s just this one… Hm.” You hum, feeling the gears of the door. Bracing your hand on the part of the door that opens, you attempt to pry it open with your hands. Grunting, using most of your strength. Sighing, you look at the woman next to you—gawking. “Are gonna stand there or are you gonna help me?” You exhaled. “You must want to be locked in here with me.”

She jumped to action, tossing her notebook aside to try to pry open the door. “To be honest, I’m not complaining…” Ellie muttered to herself. But she was close enough for you to hear.

Abruptly, you stopped pulling. “What?” Your eyebrows deepened, placing your hands on your hips. “What did you just say?” You questioned, gently. Confusion written along the faint fine lines across your face. Ellie pressed her lips into a line, stepping back from the door as well.

“I have a confession.”

“A confession? Am I being punked?”

She crossed her arms. “Do you seriously think I’m incapable of being nice to you?”

You shrugged, pursing your lips. “For longer than ten minutes… Yeah, I find it a little hard to believe.” Ellie scoffed, dropping her hands at her side. She began to pace, again, but in a different way. Leaving a trail of frustration and irritation in her path. “Ellie, we’ve been butting heads since we met. Excuse me for being a little surprised at the word confession.”

The scientist looked over her shoulder, partially glaring. “Did you ever consider why we bump heads so much?”

You cleared your throat, awkwardly. “Uhm, you hate that I’m smarter than you.” You chortle, but she doesn’t laugh. “Kidding.”

Swiveling around, her freckled cheeks were as red as a tomato. “Ellie, I’m kidding.” You tried, approaching her slowly, remorsefully. You’ve never seen her this way before. Her foresty eyes were glistening and wide like she wanted to cry. Placing a hand on her bare arm, you felt her muscles flinch. “You’re probably the only person at work that actually meets my intellect— maybe even exceeds it at times.”

“Pluto and Charon.” Ellie mumbles, examining your features. Overthinking the feeling of your hand on her bicep.

“What about them?”

“Do you think Pluto always noticed Charon?”

You thoughtfully averted your eyes, but your fingers remained against her warm skin. “She’s so large, I doubt Pluto didn’t always notice Charon. How could she miss her? I mean, they share a face.”

A beat passed between the two of you, leaving room for you to finally understand. Were you that stupid? The most remarkable thing about you was your intellect. So, you wondered, how this could slip by so easily? Ellie had to frame her words in a way that you’d understand. Astronomy.

“Oh.” Your hand drifted up her arm, over her bones shoulder, resting lightly over her trapezius. “Ellie… You have a thing for me?”

She tries to brush your hand off her skin because she was beginning to feel claustrophobic. But, you resist, taking her other hand in yours. Perhaps, you never fully thought about it—drowning yourself in your work. However, when you do think about it, you loved working with her. Even if that meant arguing and bickering every few minutes. At least you got to be around her; seeing her pretty freckled face for hours at a time. Watching her eyebrows twitch in thought as she solved equations.

“Don’t shy away from me now.” Your hand reached to cup her cheek; drawing comforting lines across her skin. Pluto always noticed Charon. It was natural for them to be in each others orbit—stuck like glue.

Despite her nerves, Ellie’s hands found solace at your hips before she leaned in for your lips. You pushed your body against hers, wrapping your arms around her neck; somehow wanting her closer. Her lips were soft and slow moving against yours—melting with passion and warmth. You could tell that she yearned for you, unlocking a part of you that yearned for her. Slowly, the kiss intensified. Ellie’s hands clenched at your tank top, slipping her fingers under the hem.

While your skin was being set aflame by her touch, you pulled away. Eyeing her with glimmers of lust in your irises. “This is great, uhm, but we’re still stuck in the comms room…” Your brushed hair from her face. “I don’t want the entirety of Houston to see or hear what we’re doing.”

“We’re not doing anything…” She smirked, keeping your hips flush to hers.

“Right.” You grin. “Let’s wake the assistants.”

The two of you separated, hesitantly. Ellie reached for the intercom button, but when you both heard giggling from the other side of the door—all movements ceased.

“Those little assholes.”

The cosmos.

[the-winter-spider]

I Cant Lose You | One Shot

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warning: Angst, happy ending

A/N: So i decided not to post the next part to invisible buuut i found this in my docs so ENJOY! Next part to invisible will be tomorroooooow 🫶🏻

------

The mission had been tense from the start, the kind where every breath feels weighted, every sound sharper and more hostile. You were deep in the enemy’s territory, with Bucky and Steve moving in coordinated silence beside you. The plan was simple, clean: get in, retrieve the intel, and get out without raising an alarm. But simplicity has a way of unraveling in the field.

It happened as you were crossing a narrow bridge suspended over a steep drop in the facility. Bucky was a few steps ahead, his steps purposeful and focused, eyes scanning for movement in the dimly lit corridors. You were behind him, keeping an eye on your surroundings, and that’s when you saw it—the faint red dot creeping along Bucky’s shoulder, inching its way toward his head.

In a split-second, adrenaline took over. You didn’t have time to shout or warn him; instinct propelled you forward, reaching out to shove him out of the path of the sniper’s aim. Your hands collided with Bucky’s shoulder, and he stumbled to the side, his eyes widening as he caught sight of the laser at the last moment.

The bullet whizzed past, so close that you felt the heat of it graze the top of your head, ruffling your hair and leaving your skin tingling. Everything blurred into chaos after that.

“Sniper!” Steve’s voice rang out, his shield already up, glancing off another shot that was fired from a different direction. Bucky, having steadied himself, immediately spun back toward you, his face stricken with shock and anger.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he shouted, his voice raw with a mixture of fear, panic and fury. But there was no time for a response.

You, Steve, and Bucky sprang into action, Steve moving to cover you both as more gunfire erupted. Bucky’s eyes kept darting back to you, though, his brows knitted in frustration and worry, even as he returned fire at the enemy agents now pouring in.

After a series of quick movements—ducking, dodging, and retaliating against your attackers—you finally managed to escape the sniper’s line of sight, though the firefight was far from over. Bucky was on edge, barely speaking, his glances sharp and laced with anger, even as he fought to keep you both alive.

The three of you pressed forward, securing the intel and making your way back toward the extraction point with the enemies hot on your heels. When you finally boarded the jet and the door sealed shut behind you, the adrenaline drained, leaving silence and the weight of what had just happened between you and Bucky.

As soon as you sat down, Bucky whirled around to face you, his eyes dark with a storm of emotions he’d kept at bay during the fight.

“What the hell was that?” he snapped. “You could’ve been killed! Do you even understand that?”

His voice was loud, filled with a mix of anger and hurt, and all you could do was stare back, breathless, still reeling from everything that had happened. You wanted to tell him you’d do it again in a heartbeat, that protecting him was worth any risk to yourself. But your words fell silent, swallowed by the guilt and fear lingering between you.

You opened your mouth to reply, but he cut you off. “Do you know how reckless that was? Running headfirst into a line of fire? You could’ve gotten yourself killed!”

You flinched, both from his tone and from the truth in his words, but all you could think about was the image of him out there, narrowly avoiding enemy fire, and the fact that you would have done anything to make sure he was safe—even if it meant putting yourself in danger. The silence that followed throughout the jet, the rest of the way home was antagonizing. Bucky steered clear of you the entire time, keeping myself stationed at the front of the jet while you were at the back. Steve made is way over to you, handing you a water before double checking you werent injured and the top of tour head really was okay, he sighed "You got lucky" before he stepped away taking a seat by Bucky. 

Your mind was blank the rest of the flight till you landed and he got up, surely the 3 hour flight of pure silence was enough for him to have calmed down, right? “Bucky, I—”

“No!" He shot back instantly whipping around "You don’t get to justify it, We’re a team, and you don’t get to put yourself at risk like that. Not for me, not for anyone!” He screamed

“Enough,” Steve interjected, his tone sharp but even. He glanced between the two of you, then fixed his gaze on Bucky. “You need to cool off.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, fists clenching as he looked away, clearly fighting to hold back words he’d regret. Without another word, he stormed off the jet, the sound of his boots heavy against the metal floor.

You sat back, the sting of his words lingering. Steve watched Bucky disappear down the ramp, then sighed, glancing back at you. “Give him some time. He’s… he’s not wrong, though. What you did was reckless, it was stupid…Bucky could have taken that bullet, you couldn't have. Were going to have to talk about it in the morning”

The knot in your stomach tightened, a mixture of anger and guilt settling there. “Are you telling me this as a friend or as my captain?” you asked, looking at Steve with a heavy heart.

His shoulders fell slightly, and he let out a long sigh. “As both.”

You nodded, the weight of his words hitting you hard. Steve gave you a reassuring pat on the shoulder before he exited, leaving you alone in the silence of the jet.

The reality of what happened started to replay in your mind, each moment sharper than the last. The risks you took, the decisions you made—they all came rushing back with a clarity that made your heart pound faster.

You weren’t reckless, you told yourself. You’d do it all over again if it meant protecting Bucky. His life, his safety… it felt like they mattered more than your own. And yet, you couldn’t shake the memory of the anger in his eyes, the frustration in his voice.

The thoughts spiralled, it had to be you, it could never be him. You couldn't possibly live your life without him, he could hate you all he wanted but as long as he was still breathing you would do it again Oh god what if he hated you? What if he requested for you to no longer be on missions with you? What if….your chest tightened as the weight of everything sank in. Your breathing hitched as the fear you’d pushed aside for the mission came crashing down on you all at once. It was too much, too fast. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t escape the feeling that you’d done something irreparably wrong.

Your hands began to tremble, and the walls of the jet seemed to close in around you. Panic clawed its way up your throat, your heart hammering as you struggled to ground yourself, to calm down, but the storm in your mind only grew louder.

It was as if all the emotions you’d held back—fear, guilt, anger—were suffocating you. The jet felt smaller and smaller, and you pressed a hand to your chest, desperate to find some relief, some way to breathe again.

You didn’t know how long you stayed there, caught in the throes of panic, your mind racing in an endless loop of fear and self-doubt. But the thought that kept resurfacing, the one that hurt the most, was that maybe Bucky was right.

Maybe you had been reckless. And maybe, just maybe, you deserved the anger he’d shown.

Your pulse thundered in your ears, drowning out the quiet hum of the jet. The silence around you felt thick, pressing down, wrapping around you like a weight you couldn’t shake. You stood up, needing movement, air, something to break through the crushing feeling in your chest.

As soon as you were on your feet, your legs felt unsteady, but you started pacing, hoping the movement would help you breathe. Each step felt heavier than the last, your heart pounding faster with every loop around the narrow space. Your breaths came quicker, shorter, until you could barely catch them at all.

A cold sweat broke out across your skin as the room seemed to close in, the walls shifting, blurring at the edges. You tried to take a deep breath, but it was like swallowing glass. Your chest tightened, clenching inwards with each failed attempt to fill your lungs. Panic clawed up your throat, relentless and raw, choking you with every passing second.

Your hands began to shake, fingers tingling with numbness. You pressed them to your sides, hoping the pressure would help, but it only made the sensation sharper, like a warning that something inside was breaking.

You leaned against the wall, your forehead pressed to the cool metal as you fought to ground yourself. But every thought spun out of control, everything a mess in your mind. Bucky’s anger, Steve’s disappointment, the mission replaying in fragments—each one tearing through you, louder and more chaotic.

A small sound escaped your lips, half a gasp, half a whimper, and you slapped a hand over your mouth, trying to stifle it, but it only made you feel more trapped. You couldn’t stop the spiral, the way every breath was too shallow, too desperate, your vision tunnelling as the edges went dark.

Your legs gave out, and you slumped down to the floor, your back against the cold wall. You wrapped your arms around yourself, rocking slightly, trying to find something steady to hold on to. The air in your lungs felt thin, useless, and every inhale felt like it barely reached your throat.

You were unravelling, losing control, and you couldn’t stop it. The realisation made the panic surge all over again, until you could barely see, barely hear, barely feel anything but the racing of your own heart and the suffocating silence surrounding you.

Each passing second seemed to stretch out, leaving you alone with your spiralling thoughts and the overwhelming weight pressing down on your chest. You’d never felt so trapped in your own body, fighting for breath, for calm, for anything that felt real.

-------

Bucky paced furiously across his room, the soles of his boots nearly grinding into the floor as he replayed the mission in his mind. He was still in his tactical gear, smeared with dust and the faint marks of their close call. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides as he thought of you—sweet, kind, beautiful you—throwing yourself in harm’s way to shield him, risking everything in an instant. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Why would you do that? Why would you ever take that risk for him?

A knock at the door broke him from his spiraling thoughts. It was Steve, fresh out of the shower, no longer in his gear, looking calm and collected—everything Bucky wasn’t. Steve’s eyes flicked to Bucky’s uniform. “You’re still in your gear?”

Bucky shrugged, jaw tightening. He wasn’t ready to let it go, still too on edge, too frustrated. Steve watched him with a steady gaze. “You didn’t have to yell at her.”

Bucky turned, exasperation clear in his expression. “You were there, Steve. You saw what she did. She pushed me out of the goddamn way when that sniper had his sight on me!”

Steve sighed, leaning against the doorway. “You’re going to wear a hole in the floor pacing like that. And you know, you would’ve done the same for her.”

“Yes, so?” Bucky snapped, his voice sharp and defensive.

“Come on, pal,” Steve said, his voice softening as he looked at Bucky knowingly. “You would’ve done the same for her.” His eyes lingered on Bucky, an unspoken understanding passing between them, the implication of his words sinking in.

Bucky’s eyes glistened “Stevie it barely missed her head” Bucky took in a shaky breath “She was almost gone, I almost lost her, that bullet would have hit me in the shoulder i could have taken it, but one hair lower it would have….”

Steve uncrossed his arms, sighing he reached out squeezing Bucky’s shoulder “I know”

Bucky faltered, his chest tightening, his anger softening for a moment as both hope and doubt flickered across his mind. His voice was barely a whisper. “Where is she?”

Steve’s face softened further. “Probably in her room. She was the last one off the jet.” Steve turned his head up slightly to speak to the A.I. “Friday? Where’s Y/N?”

The AI’s calm voice filled the room. “Agent Y/N is still aboard the jet.”

Bucky and Steve exchanged a confused look. It had been over an hour since they’d returned. Without a word, they both headed toward the hangar, quickening their pace as unease filled the air.

“She didn’t get hurt, did she?” Bucky asked, worry clear in his voice.

“No,” Steve assured him, “I checked her over myself.” He paused, noticing Bucky’s skeptical look. “Thoroughly.”

They picked up the pace, concern edging into panic as they approached the jet. When they entered, they found you there, huddled in the corner of the seating area, arms wrapped around yourself, breathing fast and shallow, eyes unfocused and filled with panic. Bucky’s heart clenched at the sight.

“Doll?,” he called softly, rushing to your side, dropping down to his knees in front of you. His hands found their way to your face, cupping it gently, his thumb brushing across your cheek. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

Your eyes met his, wide and tearful, and a soft, choked gasp escaped your lips as you gripped onto his shirt, holding on like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Steve’s voice broke through the silence. “Friday, what’s going on?”

Friday’s response was calm, but the words made Bucky’s stomach drop. “It appears Agent Y/N is experiencing a panic attack.”

Bucky’s face softened with worry, his hands steady as he stroked your cheeks, trying to draw you back to him. “It’s okay. I’m here. Breathe with me, alright?” His voice was soft, a gentle anchor in the chaos of your mind.

He inhaled deeply, exaggerating each breath, trying to guide you with him. His fingers ran through your hair, his touch steady, comforting. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. You’re safe. You’re here with me. Just breathe.”

Your fingers curled tighter into his shirt as you tried to match his breaths, each one a struggle, but his presence steadied you, grounding you little by little. He held you close, whispering soft reassurances, repeating, “I got you…..you’re safe….I’m right here.”

Slowly, the panic began to ebb, your breaths evening out, the warmth of his voice and touch anchoring you in the present.

When you finally manage to catch your breath, it’s still jagged, still shaky, but enough to force words out.

“I can’t lose you,” you say, voice barely a whisper, each word choked and strained. “I couldn’t lose you. I can’t live without you.” Your hand clenches tighter in Bucky’s shirt as you stammer, “I’m sorry—I’m so sorry.”

Steve glances between you two, understanding dawning on his face. With a quiet nod, he steps back, offering you both a moment of privacy. “I’m gonna get you some water,” he murmurs, but you barely register his voice. All your focus is on Bucky, who’s still kneeling in front of you, his gaze locked on yours.

“You’ll never lose me,” he says softly, his hands holding your face with a gentleness that tugs at your heart. His voice is steady, but there’s an underlying tremor, his eyes dark with something that goes deeper than fear, deeper than anger.

“I almost did, I could have” you murmur, and his face shifts, guilt flashing across his features.

Bucky’s thumb sweeps over your cheek. “I can’t lose you either, i could have lost you, I -I, You… you can’t be doing that. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” His voice cracks, his own vulnerability laid bare. “I know that’s not saying a lot, but my life… it’s been hell. And you—you’re everything to me.”

Your heart pounds as his words sink in, the warmth of his hands on your face grounding you, drawing you closer. You reach for him, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket, pulling him in until there’s barely any space between you.

And then, as if pulled by an unbreakable force, his lips find yours, a soft, tender kiss that feels like the culmination of everything unsaid between you. His hands slide from your cheeks to cradle you closer, his touch delicate, reverent, as if you’re something precious—something he’s finally allowed to hold.

When you part, his forehead rests against yours, and you can feel the steady rhythm of his breathing. He looks at you with a softness that makes you ache, his voice barely above a whisper as he says, “I love you.”

In that moment, nothing else exists. Just you and him, finally admitting the truth you’ve both known all along.

[swordgrace]

❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆. ❞

KINKTOBER WEEK TWO.

⤿ pairing(s): halbrand!sauron x fem!human!reader.

⤿ word count: 4.6K.

⤿ warnings: smut (mdni), porn without plot, mild manipulation (it’s sauron), risk of getting caught, possessiveness, sex in a public location, fingering (fem!rec), heavy kissing, hair-pulling, scratching, begging, unprotected sex, p in v sex, breeding kink if you squint, sex on a table.

⤿ note: first time writing for sauron, please be gentle! mr. tolkien, so sorry for all of the despicable things I’m gonna be writing about your characters. ❤️ thank you all for reading! reblogs & comments are appreciated!

A salt-tinged breeze stirred through the forges, a welcome gust of relief amidst the heat that sought to blaze his flesh asunder.

In the silence of dusk, Halbrand found his solace with hammer and anvil, over that of indulgence of drink at some tavern.

Númenor proved to be the respite he desperately needed, running from a shadowed past. He worked tirelessly, through lengthy days and well into the night, his mind a tumultuous tempest.

The King of the Southlands — the ruler of nothing.

It was a mantle that wholly disinterested him, and despite his numerous protests to Galadriel regarding his supposed heritage, the she-elf refused to let it stay dead and buried. He was better off here, crafting works of art — blades, armor, jewelry.

There was nothing for him now, only threads of a plan that seemed to fall by the wayside. It was easy to disappear here, to fade away into the backdrop of the oceanside kingdom, allow himself to place all his efforts on smithing.

The roaring embers of the forge sizzled as he placed the partially-finished blade inside, molding metal to his skilled hand. There was no greater joy than that of creation — making something out of nothing, a tool to be used.

Halbrand’s gaze momentarily flickered toward the roll of parchment sitting along one of the many craftsmen’s tables.

You were an envoy of Númenor, the brood of a lesser House of Men, in-service to the Guild. It was you that had uncovered records of the Southlander line and brought it to Galadriel’s attention — a clever creature, you were.

In what handful of interactions he’d had with you, you were studious and well-mannered, far too intelligent for your station. You toiled in-service to lesser beings, when your potential extended far beyond their reach.

The scroll contained the very bloodline you had presumed he hailed from, as if you were dangling the proof for all to see. He cared little for it, preoccupied with the task at-hand.

If it were his choice, he preferred to stay in Númenor, learn their customs and assimilate into their culture. Galadriel’s stubbornness had the potential to win out if he weren’t careful, and Halbrand was not the subservient sort.

In the star-riddled dusk, Halbrand decided to break in his crafting, stepping toward a basin of water, letting the cool liquid wash away the perspiration dotting his brow.

It was better at twilight, offering a solace that one might not fully understand. He rarely slept, and when he did, he was often plagued by dreams of constant rage. Halbrand let the forge simmer down, opting to work on the still-hot sword.

A gentle tap of knuckles against the door did not alert him as much as you thought it would. He stood with his back to you, brows furrowed together in concentration. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He questioned.

Greeted by the stifling, ember-fueled heat of the forge, you stood in the doorway, having abandoned your Guild regalia. “Good eve,” You mustered a smile, hands twisting together. “You are a stranger to rest, it seems.”

“As are you,” Halbrand’s steely gaze flickered from the blade to you, letting the hammer swing down upon forming steel. “Is it safe for you to be wandering about at nightfall?”

His sharp inquiry brought you pause, fingers idly toying with the fabric of your dress. Númenor was perfectly safe — safer than most kingdoms of Men. “Should it not be safe?” Countering his remark, you observed the rack of newly-crafted swords.

Halbrand did not offer an answer right away, turning the blade over, striking it again with his hammer as sparks flew. “There is no such thing as true safety, my Lady. There will always be something stirring in the shadows.”

You nearly laughed at his fearmongering — he sounded akin to an old maiden, weaving her intricate tales of fright to dissuade children from wrongdoing. “That is a rather dour sentiment. Are you often paranoid?” Your tone tapered off into one of mild amusement.

A sardonic scoff escaped him, lips quirking up only slightly, yet he did not seem offended by your retort. “Merely concerned with preservation — my own, first and foremost.” He replied.

He knew why you were here, even if it was an unspoken thing that you continued to dance around. You had come as a messenger on behalf of Galadriel, to make a valiant attempt of convincing him to return to Middle-Earth.

“The Guild is impressed by your craft,” Shifting the topic, you brushed your fingers over the horse-shaped pommel, the color of ivory. “Not that I should be divulging that information.” You mused.

Perplexed, Halbrand wordlessly observed you, cerulean hues studying the creases of your dress, a shade of mauve that only seemed to enhance your beauty. There was something forlorn simmering within him, feelings not often brought to the surface.

“Is that so? It seems that they’ve finally come to their senses,” He jested, earning a pointed look from you. “It took a beating to do so.” Halbrand placed the unfinished blade beside the dying embers of the forge.

There was still mild bruising around his nose and mouth, heated transgressions that earned him the ire of Númenor. He seemed unperturbed, seizing a rag from the edge of an anvil.

“That could’ve been avoided,” You murmured, tracing a digit around the ivory head of a horse before stepping away. “You are fortunate that they did not toss you into the seas for your rancor.”

“That would be rather unfortunate, being tossed back into the ocean when I had worked tirelessly to claw my way out of it.” He quipped, moving about the forge as he hung up his tools.

A soft sigh escaped you as you shook your head, peering outside towards the night skies. “If you wish to stay in Númenor, you must cease drawing attention to yourself.”

Halbrand chuckled, the sound devoid of any mirth. It was a steely sound, more sardonic than genuine. He wiped away at the soot and grime of the forge, leaning back against the sturdy table.

“Is this amusing to you, being tossed into a cell and brawling with the locals?” The sharp bite of your inquiry could’ve been mistaken for the edge of a knife. “You are above that.”

“And if I am not?” He was equally as sharp, that of a longsword, tarnished and worn yet still able to cut with ease. Halbrand’s countenance seemed unmistakably soured by your comment.

Taken aback, you turned to face him fully, canting your head to one side. It was not mock frustration that you found in his features — it was true. “What do you mean?”

“You continue to place me upon some pedestal,” Halbrand scoffed, peering elsewhere, gazing at the hot coals of the forge. “What if I am not what you think me to be? What if I am simply a Man with not a drop of nobility to his name?”

With a furrowed brow, you folded your hands together, studying his visage. He seemed frustrated yet forlorn, as if he were remembering something — lamenting, perhaps. “Then you are a Man.”

In the time that you had gotten to know Halbrand, standing alongside Captain Elendil on the ship back to Númenor, he was something of an enigma. Charming and charismatic with a great love of disobedience, but he possessed a veiled depth.

Galadriel seemed far more preoccupied with returning to Middle-Earth and hunting Sauron, making Halbrand a ruler over considering his feelings. If he wanted to stay in Númenor, craft a new existence — you did not blame him.

“And if I am not the man that you believe I am?” Halbrand pressed, as if seeking a certain answer from you. Some sliver of his being wanted someone to tell him that they cared little about his past, what he used to be.

“Whatever you are insinuating, I care little for it. Your past does not make you — only what you do from this moment forward,” You replied, mustering a gentle smile. “You are Halbrand — that is enough for me.”

If the She-elf had it her way, she would drag him back to Middle-Earth, writhing and screaming. In his own web of schemes, it was what was necessary — but time was infinite.

There was a peculiar gleam within your eyes, one that possessed a warmth and understanding that he was vastly unaccustomed to. “Hm,” He sighed, turning the cloth over within his hand. “Thank you.”

A brief laugh tore past your lips, one that seemed to bring the tension to a momentary heel. “What, for dissuading you against further scorn by the local populace?” You mused.

Halbrand happened to chuckle at that, a warm sound that made residence within your stomach, butterflies following suit. “For understanding, for your kindness,” He replied, his tone softening. “Not many possess your tenderness.”

Growing silent, you nodded, attempting to mask the brief glimmer of surprise that fluttered across your features. You were often regarded as level-headed and sage, yet soft when it mattered most.

“I do not wish to see you thrown in a cell again, or exiled from the Guild when you clearly possess a wealth of talent,” Your motives transcended that — part of you liked Halbrand. “I would do the same for anyone in your position.”

“Would you?” Halbrand’s inquiry, whilst outwardly inquisitive, seemed tinged with something unfamiliar — something amorous. Your nerves became set ablaze, skin uncomfortably warm.

As you swallowed the growing lump within your throat, Halbrand straightened, copper-hued locks framing his rugged face. He was handsome — statuesque, clearly carved with the frame of a warrior and a smith.

“Yes,” Hoarse and pitched with the sudden swell of nervousness, you idly toyed with the sleeves of your dress. “If you are to stay in Númenor, I would hope that you only continue to thrive with your craft.”

This craft was of little interest — Halbrand knew what he wanted, starting with you. Malleable like the finest metal, as beautiful as a glittering opal socketed into that of a signet.

“Is that what you want, for me to stay in Númenor?” Seas help you — this was madness. Halbrand’s poignant question made you wonder what exactly was about to happen, gooseflesh icing your spine, prompting you to shiver.

“What I want matters little,” There was a noticeable lack of conviction within your tone, as if you were convincing yourself of that very fact. “You are free to choose your destiny.”

You were fighting against the urge, the untoward craving that began to settle within your bones. It wasn’t proper nor appropriate of you to even consider wanting Halbrand, a man whose fate seemed far more important than your own.

To ask him to stay in Númenor, abandon the Southlands — you did not have the heart. It was born of greed and desire, wanting to keep him close to your chest.

“It matters to me,” Halbrand murmured, brows creasing together as he glowered down upon you, close enough to touch. “What do you want?” The malignant force deep within him begged to bring you into his stead.

Whatever perceived darkness hungered within you, it also screamed within him, with a shadow far more powerful than your own. Greed was unbecoming of you — you were meant to serve the people of Númenor, never yourself.

Whereas Galadriel possessed a fierce heart and unending thirst for vengeance, you longed to be free — no longer under the thumb of lesser Men, to lead and to be revered.

To be loved, to be coveted.

“Do not leave,” A plea, beseeching him to stay in Númenor, to stoke whatever flame was stirring between the both of you. The intensity of his longing stare nearly made you collapse. “Stay here, in Númenor.”

A hitch formed within your throat as his calloused fingertips graced your arm, tracing over the sea of mauve gossamer that clung to your form. Halbrand took your silence as something contemplative, afraid to make your true feelings known.

Again, he pressed closer, looming above you, caging you in against the table. You could feel his heat, smell the coal and metal, taste the fantasy that swirled within your mind’s eye.

Roughened digits caressed across your throat, over your slender neck, your collarbone. His touch was like that of a fire, a burn so wonderful that you would beg for it if you had to.

“Halbrand,” Barely above a whisper, your tone seemed strained, as if fighting against all of your baser urges. A peculiar heat raked its way across your flesh before settling within the pit of your belly. “I shouldn’t.”

“Do you think that you are the only one who possesses desire?” His wanton confession made your knees buckle, lips parting just enough for a soft gasp to escape you. “When my eyes found you upon that ship, I wanted — more than I have for some time.”

Words turned to ash upon your tongue, dying then and there within your throat. There was a fire within Halbrand’s eyes, one that sought to burn you, too. You felt the small of your back dig into the table, warmth licking across your spine.

Each breath felt labored, a dizzying sensation taking hold of you, as if this were more dream than reality. Yet, Halbrand remained close to you, chest-to-chest, digits finding the swell of your hip through the sea of violet fabric.

Instead of vocalizing your festering worry, you rocked up upon your toes, pressing your lips against his own. It was disarmingly gentle, a sheepish kiss that did not waste a second in becoming heated and charged.

He reciprocated with a blinding intensity, arm hitching around your waist, calloused palm spreading out against your back. Halbrand lifted you closer, his kiss inherently greedy and covetous, as if you belonged only to him.

His mouth swirled with wildfire, tasting of smoke and a hint of Númenorian stout, stubble scratching against your soft skin. Your hands found their purchase against his chest, able to feel the taut muscle beneath.

Hardened was a good way to describe him — rugged like the uneven ridges of tanned leather, swathed in heat. He cupped your jaw with his hand, reveling in the sensation of your flesh, akin to a plane of silk.

The state of dishevelment he was in mattered little to you — the soot upon his tanned flesh, the specks of dirt, garb somewhat tattered. You could not recall the last time you had yearned for someone so terribly that it ripped your heart into two.

Each clash of your lips evoked a pang of excitement that struck at your stomach, exhilaration pumping through your veins. Halbrand was a vigorous kisser — passionate and swift, stealing the air from your very lungs.

His palm slowly caressed from the small of your back toward your derrière, strong digits melding themselves into your clothed flesh. A hitch formed within your throat, anticipation mounting as the tension began to cloud the room.

Your digits possessed a mind of their own, climbing towards the nape of his neck, threading themselves through his bronze tresses. Halbrand kissed you again — softer this time, yet not without his domineering edge.

Lips bled into one another with an outpouring of want, a long-repressed sentiment caged within both hearts. Halbrand wanted many things — yet, what he did not expect was to crawl after you like some starving beast.

Every sensible thought seemed mulled, draped in this haze that clouded your mind. As you slowly recoiled from the kiss, you keened into the rough embrace of his palm, his digits cupping your cheek.

As much as you longed to continue, the locale seemed impractical, if not somewhat reckless. If someone were to catch you, you would never hear the end of it. Even then, you did not want to let fear drive you this way.

“Must I profess my desire once more?” Halbrand murmured, warm breath fanning across your visage, tinged with smoke. There was something tantalizing and enigmatic about him, swirling with some edge of mystique.

“I wouldn’t protest,” You whispered, which earned you the beginnings of a smile. He swept your tresses aside, bearing your neck to him as he bent in to kiss the soft flesh there. “Halbrand.” A low whine escaped you.

Stubble prickled and bit at your neck, yet you reveled in it, clutching at his shoulder as he pressed heated kisses to your throat. He was not hesitant in the slightest, letting you writhe and moan, plead for him to continue.

It was then that he began to gather your dress with one hand, firmly gripping at the mauve fabric as he inched it upward. Exhilaration struck at you again, the buzz of excitement, a thrill that you hadn’t experienced before.

There was not an inkling of hesitation from you, with little sign of stopping his advances. As he guided the gossamer along your legs, one palm snaked forth, calloused digits embracing your thigh, as smooth as silk.

He held little recollection of the last time he had touched something so delicate, as if you were some splendid jewel to be cradled, coveted. Halbrand kissed his way toward the curve of your jaw, searching your visage for a reaction.

As he parted your legs with his frame alone, your breath hitched, an audible noise that he found to be delicious. You were akin to some startled rabbit, ensnared within the jaws of a predator disguised as a friend.

Whatever smallclothes you wore beneath were of little consequence, giving way to that of his possessive embrace. Your hand flew back to grip the edge of the table, nails digging into splintered wood as he sought the heat between your legs.

Anticipation swelled within you, teetering on the edge of unraveling as you felt his digits ghost across your aching cunt. It was feather-light, intended to torment you — and torment it did.

“Halbrand,” A desperate gasp tore past your lips, needing him in a way that you hadn’t desired anyone else before. “Please, please touch me.” Your breathy pleas did not go unheard as he planted a kiss against your neck.

“Is that what you want?” A sultry purr rumbled from the depths of his chest, tone adopting a rather promiscuous resonance. He watched you nod several times over, fingers pushing past your petals as he touched your core.

A hand held onto his bicep for stability, the other haplessly fisting at the wood behind you. A moan emanated from you, desperate for anything he would give you.

Much to his delight, he found that you were shamelessly wet between your thighs, a nectar that refused to cease. “You are beautiful like this.” He murmured, fingers toying with your slit, eliciting another strangled moan from your lips.

Halbrand’s forehead brushed against yours, hawkish gaze absorbing the look of pleasure upon your face. He began to find a steady rhythm, worn digits sliding along the length of your cunt, letting you hold onto him as much as you pleased.

Any scrap of friction you received drove you mad, desperation climbing to new heights as your hips rocked forward into his hand. His stare became half-lidded, drinking you in with unabashed greed, longing to consume you.

Sighs of wanton passion drifted from you in droves, legs parted as he pressed his thumb to the pearl of your cunt. It was easy to evoke a reaction from you, the constant writhing, gasps and whines, the look of complete and utter bliss.

In sluggish circles, he caressed your clit, causing you to twitch again. “Halbrand,” A moan tore past your lips again, his name becoming a melody from your mouth, to be sung over and over again. “Do not stop, I beg you!”

“As you wish.” Halbrand’s voice raked hot embers over your body, reaching a salacious octave that turned your insides to molten liquid. He continued to touch your nethers, two digits sweeping toward your entrance.

An impenetrable heat swallowed your body whole, skin feeling damp with perspiration, somewhat in-part of the forge’s dissipating warmth. He continued to circle your clit, fingers lightly prodding at your cunt in an attempt to seek entry.

Rough lips fell to your neck again, gowns having slacked enough to give way to your shoulder and collarbone. You clawed at his bicep, rolling your hips again as you rocked yourself upon his digits, much to his delight.

With a brusque tug upon the collar of his tunic, your lips clamored for his, longing to feel his mouth. His kiss left you breathless, teeth scraping against your lower lip, bringing you to heel.

Heat pooled between your legs, coalescing upon Halbrand’s fingers as he teased your core, thumb working around the pearl of your cunt. A soft gasp tore through your throat, a moan escaping you into the passion of your kiss.

Again, your hips rolled into his hand, craving him in a way that resembled that of an animal; carnal, ravenous. A fire danced within his eyes, one that seemed to reflect the sentiments that festered within you.

“Give yourself to me.” Halbrand sighed, timbre trembling against the underside of your jaw before he looked upon you, unraveling from his touch. Need stirred within him, coupled with the swell of possessiveness.

He searched your countenance for any hint of hesitation, flicking his thumb across your clit once more. “Please.” You pleaded, waves of bliss rolling across your body, bringing with it a feverish heat that made you want him all the more.

Halbrand heeded your breathy plea, reaching for the leather ties of his trousers, wanting nothing more than you be inside of you. His cock twitched with amorous intent, muscles coiled, prepared to grab you.

His hand recoiled, leaving you with an aching emptiness that caused your cunt to clench pathetically around nothing. A hitch formed within your throat, words turning to ash as he lifted you onto the table.

Calloused, careworn palms kneaded into your haunches, grasping at your pliant flesh in fistfuls as he pressed his lips to your exposed shoulder. Rucking your gown up to your hips, Halbrand appraised you with a thinly-veiled lust.

There was no flesh as soft as yours, untouched — belonging to him. Anticipation churned within the pit of your stomach, lips agape as he unraveled the front of his breeches, freeing himself from its confines.

Flushed with a rush of ecstasy, Halbrand dragged you closer, hands traveling to cup your hips. He guided his length to your cunt, letting the tip of his cock linger there until he pushed forward.

“Halbrand!” You moaned, hand reaching to grasp at the nape of his neck, nails raking across his coppery tresses. The other seized his bicep, digging inward as he slowly rocked into you.

Nearly chest-to-chest, there was little room for discomfort, letting lust and urgency guide his hand. He huffed, steadying his ironclad hold upon your hips, fingers pressing hard enough to leave behind bruises.

His pace was agonizingly sluggish at first, drawing out each thrust in an effort to let you grow accustomed. Hot sighs of passion fluttered between the both of you, lips brushing over one another as he rolled his hips forward.

There was something exhilarating about coupling with you, the warmth of being alive, savoring the guise of mortality. Halbrand could see the attachment brewing within your stare, the glint of affection intermingled with desire.

The still-burning coals of the forge provided enough illumination for him to see you bathed in fire — and you were breathtaking.

Your heart pounded within your ribcage, so powerful that you thought it might burst through. His stubble scratched against your cheek, providing a pleasant burn that let you know that this was reality. “Move,” You moaned. “Please.”

Inclined to obey, Halbrand let his yearning for you show, as plain as a summer’s day. He began to thrust into you, hunching in and over, stabilizing himself with one palm flat atop the table.

The other squeezed incessantly at your hips, cock rocking in and out of you at a steady pace, yet the fervor was steadily increasing. Your head spun, clouded by lust as your paramour ravished you in the way that you deserved.

His countenance echoed your sentiments, shadowed with the haze of lust, a carnality that clawed at your very soul. You let your forehead press to his, brows screwed together in a state of bliss, grasping at his tresses.

Halbrand grunted, the low noise rippling through his chest as he held your thigh, digits clamping down to keep you firmly in-place. His cock throbbed with an ache of urgency, hips snapping forward as he filled you completely.

A moan erupted from your lips yet again, nails forming crimson crescents against his bicep, occasionally lurching forward to meet his thrusts halfway. His pace became somewhat erratic as he coaxed you to lay back.

Your back hit the wooden surface of the table, the uncomfortable bite of it all softened by parts of your dress. Halbrand hunched in over you like a wolf towering above prey, palm flat beside your head.

The groan of sturdy wood beneath your entangled bodies resonated throughout the forge, the heat beginning to dissipate. The warmth between breath and body kept you feeling feverish, and you hitched one leg around his hips.

It evoked another growl from his lips as the smith pounded away at you, keeping a firm and steady pace. Halbrand was rougher than some, but never enough to cause you discomfort or harm. He was invigorated, driven to madness by the sight of you.

He kissed you again, feeling your desperation through joined lips alone, your hand grasping at his toned forearm. Arousal mounted within you, as thick as honey oozing between your thighs.

Passion bled into need, the two tangling together into some fervent amalgamation. It showed in his movements, continuing to thrust into you, feeling your cunt clench around him. You were made for him, with a heart that he found as malleable as metal.

The arch of your back signaled that your release was swiftly approaching, keening into his embrace instead as you moaned. You did little to temper your volume, mouth agape, head rolled back — you were the picture of grace, now tarnished.

His name escaped your tongue like a wayward prayer, over and over again until it was the only word you knew. As his cock hit you again, sending shockwaves throughout your body, you came undone.

Your leg squeezed at his hips, feeling his own resolve crumble at the sight of you, disheveled because of his doing. Halbrand let out a sonorous groan, body nearly blanketed over yours as his cock slapped into you again.

The warmth you provided was enough to make him stay sheathed within you, spilling himself inside of you without thinking. It only served to fuel his possessiveness, as dangerous as a growing wildfire.

Rocking himself inside of you once more, you let out a strangled whine. Through labored pants, you slowly regained composure, feeling his hot breath fan out across your visage.

Halbrand pulled himself out of you, leaving behind the visceral remnants of your lewd exploits, the sheen of it coating the inside of your thighs. He noticed your sheepish expression as you corrected your garments.

“There isn’t anywhere you can go that I would not follow.” He uttered, fingertips tucking strands of hair behind your ear. As you moved from the table, the smith reached for something within the pocket of his trousers.

“Halbrand,” You began, knowing that asking him to stay in Númenor was not fair — to either of you. Perhaps you could enjoy what comfort he brought, for the time being. “I shouldn’t ask it of you.”

“No matter what destiny entails, know that you belong to me.” There was something strangely dark within his tone, disguised as affection — you were oblivious to it. He placed something into your joined hands.

Touched by such a sentimental gesture, you flourished in the aftermath of your coupling, feeling his rough lips press against the curve of your jaw. You shivered, feeling the weight of a trinket within your palm.

Your lips sought his, the kiss lingering, enough for you to feel it burn within your very soul. There was nothing that could describe whatever it was you felt for him, felt with him.

“What is it?” You inquired, warmth raking along your spine, faces brushing against one another. Halbrand lingered pensively, a smile tugging at either corner of his mouth.

“Consider it a gift.”

[chilling-seavey]

Dreamland (ln4) - Part Two

↳ A/N Thank you to my girl @grandprixwinnerlandonorris for delivering me like 5000 pictures of Lando in a button up at my request and, as always, being the proofreader for this universe hehe

↳ [Loosely] Inspired By: 'Don't Wake Me Up' by Why Don't We

↳ Summary: With a freshly purchased copy of your most recent book in hand, Lando is one of the first in line for your book signing when your tour brings you to Bristol. Having dreamt about you for months, he’s more than nervous to actually speak to you in person but he certainly gets more than he bargained for

↳ Pairings: Fanboy Lando Norris x Famous!Author!Fem!Reader (NO use of y/n), University Student Lando x Internet Friend George x Internet Friend Alex

↳ Word Count: 20.7k

↳ Warnings: 18+, NSFW, not elaborating on details here for the sake of spoilers!, dirty talk gets nasty, Lando's so incredibly down bad for a girl who doesn't know he exists

PART ONE

Lando stared at his reflection in the mirror as he tucked his button-up shirt into his black slacks, eyeing up each inch of himself for the uncountable time that morning. He tugged at the fabric of his shirt that was bordering on a size too small, hugging his torso just a little more than he'd like, silently willing it to not make him look absolutely ridiculous. He tried to take a few deep breaths as he fed his black belt into the loops on his pants and fastened the buckle at the front but even his hands were feeling a little shaky with nerves. 

As spring melted into summer, Lando’s semester was coming to an end just when your newest book tour was to begin. He had his eye out for any England dates the moment the tour was announced and much to his relief, there was a local date on the schedule. Much to his absolute horror, however, he had a final exam assigned that very same morning. With the help of his two closest internet friends, Alex and George, Lando planned that day down to the minute in order to attend his exam while still making the book signing in good enough time to get a good spot in line.

His 11:00 class was across campus and for the first time almost ever, Lando was the first one there. He looked far too dressed up for someone about to take a practical exam but he had some very important things to do right after class and thus was prepared to wear his best clothes no matter what. He had someone to impress, after all. 

By 2:00 on the dot, the exam was complete and Lando - who had been waiting impatiently at his desk with a finished exam in front of him - nearly ran out the door the moment they were dismissed and he threw his papers on the professor’s desk on the way past. The university hallways were annoyingly crowded and Lando was pushing past people to make it to the transit station down the street to catch the 2:16 bus, his backpack slung over one shoulder in his haste. 

It was a stunning day in comparison to England’s usually drizzly weather and the sun was tucked behind picturesque white clouds that made Lando feel like this entire day was a dream. He figured the weather cleared up into beautiful skies for the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He was anxious to see you in person after so many long months of distant adoration. 

The bus was still at the stop when Lando ran across the street without a second glance to catch it, pulling his wallet out of his pocket as he did so and flashed the driver his transit pass as he hopped inside. Lando breathed out a soft ‘thank you’ to the driver for waiting for him and then he went to find a seat. The bus lurched forward and he caught himself on one of the poles before swinging himself into an empty aisle right by the large window to catch his breath. 

It was a bit of a drive into the city so Lando pulled out his phone and turned on his data to refresh his messages on Instagram. The group chat was waiting for him.

alex_albon: Good luck, mister accountant!  georgerussell63: Good luck mate! Get this shit out of the way and you’ll get the best reward later 😏 alex_albon: Hahahaha alex_albon: Mate are you done yet?? alex_albon: Did you make the bus?? georgerussell63: RUN LANDO RUN georgerussell63: Love how we don’t care about how his exam went, just that he catches this bus alex_albon: We have great priorities  georgerussell63: Yeah I don’t want this wedding suit I bought to go to waste y’know  alex_albon: Mate I’m literally so sad that we couldn’t go with him georgerussell63: I know georgerussell63: We look like shitty wingmen now alex_albon: Never! landonorris: MADE THE BUS!! landonorris: I don’t even remember what the fuck my exam was even about I was rushing but I made it landonorris: Waterstones, here I come!!!! alex_albon: YESSS!!! georgerussell63: LETS GOOOOO alex_albon: Fit pic?? What did you go with??

Lando glanced around him to make sure no one on the bus was looking as he snapped a picture of his chest and lap to show his outfit to his two friends. 

landonorris: *sent an image* georgerussell63: Yesss mans looks dashing alex_albon: If she doesn’t jump at you across that table, there is something wrong with her landonorris: Oh my god there’s nothing wrong with her landonorris: Just wanna make sure I look my best landonorris: And she said once she likes guys in dress pants so… georgerussell63: You wore dress pants landonorris: Lol yep alex_albon: You’re a complete simp, Lan alex_albon: Love you for that landonorris: I just hope I don’t freeze up or embarrass myself landonorris: I’m going in all alone here lol alex_albon: You literally have all the backup from us through your phone georgerussell63: Definitely!  georgerussell63: What’s your game plan anyway?? landonorris: Idk really landonorris: I don’t want to come across too fan-y landonorris: Tell her she’s a literal genius  landonorris: Tell her that she’s stunning landonorris: That her books are the only ones that I actually read alex_albon: And that you want her to mother your children georgerussell63: HAHA landonorris: If it moulds smoothly into conversation, sure LMAO landonorris: I’m just trying to not get my hopes up for earth shattering conversation or anything but it’s hard georgerussell63: Just be confident and be you georgerussell63: You’re literally a great guy so she’s bound to see that

Lando glanced up from his phone for a moment as the warmth of the afternoon sun hit his face and he peered out the window at the busy city traffic that had slowed the bus to a near stop. 

landonorris: Bruh we just hit traffic alex_albon: Oh shit how far are you georgerussell63: Can you walk it? landonorris: No way still too far

Lando pressed his face against the glass to attempt to see farther down the street if the traffic would clear but it wasn’t showing much at his angle. 

landonorris: Shit I’m literally panicking landonorris: I need to see her today like I can’t miss this georgerussell63: Panicking won’t help just take some breaths alex_albon: I’m putting so many positive vibes into the universe right now georgerussell63: You’ll get there, don’t worry landonorris: The signing is over at 4 and it’s already pushing 3 landonorris: Oh my God I’m going to cry alex_albon: Noooo! No crying no crying alex_albon: Traffic always feels like it takes longer than it actually does georgerussell63: Yeah! Just go over your gameplan a bit! Distract yourself alex_albon: You have the book with you already right landonorris: Yeah ofc landonorris: Bought hardcover off her amazon site last week landonorris: Honestly this was her best one yet georgerussell63: You say that about every book she releases lol landonorris: Mate no this time I mean it landonorris: There was this chapter that was so fucking hot I had to take a cold shower after georgerussell63: PFFF omfg  alex_albon: No spoilers!! I haven’t read it yet landonorris: Haha okok sorry landonorris: Hurry up though because I want to talk about it with someone georgerussell63: Mate I graduate in a week and then I’ll read it I swear alex_albon: We didn’t have to rush to read it because we’re not the ones about to MEET HER georgerussell63: AYYYY landonorris: 🥰🥰

The next stop that was called through the bus speakers was Lando’s - much to his relief - and in quick surprise he reached up to pull the cord to request the stop. He slid his phone back in his pocket and stood up with a secure hand on the bar as he walked towards the doors before the bus had even stopped, already far past impatient to get to his destination already. When the doors slid open, he called his thank you to the bus driver and hopped out onto the busy Bristol sidewalks in the afternoon sun.

landonorris: brb finally on foot now

Since living outside the city for most of his life, Lando was familiar with his way around and he barely even needed the directions from his phone to help guide him towards the nearest Waterstones bookstore. Well, also partially due to the fact that he had gone over his route almost every day since the book tour dates and locations were announced. 

Lando reached the book store just after 3:00 and there was still an insanely long line looping from the front doors of the store and down the sidewalk. Lando paused in place for a moment, his heart sinking at the time in comparison to the number of people still waiting, and it wasn’t until a stranger bumped him out of the way that he snapped back into place. With a shaky breath, Lando hurried down the line and took spot at the end behind two girls who were about his age as well. They each held copies of the new release and were flipping through it together and talking between them about the plot. 

Lando cleared his throat nervously and leaned slightly towards them, “Excuse me, this is the line for the singing, right?”

They both looked back at him with smiles suddenly flat as if his interruption was distasteful, and they gave him a look up and down, lingering on his scuffed up white Vans on his feet. 

“Yeah.” one answered finally. 

Lando pulled a tight smile and nodded once, “Great. Thanks.”

He felt a little stupid standing in a line of teenage and young adult women as the only few males were so clearly only there to accompany their girlfriends. But the momentary out-of-place feeling was soon replaced easily by nervous excitement as Lando caught a glimpse of the sign on the front window of the store that showed your most recent professional headshot and the announcement of the book release and signing; “TODAY ONLY!” it read. 

Lando was nearly silently begging to make it inside, to at least get a glimpse of you in the flesh, although a small part of him was rising with so much nervousness that he kind of hoped he wouldn’t have to face you. He didn’t want to run away now, not when he came so far. 

landonorris: *sent an image* landonorris: In line now!! Look how fucking long this thing is alex_albon: She’s going to be saying that about you someday! georgerussell63: ALEX LMAO  landonorris: Pfjfjf stop omg landonorris: I’m literally the only guy here though georgerussell63: That’s good georgerussell63: Makes you stand out! alex_albon: More those stunning good looks already do georgerussell63: You are damn right, Albono 😌🔥 landonorris: I’m so fucking nervous boys georgerussell63: Blimey you know he’s serious when our jokes don’t make him laugh alex_albon: Focus on that confidence!! You got this mate

The line was moving slowly but surely and Lando was soon stepping into the front vestibule of the store. He swung his backpack around to unzip it and pull out his hardcover copy of the recent release and then zipped his bag back up again. His was one of the only few hardcovers in line - he noted that the girls directly in front of him and behind him had paperbacks - and that fact brought a strange sense of pride to his consciousness. There weren’t too many people in line behind him as time was drawing closer to closing but the distance that Lando still had to the signing table was vast and his nervousness of meeting you was starting to mould into nervousness that he wouldn’t meet you. 

He was too anxious to even check his group chat messages and he tried to stay as in the moment as possible, rising up on his tiptoes to see if he could get a glimpse of the table where you had been sitting for the last three hours. Other fans rushed past him on their way out the door, bearing signed copies of books and over-the-table selfies on their phone screens and Lando tried not to let the jealousy overcome him. Impatient jealousy wasn’t a good look and Lando tugged anxiously at the front of his collared shirt a little to get some air across his body, hoping he wasn’t about to nervous-sweat through his shirt. That would have been embarrassing.

The line inched up some more and as Lando’s spot moved into the store completely and past the main aisle towards the lounge, he was able to spot you in the distance. It was almost like he scared himself at the fact that he saw you and he dropped back down onto his flat feet from his tiptoes with a soft gasp, eyes wide, heart racing. The two girls in front of him gave him a weird look before turning back to their conversation. After his initial shock, he rose up onto his tiptoes again to see over the shelves of books he would never read across the store and let his eyes find your table at the head of the line. 

You were in a black blazer and an emerald green buttoned blouse and your hair fell in natural waves over your shoulders and Lando swore to himself that you looked even more beautiful in person than on Instagram. He clutched your novel to his chest and rested back on his feet again, biting his smitten grin to the carpeted floor of the bookstore. He didn’t want to look away from you as if he had to soak up each second like it was precious. He didn’t have long and who knew when he was going to see you again. 

As quarter to four approached, the line felt no shorter and Lando was getting antsy and his feet were getting sore from waiting around for so long. He was about at the spot where he didn’t have to lean to get a good look at you and his eyes stared right at you almost without blinking like the simple sight of you put him in a trance. It almost felt like he was dreaming. 

You were so happy, smiling at every person who passed over their copy of your book for a signature and talking to them graciously and modestly accepting compliments. Lando swore your polite little laugh was the sweetest sound and he was completely yearning to just get to the front of the line already. 

But then another woman approached you at your table and leaned down to whisper something to you as you smiled in parting with the girl who just received her book back. You nodded to the woman who Lando recognised as your assistant from a few of your Instagram stories and then you stood up from your chair to address the crowd. 

“Sorry, guys, I know you’ve been waiting a while but I have to take a call really quickly. Give me a few minutes…I’ll be right back!” 

Lando swore his heart nearly stopped in the momentary fear that your initial apology was about to be followed with a ‘times up’ but he took a deep breath and checked the time. It was 3:53 but he would wait for you for as long as you needed, he didn’t mind one bit. 

He opened Instagram again for the first time in a little bit and checked the messages from his friends,

alex_albon: Any updates for us?? georgerussell63: Yeah how close are you? alex_albon: Lando?? georgerussell63: Omg he’s probably talking to her right now alex_albon: He probably is  alex_albon: I’m literally so excited for him georgerussell63: This is insane!!!! landonorris: She’s so beautiful landonorris: Not at the front yet but close alex_albon: Jeez that’s a long line georgerussell63: It’s almost 4…are they going to cut you off?? landonorris: Idk idk idk landonorris: 

Lando’s attention was pulled from his messages to the conversation of the girls who stood in front of him in line. 

“We’ve literally been waiting for an hour and she just blows us off for a fucking phone call.”

“What a bitch.”

“Everyone with a blue check on Instagram is the fucking same.”

“So entitled, honestly, she takes our money and then dips.”

Lando spoke up before he could even think, jumping strongly in protectiveness, “Hey. Don’t say that.” 

The girls turned to him with mirrored expressions of annoyance and surprise at his sudden interruption. 

Lando continued, “She literally just had to take a call. Can you give her a few minutes? She’s been sitting here all day for us.” 

One of the girls snorted in sarcastic amusement at Lando’s defence, “Okay, whatever.”

The other added, “Do what you want, but I’m not waiting here like a fucking lameass follower for her to take a phone call like she’s entitled to make us stand around like sheep.” 

They both didn’t give Lando a second look before they were stepping out of line and walking right out of the store. A few more people did the same as 4:00 came and went and it honestly shocked Lando that they weren’t ready and willing to sit by and wait a few more minutes for her…shocked that a few people thought it was a ruse that she played off to leave early. But Lando waited even as the line thinned. He would wait until store closing if he had to. 

By the time you returned to the table, there were only six more people in front of him and one behind him and Lando was trying so hard not to grin ear to ear at simply the sight of you. As if nothing was different and the line wasn’t measly now, you still looked just as content there at your table with a sharpie in hand, offering casual conversation to each person who approached. 

It was nearly 4:30 by the time Lando was next in line and as if reality hit him all at once, his feet wouldn’t move the moment your eyes locked with his. 

“Hey.” you said sweetly. 

Lando’s left foot scuffed over the carpet in an attempt to walk and then he forced himself towards you, “Hey.” 

Despite his racing heart, he was grinning so wide and his obvious excitement had you smiling right back from your chair as you held out your hand to take his book. 

“How are you?” he asked nervously and passed over his copy of the novel. 

“I am doing well, thanks so much for asking.” you replied easily. 

He watched you carefully as you set the novel down so gently on the wooden table top, perfectly square with the edge. 

“A hardcover. They’re my favourite too.” you said with a smile and brushed your hand over the crisp clean cover and then opened it to the first blanket page. “Haven’t seen many of these today.”

“I noticed.” Lando said. “I don’t know why because your hardcover designs are just so fucking stunning. I don’t know who’d choose a paperback.”

You chuckled softly, “Exactly. Glad to know someone has taste.” 

“It’s hard not to when you are literally a genius.”

His copy of your novel left open to the inside cover in front of you, you shared casual conversation for a moment - something he noticed about you was that you never rushed anyone when they were at the table with you. Lando didn’t want to take up too much of your time either, you were already over your time limit. But you listened politely to him, sharpie tucked between your fingers and wrist resting on the open book as he spoke. 

“I don’t read, like, ever…but the moment I skimmed the first page of your first novel I was completely hooked. I couldn’t tell you a single thing about any other book in this entire store. You just write in a way that completely speaks to me like nothing else ever has.”

Lando didn’t even know what he was saying as his words tumbled from his lips for him. 

“That is so kind.” you smiled bashfully. “I’m glad I could offer you some kind of entertainment in a style that you don’t normally turn to.”

“Entertainment? God, you offer me entire worlds. I wish I had an outlet as strong and promising as yours.” 

“What do you do as your outlet?”

Lando hadn’t expected to talk about himself but of course he was going to answer your question,

“Oh, uh…golf, I guess? Racing? Video games…”

It sounded so stupid coming out of his mouth as he said it - how incredibly lame and boring. 

“Racing? Like, cars?”

Lando’s smile brightened, staring right back at your pretty face, “Yeah, something like that.”

“That’s impressive…and it could make for an interesting plot. Maybe I should write a book about that…you might have just inspired me.” you wagged the end of your sharpie at him with a mischievous grin. 

Lando’s cheeks turned a fierce pink and he scoffed bashfully, “Nah.”

“I mean it! If I ever need any race-related questions answered for research purposes, I know who to call.”

Lando laughed lightly, “Yeah, for sure.”

You glanced back down to the book and tapped the blank page awaiting your pen, “Who am I making this out to?”

“Lando.” 

“Lando.” you repeated in the most gentle tone that it nearly made his knees weak. He had dreamt about how his name would sound coming from your lips for so long but hearing it directed at him so softly, so tenderly, he had to refrain from clutching his hand to his heart in sheer adoration. He also had to refrain from imagining you breathing it into the air just like that in bed but that was a bit more dramatic. 

“How’s your day been? I got so excited about the hardcover I forgot to ask.” you chuckled as he watched you sign his name in silver sharpie on the dark inside page and scribbled a little message before signing it yourself at the bottom. 

“Oh, my day is amazing now.” Lando said easily, “Bristol is usually so disgustingly dreary but I’m glad it’s sunny for you.”

“I’ve heard it’s usually quite rainy. Guess it’s a bit of luck then.” you smiled up at him. 

You closed the cover of his copy of your novel and held it back out to him. 

“Thank you so much.” he rushed out as he took it back. “I’m sorry you had to stay after your time.”

“Oh my gosh,” you waved your hand like it was no big deal, “there’s nothing I love more than this so it’s my pleasure. Plus staying around longer means I got to meet you, so…”

Lando literally blushed pink so obviously that you could see the hint of colour across his cheeks and his little bashful smile had you grinning up at him. It wasn’t often you had boys come out to see you and certainly not the likes of interested and attractive young men who actually read your content. It nearly made you feel just as pink in the cheeks too. 

“Did you want a selfie or something?” you asked. 

Lando stumbled over words for a moment as he had completely forgotten that he could ask that and he pulled out his phone, “Yeah, sure.” 

He carefully hid the fact that you were his wallpaper from your sight as he opened his camera app and turned to have his back to you. You leaned up to rest slightly over the table and smiled to the camera as he clicked a few pictures. 

“Oh, I look…like shit.” he mumbled to himself as he turned back around to face you once more and you sat down. 

He hadn’t expected you to hear but you did so you offered an honest polite, “You don’t look like shit at all, I think you look really good.” 

Lando literally breathed out a shocked, “Oh my gosh.” 

You giggled softly at his surprised expression. 

“Th-Thank you.” he stumbled out and petted a habitual hand over his hair-sprayed curls as he looked down at his outfit. 

“I love the slacks.” you gestured across the table. 

Lando nearly lost it at the fact that you were basically staring at his dick and he held the hardcover book in front of himself casually, and answered with a passé, “Thought I’d actually dress a little nice for your event.”

“Yeah? Well you look very nice.” you complimented, “A very successful choice.” 

“Thanks.”

You held up your index finger to him, “One sec.”

The one person behind him was still waiting close by and you held out your hand welcoming them to come over. Lando shifted to the side a little and tried to control the heat of his cheeks as you took the next person’s name. It was a mother waiting for the signing as a gift for her daughter so she didn't really need to stick around long after simply getting a signature and after a few shared pleasantries, the lady was off and Lando was the only one left. 

“Sorry, I just thought I’d get that poor mother on her way.” you chuckled. 

“For sure.” Lando smiled tightly. 

“Looks like that’s my day then.” you sighed, stretching your arms above your head for a moment, and then leaned under the table to pull out an empty cardboard box. You started to load your leftover copies into it - only a few remaining - and Lando jumped at his opportunity. 

“Do you need help packing up?”

Surprised at his offer, you glanced back up at him with a little laugh, “I’m not going to make you do my work.”

“I really don't mind. I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

You thought for a moment and Lando nearly held his breath in anticipation for your answer. 

Finally, “Alright…if you’re sure.” 

He honestly grinned and tucked his book and his backpack on the ground carefully beside one of the table legs and started to stack up the remaining few novels as you tidied your pamphlets and extra sharpies. Your hired assistant took the half filled box across the store to return it to the cashier for re-stocking, finally giving you and Lando a moment just the two of you on opposite sides of the now empty table. 

You stood from your chair and tucked it back under while you checked your phone habitually and Lando picked up his things from the ground. He tucked his book in front of his slacks again coolly. 

“Where are you headed now? More publicity meetings?” Lando asked. 

You glanced up at him as you slid your phone into your purse with a sigh, “Nope. Dinner and then hotel. Quiet evening for one tonight.”

“Your assistant doesn’t join you?”

You chuckled softly and picked up your tote bag to sling it over your arm, “No she’s kinda older than me so she does her own thing. I don’t mind. Means I can explore the city as I wish.” 

“Do you…want some pointers on the best places in Bristol? I’m kind of an expert.” Lando offered. 

“You want to be my food tour guide?” you chuckled, “I was just going to eat at the McDonalds down the street. I’m not much of an extensive-palette kind of eater.”

“Oh, neither am I.” Lando agreed quickly, passing off the fact that he already knew that about you quickly, “But if you’re in Bristol, you gotta do it the right way. You like Italian?” 

Your eyes narrowed at him in thought and you cocked your head to the side slightly, a smile teasing at your lips, “My favourite.” 

“Then you have to try Giovanni’s. It’s not far from here. Like a kilometre north or so. Their pizza is, like, incredible.” 

You contemplated his offer with a casual, “Just a kilometre from here?”

“Yeah. You can’t miss it. Any taxi driver will know if you just give them the name.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep.” Lando swayed onto the balls of his feet and then back, his nervous eyes lingering on your unreadable expression of amusement as you stared back at him. He pressed his luck, “I can…show you if you want.”

You smiled at him softly as you looked at him down the bridge of your nose, “I dunno…I don’t really know you.” 

“You know my name. What else is there to know?”

You laughed lightly, “You could be a murderer.” 

“So could you.”

“Touché.” 

Lando figured he was grasping for straws with his offer and hardly even took himself seriously until suddenly you were sitting across from him at a table for two at Giovanni’s Italian Restaurant. He hardly remembered the taxi ride from the bookstore or even you agreeing to have dinner with him honestly and part of him felt so hazy like this was some sort of cruel realistic dream. His phone was the last thing on his mind but he managed to send a quick update to the group chat as the hostess led you to your table. 

landonorris: Giovanni’s  landonorris: dinner landonorris: ttyl

With his phone on silent, he was ignorant to his best friends’ spam of confused messages as they knew he should have been finished with the signing by then and they had yet to receive proper updates of how it went. Usually Lando messaged them while he was eating his meals so his sudden disappearance was certainly odd. 

But how could he even think about looking at his phone when he had you sitting across from him in the warm light of the cozy Italian restaurant to look at. It was no fancy venue but it was better than a McDonalds and Lando had to constantly remind himself that this wasn’t a date but this also wasn’t a dream. 

You looked so casual skimming the menu, tucking your hair behind your ear before resting the side of your finger against your lips in thought. They were little habits that social media didn’t permit him to see and now he just couldn’t get enough of you, sitting right in front of him in your business casual outfit and free flowing hair. He felt greedy for wanting you closer. 

The waiter approached the table to take drink orders and you glanced up to place yours first, “Whatever your house wine is…I’ll have a glass of that, please and thank you.”

“May I see your ID?”

“Of course.” you fished it out of your purse and passed it to the waiter to double check. 

When he handed it back to you and turned to Lando, Lando shifted nervously. 

“Just…a water, thanks.” he asked. Playing it safe. 

You tucked your ID back into your purse and offered a casual conversation, “Maybe I should have had water too but after a full day of work, I think I deserve a drink.”

“You do.” Lando chuckled, “You deserve to celebrate.”

“If I used that excuse anything like this signing happened, I may be considered to have a drinking problem.” 

Lando chuckled lightly, sharing in your smile, and when you turned back to your menu, he kept staring at you. 

“You said the pizza is good here, right?”

He hummed in agreement as he rested his elbows on the table and his chin in his hand and shamelessly kept his eyes on your entire being. The warm light looked so good on you and it took a lot out of him to not think about salacious thoughts that often rose to the surface when he stared at a picture of you for too long. He was just lucky that the table covered enough of his lap.

You glanced over at him with your offer, “Do you want to share one?” 

As if in kindergarten again, the concept of sharing brought a flutter to his heart, “Yeah, sure. That sounds great.”

The waiter soon returned and you let Lando choose the pizza to order and with that placed, you were left with your drinks and a moment of silence. You sipped your wine and he sipped his water, keeping his eyes on the table. 

“Did you not want something better than water?” you asked. 

Lando shifted in his chair and chuckled awkwardly, “Uh, no, that’s okay. I’m not much of a drinker…don’t really know what to order that won’t taste like shit.”

Your eyes widened, “Shit, oh my God, wait, you are of age, aren’t you?”

“I’m twenty.” Lando assured you quickly.

You set your hand to your chest, “Jesus, okay, good, I almost had a heart attack there…I saw the frightful headlines already.” 

“Like what?” Lando laughed, “Calling you a cougar?”

“Oh, gross.” you shuttered, “Yeah, prying on the youth of my following.”

Lando rested his chin in his hand again and he smiled over at you, “Nope, I’m perfectly legal.”

“Good.” you chuckled. You glanced around and then slid your glass across the table to him, “Try some if you want.”

Lando’s eyes went wide and he sat up a bit straighter, “You sure?” 

“Yeah.”

Lando sent you a small smile across the table and he lifted the wine glass from the table and took a sip. He licked his lips as he set it back down and you left it between you to share. 

You smiled warmly over at him. He wanted to look back at you but your lingering stare made him nervous and he sat with his hands folded on his lap with his gaze downcast to the tabletop. The restaurant bustled around you with other patrons talking and cutlery clinking against plates but Lando felt like the two of you were in your own little bubble. 

Breaking the silence between you, you spoke, “Do you perm your hair?”

Lando’s head snapped up to look over at you in surprise, “What?”

You gestured across the table to him, “The curls? Is that your natural hair? It’s a really nice style on you.”

Lando was speechless for a moment, mouth literally parted slightly in shock, and when he regained himself, he spoke his honest confession to you, “Yeah. Yeah, this is my natural hair. I’m surprised you like it.”

You raised your eyebrows, “Why surprised?”

“I dunno,” Lando mumbled, tracing the rim of his water glass with his finger, “I figured you were, like, not really into the messy curls kinda look.”

“Why?” a smirk tugged at your lips, “Because of my boyfriend?”

Lando looked to his plate without a word as his heart clenched with that awful tightness that came with the heartache of the mention of your relationship. He was hoping you wouldn’t bring him up - guess it was too good to be true.

“Wanna know a secret?” you rested your forearms on the table to lean towards him, “I trust you.”

He glanced back up at you curiously and nodded lightly, hazel eyes wide with wonder of what you were going to admit to him. 

“He’s not actually my boyfriend. It’s a PR relationship.” 

Lando could have fucking rejoiced out loud in that moment and he audible sighed in near relief as he slouched back in his chair, “Oh my gosh, I knew something was fishy.” 

“We were dating for real but when it kind of fell off, our managers kind of just said we should keep it going because the followers shipped us or whatever the hell. I’m never around him if we can help it. It’s just awkward now.” 

Lando, surged with a strange feeling of protectiveness, leaned over the table himself too, “Why would they make you do that if it makes you uncomfortable?”

“I dunno. It’s fine though. My readership goes up from overlap with his fans and whatever so the selfish part of me benefits.” you chuckled with a shrug. 

“But you can’t publicly date then? Since the world thinks you’re taken?” 

“No, but that’s okay.” you waved your hand casually as if to brush it off, “I’m kinda too busy for all that right now with my book tour and stuff.”

You both reached for the glass of wine at the same time and shared nervous giggles when your hands brushed. You offered him the next sip and he ignored the warm reminisce of your touch as he lifted the glass to his lips and sipped the bitter woodsy red wine before passing it over to you. He couldn’t tell if his cheeks were red from simply being around you or if they were red from the bit of alcohol but you were no different. There was something so intriguing to you about Lando, this random young man who lined up for your book signing and seemed to care far too strongly about you and your work for his own good. It flattered you greatly and you didn’t want to see him go. 

By the time your pizza had arrived and you were well into casual dinner conversation, any hints of shyness had disappeared as you were both falling into comfort in each other’s presence…maybe the wine helped a little with that, just enough to take the edge off. Lando was talking about his degree he was working towards and life at college while you shared the best stories of how many times you were declined trying to get published for the first time. With only just less than a year between you, you had quite a bit in common from growing up and although life took you in different paths, it was interesting to hear the other side of things. You had to admit it was a nice change from the common whiny influencers you had gotten too used to sharing conversations with. 

Lando could draw you in with just his voice, soft yet just perfectly deep, he was only enticing you more and more with each sentence. Not to mention the way he spoke about your writing like he was just as proud of it as you were, rambling on for so long about each book, each character, each deeper meaning, and you went back and forth about your writing until the pizza was gone and the shared glass of wine was empty and the sun had gone down over Bristol. 

The waiter set the bill on the table between you, tucked neatly in a leather pouch. You reached for your purse but Lando was already grabbing the bill and giving it a skim over. 

“I got it.” you offered. 

“No, it’s okay.” Lando reached into his backpack that was resting at the foot of the table beside him and he pulled out his wallet with his credit card. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, I can pay for dinner.” you chuckled. 

Lando smiled boastfully over at you, “Nope. My city, you’re a guest. I’m paying.”

“Well then I wouldn’t have ordered such an expensive glass of wine!” you tisked. 

“Then it was very good that we shared it!” Lando whispered across the table at you as the waiter returned with the debit machine. 

You only smiled at him and shook your head in defeat as Lando paid the bill on his student income and he did so proudly, without hesitation. When the waiter left once again and wished you both a pleasant night, you thanked him and then looked across the table to each other. 

Lando’s heart ached slightly at the thought of having to say goodbye as the night came to an early conclusion but he smiled softly at you, ignorant to how you were thinking the exact same thing. 

“I’m just going to sneak off to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.” you said. 

Lando nodded you off and watched you walk across the still busy restaurant to the washrooms. He finally pulled his phone from his pocket for the first time all evening, having missed an unreadable amount of pestering messages from his two best friends. He only took the time to read the most recent two,

alex_albon: Lando what the fuck mate where are you?? It’s almost 7 georgerussell63: Holding back the updates is one thing but let us know if you are at least back at your dorm landonorris: I took her for dinner landonorris: Can’t really talk but I swear I’ll tell you everything the second I leave georgerussell63: WHAT alex_albon: ARE YOU JOKING?? landonorris: IM LITERALLY NOT JOKING landonorris: WE SHARED WINE AND EVERYTHING alex_albon: HOLY SHIT LAN georgerussell63: WAIT IM LITERALLY FREAKING OUT georgerussell63: How did that happen??? Oh my GOD MATE your plan literally WORKED alex_albon: Get her number!! Or at least her follow on ig! landonorris: I'm gonna try

When he saw you emerging from the bathroom again he typed a quick reply to his friends before locking his phone again and tucked it into his pocket. 

landonorris: Gtg talk later

You returned to the table and sat back down, sending him a polite smile as you did so. Always one to take notice of every little thing about you, Lando silently noted your tidied up hair and re-applied lipstick and his heart did a little jump at the concept that maybe you tried to look good for him. 

“What’s your plan for the rest of the night?” you asked casually. 

Lando shrugged, “Nothing. I was just going to go back to my dorm and make dinner by myself and eat it by myself and watch Netflix by myself.”

“Wow, our plans sounded really similar then.” you teased. 

“Yeah, apparently.” Lando chuckled. 

You both hesitated a moment, glancing out towards the front windows of the restaurant that looked out over the darkening city streets of Bristol. Lando felt at a loss for words, nervous suddenly, and he was thankful to still have his water on the table as he took a long drink. He was just so handsome to you and only seemed more so as the night went on from being the hesitant fanboy at your book signing to the young man you shared a glass of wine with at dinner. 

Lando looked back at you and you shared tight, slightly awkward smiles as if neither of you wanted to say goodbye first. You weren’t someone to often go out with strangers so this was uncharted territory for you and Lando seemed just as uncertain of himself in a similar sense. You just kind of wanted to see how far you could push it without crossing boundaries. 

“Listen,” you cleared your throat bravely, looking right at him with a hopeful smile, “I dunno if you’re comfortable with this but…if you want, you can come back to my hotel with me. Maybe we could stick with our individual ‘watch Netflix’ plans but…together.” 

“Really?” Lando’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

“If you want to.”

“Yes. Absolutely.” he assured you almost quickly. 

“Okay.” you bit back a smile. “I’ll call an Uber.” 

“Sweet.” Lando grinned, although he had to turn away from smiling too wide. 

Maybe this was his chance, he thought, to actually make a bit of a move; why else would you be inviting him to your private hotel room after all? This was the last thing he had prepared for that morning and he had no clue what he was going to do with himself if anything went any farther than even a kiss. He didn’t want to absolutely embarrass himself in any way, certainly not around you. His inexperience was apparent and he was just hoping he could play it off enough to not look like a clumsy idiot. 

Waiting at the curb for your Uber, Lando was standing right at your side. He intentionally stood close to you until he could almost convince himself to reach out and brush his fingers over yours if he really wanted to. He had his backpack slung over one shoulder and your purse and tote were on your opposite arm from him, your gaze looking back and forth down the street for the arrival of your Uber. Lando kept staring at you in the city light, disbelieving that he was really standing right there with you and about to go back to your hotel after a dinner for two. Life was unreal in that moment. 

His eyes drifted down your side to where your hand rested casually at your side and he just had to reach out and brush his pinky against yours. You glanced over at him with a small smile and nudged him in return. 

“You probably hear this a lot,” Lando mumbled, “but you’re so beautiful.” 

His gentle words left an unmissable flutter in your heart and you bit your lip as you stared right back at him. Sure, you had been privy to bountiful comments on social media or haphazard compliments in passing over the last while you had been in the media spotlight, but none that sounded as genuine as Lando’s just did. 

It was out of your mouth before you could think, “Do you mean it?”

Lando was taken back by your confirmation as if he couldn’t imagine you or anyone not knowing, “Yeah. Of course, I mean it. You’re literally the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Your Instagram does not do you enough justice because holy shit…” 

He faded out when he caught himself rambling but you just smiled in near adoration at his sweet complimenting words that went straight to your heart and the flutter that warmed deep within your body. You didn’t want to admit that a near stranger was turning you on but he was so polite and genuine and handsome and you couldn’t help it. 

“Can I kiss you, Lando?” 

His breath nearly shuttered in his chest with the suddenness of his gasp, and he stumbled out a promised, “Y-Yeah-”

On the nearly empty quiet city street, you reached your hand up to link your finger in the collar of his shirt and you pulled him even closer. Lando wasn’t a stranger to kissing but he certainly hadn’t overhyped a kiss as much as he had in his thoughts about his first kiss with you. When your lips met for a moment, you both stood perfectly still as if to savour it, as if to not cross any unspoken lines between you. You were still strangers after all. 

Lando’s fingers ghosted hesitantly over your waist as his lips locked with yours for a few long seconds and then pulled back just long enough to go in for one more together. The plushness of his sweet lips had your stomach in eager knots but you forced yourself into restraint as you broke your kiss after only a few seconds and rested your hand down against his chest, feeling his heavy heartbeat under your palm. 

“Wow….” Lando breathed out of your kiss. 

His eyes found yours under the streetlights and he licked his lips free of the taste of you left behind, lingering with the bitter reminisce of rich wine. He was thankful you were focused on his face because he no longer had your book in his hand to cover the front of his slacks that were now feeling much tighter around the crotch. It was pathetic really, how he got hard so fast and from so little, but to be fair he had been dreaming about that very moment for months. 

You took your hand from his chest with a cheeky little smile of your own and turned back to the road as your Uber approached. Driven by greed, Lando reached out and linked his pinky in yours, just to keep you close as long as he could. You glanced back at him with a small smile before getting into the Uber and he followed behind you eagerly. 

You knew to be discreet in public since your image was only growing with passing days so you had to let go of his hand when you got into the Uber, being extra cautious as the driver kept glancing in the rear view mirror at you. Lando clutched his backpack to his lap, arms wrapped around it, and his gaze focused all on you, not even bothering to be discreet about it. He was in complete awe of you but so innocent and ignorant to the tightrope walk it was to be in the public eye. To him, he could have said or done anything right there in the back of the car but you were silently praying he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. 

Lando liked to think he could read you well and your obvious tension the moment you stepped in the Uber had him on high alert. It was as if a switch had flipped in your persona and although you made sure to send him a small reassuring smile, you were clearly putting up a divider between you two. It made him nervous, treading in uncertain waters. 

It was a fifteen minute drive to your hotel, crossing over the river that ran through the city and past the bookstore that only three hours before he was lining up cluelessly for your book signing. Lando swore this was a dream and his lips tingled with desire to kiss you again, to get his hands on you properly like he had always imagined. You looked so pretty in the passing city lights and he was so fucking hard. 

When the Uber pulled up to the front of the hotel, you thanked the driver politely and you both climbed out of the backseat. You hopped up onto the curb with him and led the way towards the front doors of the Marriott guided by the red outdoor carpet. Lando felt like a true vip…even though he was embarrassingly trying to hide the obvious bulge in his slacks that he was surprised you were yet to notice. Gladly surprised, however. 

At his side when you walked through the sliding glass doors, you whispered, “Don’t make it obvious.”

Lando nearly stumbled over the front carpet in surprise, “Make what obvious?”

“That we’re anything apart from, like, business partners.” you mumbled. “Don’t do anything to give anyone ideas.”

Lando shook his head quickly, his heart racing in his chest that maybe you thought you had something to hide with him, “Of course. Of course.”

The man behind the front desk glanced up as you walked in and he greeted you both politely. You offered him a just as pleasant greeting before walking as casually as you could towards the elevator bay. Lando couldn’t hide behind his backpack and still make himself look passé and it wasn’t until you were both safely alone in the elevator that he felt like he could breathe. 

“To the outside world I have a boyfriend, y’know.” you explained, pressing the button for the sixth floor, “So bringing some random guy back to my hotel room can be seen as a little suspicious.”

“Yeah.” Lando agreed coolly as the door slid shut behind you and he looked up to the small screen that counted each floor passing by. He was desperate to figure out a way to tame his little situation before you noticed and it got embarrassing. The only bad thing about wearing dress slacks was that it made it so obvious. 

You glanced over at him, a good few inches of space lingering between you, “You okay?”

Lando met your gaze cluelessly, that haze over his face as if he were in disbelief that this was real but then looked away again, “Yeah.”

“You got quiet on me.” you pointed out. “You can dip out whenever you want…if you’re uncomfortable or just wanting to go. I won’t be upset.”

Lando looked back at you quickly, “No, I don’t want to leave at all.” 

“Okay.” you nodded gently, almost fearing that he was lying to you. 

He could see that you were overthinking his answer so he told himself to suck it up and confess his truth, “I just really want to kiss you again…and I didn’t know if I should.”

“You can.” you offered as casually as you could muster despite the heavy beating of your heart. 

You both looked at each other again, meeting gazes before dropping your eyes to each other’s lips as if out of habit. Lando didn’t need much more persuasive consent from you than that and he reached up to take your chin in his hand - like he had always dreamt of - and met you halfway for another soft kiss. You hummed gently against his lips, both of you lingering still for a moment before pulling back just quickly enough to move in for another, lips slotting together ever so slightly. His lips were pillow soft and nearly sweet, you swore, and you raised your hand up to slide over his chest and around the back of his neck. 

Lando was nearly dizzy with shock as he kissed you more, parting your lips with his own to deepen it, sharing slow open mouthed kisses that had you nearly breathing into each other’s mouths. He had spent so long imagining your lips that the real thing was nearly sending him into cardiac arrest. It was everything he wanted and more and he cradled your jaw in his hand, caressing his thumb over your cheek tenderly as you stepped a little closer to him in the elevator. 

Lando opened his eyes a little, as if having to double check that you were still really truly there with him, and he just smiled into your kiss at the sight of your pretty lashes resting on sweet cheeks. The elevator doors dinged as they slid open and you both pulled away from your kiss quickly, both grinning like fools, and you swiped the corner of your mouth with your pinky to make sure your lipstick wasn’t too smudged. Lando had a little bit of the reminisce of your re-application on his own mouth and he wiped it with the pad of his thumb just to see the warm pink colour that was smudged across his skin as if to prove his reality. 

Your hand fell into his lazily and you linked your fingers together as you pulled him out of the elevator and onto your floor. Lando traipsed behind you with a lovestick grin all over his face, rubbing his thumb over your fingers that were tucked casually around his and he felt like a million dollars just from a single thirty second kiss. 

As you fished out your room key from your purse - a task requiring two hands free - Lando greedily let his fingers trace the sinch of the blazer at your waist and down the black fabric to the slight curve of your hips. He made sure that no one else was in the hallway with you before he bravely swiped your hair over your shoulder and leaned in to kiss your neck. 

“Oh fuck.” you giggled in surprise, squirming away from him a little. 

“Sorry.” Lando hurried out, eyes wide. 

“No, it’s okay.” you assured him as you swiped your key and pushed open the hotel room door for you both, “I’m just not used to someone trying to turn me on in the middle of a hallway.”

Lando’s cheeks flushed a brilliant red at your cheeky statement and he was literally at a loss for words, his mouth opening but nothing coming out. He was turning you on? His sudden speechlessness had you laughing breathily and you linked your fingers with his once more, swinging your joined hands between you for a moment in the open doorway.

When you looked at your hands, your eyes were drawn to the bulge in the front of his slacks that was more than obvious. You bit your eager lip and looked back at his face, “Wanna come in?”

“Fuck yes.” Lando blurted out, only making you laugh again as you pulled him into the room and let the door shut behind you. 

The moment you were closed in the hotel room, you both moved in for more kisses, your hands sliding around the back of his neck and his wrapping around your waist. Once cautious and gentle, your kisses were moulding into impatient and hungry and you couldn’t help but lick your way into his mouth teasingly. Lando moaned softly into your kiss, raising a hand up to cradle your jaw again, and he gladly pushed his tongue against yours to meet you halfway. 

He didn’t feel like a stranger to you anymore - to Lando, you never felt like a stranger - and driven by the lust that grew within you, you only seemed to crave him in ways you never would have expected when you met him only three hours earlier. He physically pushed you back against the wall just inside the door and at impact you were groaning pleasantly against his lips and tongue with his body pressed to yours. You seemed to fall into some sort of rhythm together with your heads tilted ever so slightly to the left to let your lips lock between messy tongue filled kisses, bodies almost moving ever so slightly against each other in time with your lips. 

You tangled one hand in the back of his hair with ease and dropped your other to his waist to tug his body closer against yours until you could feel his erection poking against your thigh. Lando ground into you habitually, moaning into your kiss that was led equally between the two of you and his fingers pressed greedily into your hips under the material of your open blazer, his backpack still slung over his one shoulder. 

You slid your hand down his neck to his chest and pushed him back from your lips for a moment to ask breathlessly, “Just checking that you are actually over eighteen, right?”

Lando was already moving his clumsy kisses down your neck, “Almost twenty-one. On Saturday.”

“Fuck, okay,” you breathed, tilting your head back to give him room to kiss your neck and he nibbled right up under your ear, making your knees nearly go weak. You tried to play off your question despite the arousing overwhelm that was growing inside of you, “Not that you look like a teenager…I just…gotta check.”

Lando didn’t even have time to laugh at that because he was so damn focused on what was going on and he could only mumble out an “I know” before pressing his fingers to your jaw to turn your lips back to his. 

You both moaned into each other’s mouths, breathing in steady time, and you arched into him hungrily as your hand grabbed at the side of his neck. Lando’s arm snaked around your waist to hold you close just like that and his lips smacked wetly with yours, pulling more pleading moans from your throat with each tongue-led kiss. Your hips rubbed against his front slightly and his breath shuttered between kisses for a moment, fingers pressing tighter into your waist and he looked down between you to watch how close you stood together, still fully clothed. 

“You got hard so fast.” you whispered. 

Lando restrained himself from explaining that he had been growing hard from simply the sight of you since he first stepped foot in the bookstore that afternoon if not for simply looking at your pictures on Instagram over the last while. His eyes just focused on your lips, swollen from his kiss and smudged with your thin application of lipstick, and he spoke softly, “You’re just so fucking gorgeous…difficult not to get hard when you’re looking at me like that.”

He had so many smooth lines from his plentiful fantasies that involved you and of course he had to put them to the test before he got too in his head to remember any of them. That one seemed to work because you were giggling breathily and pulling him close by the side of his neck to lock your lips again. Lando swore you could take over every inch of his body and soul with ease but in that moment, he wanted nothing more than your mouth on his, kissing him like you were honestly meant to be there with your tongue working right up against his. 

It was such a rush into the hotel room that you both still had your bags slung over your shoulders and Lando slid his backpack down without taking his lips from yours, discarding it to the other side of the hallway. You followed his lead and dropped your tote bag and your purse to the tile floor too without breaking your kiss, keeping your one hand around the back of his neck to prevent his lips from leaving yours for anything longer than a second. 

Within his fit of determination, Lando guided you away from the wall and started to walk you farther into the room carefully to avoid tripping with his attention so distracted by your lips. His hands pushed your blazer from your shoulders and you gladly let him toss it across the carpeted bedroom floor before you were unbuttoning your blouse. You desperately tried to keep kissing as you undressed and Lando pulled his shirt off and dropped it to the floor before your blouse was joining it within seconds. 

“Holy shit.” he literally whined into your kiss as his eyes stayed open to try and get a good look at you. Shamelessly, your breasts were always a bit of a weak spot for him in most of your Instagram pictures so seeing them really, truly in front of him was unbelievable. You kept kissing him no matter how much he was trying to look at you, your hands sliding down his bare chest and to his faint abs that you gently scratched your fingers over to make him shiver. 

“You’re so sexy.” you whispered into his mouth before grabbing his waist to pull his body against yours again as your teeth nipped at his bottom lip, “Touch me.” 

Lando exhaled sharply at your order and you let his lips go so he could properly look at you, wide eyes staring down at your chest pushed up in your black bra. His hands glided up the curve of your waist, over your warm soft skin, and his fingertips ghosted over the lace of your bra as if afraid to touch. It pushed your breasts up so addictingly full and he literally licked his lips as he stared at you and cupped his hands over your chest. His wide eyed wonder had your gaze lingering on him for a moment, trying to read his expression as more than the male desire to look at breasts and instead thinking if maybe this was the first time he had seen any. 

“Sit down.” you instructed gently, taking hold of his wrists to steer him against the side of the neatly made king size bed. 

He sat. His eyes stayed on your chest and his hands reached for you once more. 

You let him touch and squeeze your breasts in your bra as much as he pleased because you were taking to his belt right after. Lando’s quick gasp was obvious and you looked him right in the eyes as you unpinned the buckle and then popped the button on his slacks. 

“You tell me to stop at any point if you want.” you whispered. 

Lando nodded and leaned in to kiss your lips again, playing his inexperience off with a casual, “You too.”

You just giggled softly and unzipped his slacks and tugged open the front before kneeling on either side of his lap. As your kiss broke, Lando’s hands slid around your waist to your back and his wide eyed stare locked on your chest that was nearly in his face. When you lowered down onto his lap, he bit down on his bottom lip in anticipation and when you started grinding on him a little, his hands gripped tighter to your waist. 

“Holy…” he groaned out softly, gaze unwavering from your breasts in his face. 

You moaned softly at the feeling of his clothed erection pressing up against your dress pants, right over your clit, and the friction was unbearably addicting. Greedy slow rocks of your hips back and forth had Lando trying to restrain himself from smothering his face in your chest, his eyes wide with lust. He couldn’t tell which one to look at, licking his lips, and his large hands followed the motions of your hips lazily. 

“Do whatever you want to me.” you whispered to him. “You can touch my tits if you want.” 

Lando’s big hazel eyes blinked up at you like a sweet little puppy and his teeth sunk down into his bottom lip as his mouth formed an eager smile, his hands sliding down the back of your pants to grab your ass with your given permission. 

“That’s it.” you breathed, still grinding down on his lap.

He pulled you into your motions harder and he groaned softly as he leaned in towards your chest. Tongue first, he licked testingly between your breasts and with your soft exhale, he tried again over one of them before sucking gently on your skin as he moved back. You raised your hand up behind you and unclipped your bra and Lando’s breath nearly froze in his chest as the lace fabric fell away to expose you to his eager eyes. 

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful.” he breathed, taking his hands from your ass to grab your chest. 

“You like my tits?” you asked sweetly. 

“Yeah.” Lando groaned, squishing them together before leaning in and nuzzled his face between them. He absolutely showered you in kisses as you laughed lightly at his eagerness and ran your hand through the back of his hair, still grinding down on his lap slowly, watching as he licked and kissed and suckled at your skin. But when he finally wrapped his lips around one of your nipples and sucked on it roughly, you audibly withered, your head falling back for a moment at the sensation. 

Lando’s eyes raised to yours as his teeth tugged at your nipple teasingly and you met his gaze again, “Does it feel good when I do that?”

“Mhm.” 

“Yeah?” he moved back in to suck on the other one, mimicking his same actions and pulling back with a little bite. “You have such pretty tits.”

You giggled lightly, “Thank you.”

Lando dropped his hands back down to your bum as you kept grinding on him back and forth, and he kissed wetly at your breasts a bit more before peering down between your bodies. You both still had your pants on although his were unzipped and resting open tauntingly and he moaned softly as he bit his bottom lip, watching you rub yourself down on his aching boner with almost four layers between you. 

“Mm, that feels so good.” he whispered. “Can I take my pants off?”

You nodded him on and leaned up on your knees to give him room to shuffle his slacks down his legs and he kicked them across the floor. It was only then that he noticed the full length framed mirror on the wall across from him over your shoulder and he mouthed ‘oh my God’ to himself as he watched you drop back down onto his lap. His hands gripped your ass and pulled you into your motions stronger and with your arms wrapped around his shoulders you dipped down to kiss his lips. You shared pleasant moans, tongues welcome into each other’s mouths as the sloppy sound of your kisses filled the hotel room with your heavy breaths. 

“Fuck, baby.” Lando groaned out of your kiss as his head tilted back for a moment to breathe. 

You kissed down his neck and his thumbs bravely tucked themselves in the back of your dress pants and started to pull them down over your ass. 

“Can I leave hickies?” you asked against his ear. 

“Fuck, yes.” Lando answered easily, honestly excited for you to leave your mark on him. 

You licked over a spot on the side of his neck and tangled your finger in the back of his hair to pull his head to the opposite side to give yourself more room. Lando just watched through the mirror over your shoulder as his hands rested on the curve of your bare ass, greedy eyes exposed to the burgundy lace of your panties that was as rich red as the wine you shared with dinner. His nose scrunched up at your first gentle suction and you tugged at his skin a little more and he withered slightly, hands gripping your flesh a bit tighter. 

“Ohh, my God.” he groaned. 

You pulled back from his neck with a soft slurp of spit and left one last lick over the forming bruise before blowing a gentle puff of air across it just to make him shiver. You both shared almost eager little grins as you moved back in to kiss him and when your lips locked, Lando couldn’t help himself but wind his hand back and slap it back down against your ass. The small yelp you let out had him rubbing his hand over the spot soothingly but you just whispered a ‘harder’ into his mouth instead. 

“You’re so fucking dirty.” Lando mumbled, staring you right in the eyes as he spanked you harder. 

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah, I love it.” Lando bit back his grin. 

He went to lean in to kiss you again but you slid off his lap and shuffled off your pants all the way before sinking to your knees between his legs. Lando’s eyes only widened more and you kept his gaze as you placed a careful hand over the front of his black briefs, only giving him the smallest pressure against his aching hard cock hidden underneath. 

“This okay?” you asked. 

“Mhm.” he nodded, resting his hands on the bed behind him to watch your hand rub slowly over the tent in his underwear. His eyebrows were furrowed in disbelieving concentration as if trying to sear into his memory the sight of you touching him just like that, his hips rising slightly from the bed to nudge up into your touch habitually. 

Your fingers ghosted across the taut fabric of his underwear up to the top of the bulge formed underneath and then you wrapped gentle fingers around it. Lando’s mouth fell open silently, still staring down at you as you rubbed him over his briefs with a secure grip around the girth of his clothed cock. 

“You’re so hard.” you whispered up to him, leaning in to press a careful kiss over the black fabric, “You feel big.” 

“You can take it out.” Lando offered, trying to play it cool while on the inside his heart was nearly racing out of his chest. 

“Yeah?” you bit your lip up at him, stringing him along a little longer, “And then what? Want me to put it in my mouth?”

“Fuck.” Lando choked out, “Yes.” 

His obvious eagerness had you smiling and you slid your warm palms up his stomach and leaned in to press slow open mouthed kisses down his abs and right to the fabric of his underwear, pausing to lick teasingly at the little line of hair that disappeared into the waistband. He shuttered under your touch and you just bit back your own excited grin as you slowly started to pull his underwear down. It rested around his thighs for a moment as you let yourself take in the sight of him, how his dick stood tall in front of your face, angled up so perfectly it nearly made you moan out loud. 

Lando was slowly shying under your silent stare and he reached a hand out to cover himself but before he could you were dropping out your tongue and licking at the tip. 

“O-Oh my God.” Lando choked out, his thighs flinching slightly. 

“You have a gorgeous dick.” you whispered up at him, wrapping your hand around the base greedily to hold him still as you dragged your tongue right up the underside. 

Lando was almost scared to touch you as if it would somehow make you stop and his right hand was held clumsily in mid air as his gaping mouth stared down at you in his lap. Your eyes met his as your lips wrapped around the head of his cock and you sucked on it lazily, gently, teasing him a little more. When you pulled back again, you let a string of spit dribble from your lips and down the shaft of his dick to meet your hand as you started stroking it slowly. 

“Oh my fucking God.” Lando breathed shakily. 

Your hand was so much better than his own, so soft and gentle, simply yours, and he stared at your motions as if in complete disbelief. You gave him slow twisting strokes up and back down, letting your eyes take up every inch of him as you licked your lips at the sheer size of him.

“You’re huge.” you complimented as you dragged his underwear down his legs completely and he helped to kick them off his ankles and across the floor. 

Lando never really thought to compare himself to others so he never really knew where he stood but honestly you could have been completely lying to him and he would have believed you. Your voice was a drug to him. Your touch was addicting. Your mouth was even better. 

The moment you took him in your mouth, Lando was whimpering shakily and his hand that was once hovering in mid air raked through his hair to grab a tight fistful to restrain himself. You kept yourself slow, pushing down on him carefully and easing back up with a snug hollow of your cheeks that was gentle for him. He had tried to play it cool but his obvious inexperience was oozing out of him and you saw that well. You didn’t want to call him out and embarrass him so you just took it slowly and made sure he was comfortable. 

With a soft moan, you kept your mouth and hand working together and Lando audibly withered as if his eyes were physically going to roll back in his head. 

“Is this a dream?” he whispered, mostly to himself. 

You giggled as you pulled back from his cock, letting your hand take up the motions that your mouth once was, “Not a dream, baby.”

Lando swore there was no better sight than you between his legs and he hesitantly slid his hand through your hair as if to make sure you were really there. You smiled up at him and then lowered down again, keeping your hand stroking his dick as you sucked gently on his balls one at a time. 

“Oh my God.” Lando gasped out. “Shit.” 

“Feel good?” you asked after licking back up the underside of his dick. 

“Yes.” 

You smeared the tip of his cock over your pursed lips, bubbling out a bit more spit to slick him up some more and then you pressed your tongue right under the head just to see how his nose scrunched up in pleasure. He whimpered so prettily and you nearly grinned as you fed his dick back into your mouth, shaking your head to get him to hit the back of your throat. When you gagged, Lando’s hand gripped tighter at your hair and his head fell back with a lingering groan, only breathing harder in steady time with you as you started bobbing your head again. 

As his moans got louder, you moved slower before finally pulling back from his lap with a deep inhale, leaving him sighing shakily. 

“Why’d you stop?” Lando asked quietly. 

“Because I don’t want you to cum yet.” you answered easily and reached up to grab him by the back of his neck and pull his lips to yours. 

He moaned into your kiss as his tongue fought against yours with fierce desire and both of his hands cradled your cheeks to hold you close. Without breaking your kiss, you stood up between his legs while still stroking him off lazily and he shuffled back farther onto the bed to let you join him. You placed yourself on his outstretched thighs, arms wrapped around his shoulders, and his hands pulled you closer by your ass until his cock was pressed up right against your clothed clit. 

Lando’s hands groped your ass strongly and he moaned hungrily into your mouth as if chasing your breath for more. He was desperate for your touch and to feel every inch of you but the gentleman in him just had to speak up before his inexperienced brain could really process his offer. 

“Want me to eat you out?” 

The offer nearly started himself as much as it took you by surprise, his instant regret pouring through his veins at the sudden remembrance that he would have no clue what the hell to do down there on you. The last thing he wanted to do was make a fool of himself and prove to you that he was a measly virgin. He had no clue you suspected it. 

“That’s okay.” you brushed it off coolly between passionate kisses. 

“Mm,” Lando kept pushing no matter how much he was fearing a ‘yes’, protesting weakly into your mouth, “but you went down on me…”

“So what?” you mumbled, grinding up against his cock. 

“Mph-” Lando groaned, voice strained, “it’s gotta be fair-” 

“Who says this isn’t fair?” you tangled your fingers in the back of his hair to gently tug his head back so he was looking up at you. 

Lando only whimpered, “Me.”

You dipped in closer to bite at his bottom lip once, twice, and then gave it a little tug on the third time, making his breath shutter in his chest when you pulled back. His wide eyes were focused in on yours, swollen lips parted sweetly in awe, and when you slid your hand around to his throat, his eyelashes fluttered with a shaky inhale. 

You spoke to him lowly, voice dripping in lust, and Lando could have came right then and there as you told him seriously, “I just want you to fuck me already.” 

“Oh my God.” Lando withered, sliding his hands up your waist to roll your both over gently. 

Still laying perpendicular to the pillows, his lips magnetized to yours almost right away. He situated himself between your legs that you wrapped around his waist and as his dick rutted up against your panties, he could nearly feel how wet you were, soaking through the fabric. You shared impatient moans into each other’s mouths, hung up on each other’s lips, and your fingers tangled in the back of his hair. 

“Do you have a condom in your bag?” you breathed into his mouth, words muffled slightly by his lips. 

Lando leaned back from your kiss just enough for your noses to brush, “No. Do you not have any?” 

“Wasn’t really planning on taking a stranger from my signing back to my hotel.” you chuckled. 

Lando could have nearly cried with frustration as he sat back from you, resting on his knees between your spread legs. You leaned up on your elbows against the neatly made sheets and you could have smiled at his adorable pout that he was trying so hard to suppress as his hands ghosted down your torso and over your thighs. 

“Lando,” you giggled, brushing your foot over his waist to bring his attention back to your face, “Do you wanna fuck me raw?”

His eyes could not have opened wider in shock, “What?”

“If you wanna. I can just stop to grab a Plan B tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” Lando questioned. Was it concerning that he didn't even fear an accidental pregnancy? To be fair, he had been dreaming about knocking you up for months so the risk was more to his desires than he’d have liked to admit. 

You bit your lip and nodded, “If you’re comfortable.” 

He couldn’t nod faster if he tried. 

“Okay,” you smiled sweetly and held out one hand towards him, “C’mere then.” 

Lando leaned back over you, holding himself up on the bed beside you as his other hand cradled your face to keep your lips on his for more lingering kisses. You couldn’t get enough of his lips, moaning softly into his mouth as they moulded together like perfection. 

“Fuck, I’m so wet.” you whimpered into his mouth, chasing his mouth for one more sloppy kiss as he tried to pull away, “Mm, I want you so bad.” 

Lando stared down at you as he sat back on his knees again and let his hands travel down your body, over your breasts and hips and to the thin lace of your rich red panties. You draped your arms over your head and rose your legs towards your chest for a moment so he could easily pull your underwear off you and then let them fall to the ground, leaving you both completely naked. In the quiet of the hotel room, Lando nudged your thighs open again and got his first real look at the part of you that he swore he was only going to see in his dreams. 

You were glistening wet and Lando stared in wonder at the effect he had on you. Only egging him on more, you dropped a hand down and spread your lips open with two slender fingers so he could see all of you before gliding your fingers between them to smear around your sticky arousal that nearly dripped from your pussy. 

“Holy…fuck.” Lando licked his lips and then took a deep breath. “You are a fucking dream.”

“All reality.” you assured him with a giggle.

He rubbed his hands over your thighs for a moment, contemplating his next move, and you let him take his time. With a soft call of your name and a hum of acknowledgement from you, Lando had one request, “Can you call me ‘sir’?”

You were surprised by the slightly kinky suggestion, something you hadn’t even thought about at all, “You want me to call you ‘sir’?”

“You don’t have to.” Lando assured you quickly, his cheeks flushing pink.

“No…that’s…really fucking hot.” you admitted with a smile.

Lando’s lips perked up at the corners, “Yeah?”

You nodded with a sultry, “Yes, sir.” 

“Ohh fuck.” Lando chuckled through a low groan and he leaned back down over you to kiss you again. 

You moaned contentedly against his lips, swallowing up his tongue against yours, and then let him go with a smile when he sat back again between your spread legs. He shuffled closer to your body and you pulled your legs back a bit more to give him room, watching carefully as he let a thick string of spit fall from his lips onto his dick and he rubbed it in with his hand. 

“How much dirty talk do you want?” you asked softly. 

Lando answered with ease, “Write me a novel worth.” 

“Oh my God.” you giggled, draping yourself back down against the sheets, “I can do that.” 

Lando nudged the tip of his dick against your dripping pussy and the simple action made both of you gasp lightly. He was honestly a little nervous to get inside you, fearing that he’d cum within seconds and truth embarrass himself, so he teased you a little more by dragging his dick between your legs. 

“Shit,” you sighed out, eyes focused on his face as he watched the head of his cock glide between your wet folds, soaking himself in your arousal, “I just need you to fuck me with your big dick.” 

Lando nearly shuttered at your words and his eyes rose to meet your face. 

You reached down your body and gently stroked the head of his dick with your fingertips, tracing the smooth shape and stroking it right at his most sensitive spots. His hips naturally pushed into your touch and he groaned tightly. 

“Yeah, you’ve got such a pretty cock…gonna fucking ruin me with it. Just want it buried in my tight little wet pussy, sir.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Lando groaned softly, keeping a tight fist around the shaft of his dick as you nearly petted the swollen pink tip so tenderly. 

“Do you want that, sir?” you asked him sweetly, staring right up at his face as you wrapped your hand around his and brushed the tip of his dick strongly between your folds, “You wanna fuck me into my bed? Watch me take every inch of you?”

“Oh my- yeah-” he stumbled out. Lando could hardly think of words, all his smooth one-liners completely disappeared from his mind as he watched you rub his dick between your legs. You felt so warm and he wasn’t even inside you yet.

“How do you want to fuck me?” you asked softly. 

Lando swallowed thickly, “This is…fine. This is good.” 

“Okay.” you giggled. You took your hand back from over his to spread yourself open for him, urging him in with no words spoken. 

Lando shuffled forward on his knees again and held a cautious hand down against your stomach as he angled his dick between your legs and started to push inside you. You reached down to help guide him a little, making sure he got the right angle with the gentle re-direction of your fingers.

“Yeah, right there.” you breathed shakily, “Keep going.” 

The moment the head of his cock slipped snugly into your pussy, you both gasped softly at the feeling and Lando moved both his hands to grab your spread thighs as he watched himself ease deeper into you ever so slowly. You felt like heaven and Lando had to blink a few times to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming, far too good to be true. It was a feeling his hand could never recreate and he wondered how the hell he could go back to using his imagination after this, after being blessed with how tight and warm you were squeezing around him. 

“Oh my God, you’re so big.” you moaned quietly as you shifted onto your forearms behind you again to give yourself a better angle to watch behind a bitten lip as he slid in farther. 

Lando couldn’t even form words as he bottomed out and his hips pressed snugly against yours, his cock buried as deep as it could inside you. He was scared to move, worried that the moment he started to fuck you that he’d cum in seconds. 

You reached up a hand to wrap around the back of his neck and he raised his eyes to yours as you asked him softly, “You okay?”

“Mhm.” he nodded and leaned in to kiss you. 

His slight movement had his hips nudging against yours and your muscles fluttered around him at the shift and you both moaned into your messy kiss. 

“Fuck, you feel so good.” Lando rushed out in one hurried breath as he pulled back from your kiss and slowly rolled his hips into yours. 

“Slow.” you whispered, sliding your hands around the back of his neck. “Nice and slow.”

Lando’s eyes locked on yours as he eased deep into you again, resting his hands flat on either side of your head, and your mouths fell open together at the feeling. 

“That’s it.” you breathed. 

Lando moaned tightly into his next achingly slow thrust, slipping inside you so easily. You took his face in your hands and pulled him down for more kisses, sharing soft breaths and moans between you for a moment. 

“Can I ride you?” you asked against his lips. 

Part of him was sort of relieved to have you offer to start for him and he pushed a final kiss to your lips before pulling out of you again. You shifted him over onto his back, moving around so he was resting back against the down filled pillows and you tossed a leg over his lap. Lando’s wide eyes soaked you up eagerly and his hands found your hips to pull you closer before he was taking hold of his dick and helped you to angle it right again. 

It was a bit easier to slide into you now that he had already been fully inside you once and you sank right down until your ass met his thighs. His little grunt as you bottomed out had you smiling down at him and he just grinned right back, a dopey little pleasured grin, and his large hands slid up your waist to grab at your breasts. You rose back up just a bit and then lowered back down on him, starting slowly to start him off. 

“Fuck.” Lando squeaked out, eyes focused down his body to watch how you took him all every time you dropped down. He was just getting slicked up in your liquids to the point that every time you took him inside you, it made the filthiest wettest sound that made his mouth drop open. 

“Can I go faster, sir?” you asked breathily. 

“Uh huh.” he nodded. 

He wanted to take you over so badly but his mind was absolutely racing and he could hardly figure out how to form words. You bounced on his lap a little faster but still pretty slowly, grounding yourself with your hands on his chest as the bliss washed over you easily. 

“Mm, fuck, you feel so good inside me.” you moaned. 

Lando couldn’t help but naturally stumble out, “Good girl.” 

You blushed pink at his deep voice praising you so honestly and you squared your shoulders again and held his hands over your chest as you swirled your hips in impactful circles, “You think I’m a good girl, sir?”

The lust that raced through Lando’s veins had him staring up at you with so much he wanted to say and your taunting dirty talk only pulled it from where he had kept it suppressed with his initial shock of pleasure. He groped your breasts stronger and nearly pulled you into your motions by them, “Yeah, you’re a good girl, baby.” 

His protective walls were falling away as he fell into comfort and you bit back your smile down at him as you moved back into bounces, “God, I love riding you. You look so fucking good.” 

Lando audibly groaned, pulling his hands from your chest to grab your hips again and tried to slow you down desperately. But you fell to your knees on either side of his body and tossed your hair over one shoulder to lean down and kiss him, bouncing your hips back on him as you did so. 

“Mm, fuck.” Lando muffled into your mouth, desperately trying to keep kissing you back but it was growing increasingly difficult. He spanked you once before grabbing your ass and tried to buck up into you with a whine. 

You had only been on top of him for not even a minute and he was already about to burst. He was embarrassingly close and if he didn’t stop you and the way you were riding him he was going to cum embarrassingly fast. 

“Stop, baby, st-stop.” he stumbled out, trying not to show how strained his voice was.

You did, stalling your motions as you pulled back from his lips to look at him, “You okay?”

Lando played it off coolly, “Yeah. Just wanna…”

You let him lead you off of him and he got up to take his spot behind you, naturally urging you onto hands and knees. His direction had you biting back a grin and you looked at him over your shoulder as you spread your legs a little wider and he brushed his dick between your folds again. 

“Put it in.” you whispered. 

Lando took a deep silent breath that he held in his chest as he pushed back inside your sinfully tight body. He groaned lowly and grabbed your waist tightly as he couldn’t help but start to thrust into you slowly as if driven by some sort of natural instinct. 

“Oh fuck-” you gasped, hands instinctively gripping the sheets beneath you. “Yes.”

He slapped a hand down across your ass and you giggled blissfully into the pillows as you slouched down to arch your back for him. Taking it from the back, he could hit so deep that his balls smacked against your clit every time he thrusted into you and the slick sound of wet skin filled the hotel room. 

“Oh my God.” Lando groaned through his teeth. “Good girl…take it.” 

“Fuck, sir.” you moaned pleasantly, unable to hide the honest smile from your face. “Don’t stop.”

Lando’s head literally fell back and he mouthed an “oh my God” to the ceiling as if literally speaking to heaven - it nearly felt like he was in heaven in that moment. You…were heaven to him. His hands gripped tighter onto your waist and he pulled you into his every thrust as he tried to hold himself back. He wanted to cum so badly but it was still so soon and he was trying everything in his power to not think too hard about how good you felt and how pretty you sounded. 

“Fuck me faster.” you whimpered, glancing back at him over your shoulder. 

Lando physically clenched his jaw and forced himself faster, shoving into you messily just to make you moan louder into your arm. 

“Yes, yes, yes!” 

“Feel good, baby?” he asked, unsure of his own capabilities.

“So good!” you cried softly, “Don’t stop!” 

Lando could feel himself growing close again and the filthy wet and warm squelch of your pussy taking him all certainly wasn’t helping him last any longer. He honestly tried to think of his exam he had taken earlier that day, his failing GPA, his current assignments, desperate for any thought that would keep him from finishing too quickly. But you were louder than his thoughts and your jagged fucked out moans and whimpers and chants of “yes” were making it increasingly difficult to hold back. 

So he pulled out again. 

“Ohhh.” you whined in protest. 

Lando tried to steady his breathing, his cock aching with need to cum, and he took his time nudging you onto your back and pulled your right leg over your left so your hips were rotated ninety degrees and left your pussy on perfect display for him. It only took a few seconds to get you situated but by then the knot inside him was diminishing and only leaving behind that unfulfilled throbbing. 

“Okay, okay, okay, okay-” Lando breathed, spanking your ass once more before he was grabbing it in his tight grip and then sliding his dick back inside you strongly. “That’s it.”

“Holy shit, you’re so big!” you cried. 

Lando just started fucking you again, holding you down by waist and chest and your head tossed back against the pillows with a loud cry of pleasure. He couldn’t get enough of you, the feeling he had never been blessed with before, and he stared down at you behind a bitten lip and stormy determined eyes that had your mouth dropping open. 

“Oh my fucking God, yes!” you shrieked, tossing a hand up behind you to grab onto the headboard. “Right there!”

Lando had a one handed vice like grip on your breast but the sting of his grip didn’t phase you as you were too hung up on the way he fucked you. His strokes weren’t completely graceful and were certainly infused with an unmissable desperation but they felt so good regardless and the angle he had you at had him hitting your g-spot straight on. Whether he knew that or not was beyond you but he literally had you going quiet as only the sharpest little gasps were fucked from your throat. 

“F-Fuck-“ Lando whimpered, staring right into your eyes. 

The expression you held was driving him crazy, nothing but euphoria spread all over your face with your mouth fallen open and eyes nearly rolling back in your head thanks to him and him alone. You reached one hand down to grab his thigh, fingers pressing into his flesh as if to pull him closer, deeper, to urge him to give you more. He shifted to grab your ass and waist with both hands, biting hard on his bottom lip as he stared down at how you took him all so deep inside you, drenching him each time he pulled back out just to shove back in, dizzy on the wet squish of your body. 

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, sir-” you rushed out, fingernails digging into the back of his thigh from where you held him and your other arm was draped above your head and gripping onto the pillow beneath you, your moans only growing louder and more desperate, “Fuck, I’m gonna cum! Don’t stop!” 

As your pussy started to grip down around him, Lando physically stopped in surprise, his hips stuttering, and he pulled right out of you again with a startled gasp. Your disappointed groan had his wide eyes raising back to your face again. 

“Wanna cum for you.” you whined, reaching down to rub pleadingly at your sensitive pussy, “Please let me cum on your cock.” 

Lando couldn’t say no to that. He shoved your legs apart again to get you flat on your back once more and you grinned sweetly up at him as he proudly angled his dick between your legs and dragged it through your pooling wetness and pressed it against your gaping hole, already fucked out by him. He eased it inside you slowly, so slowly so he could watch how your body stretched around him and took him all, how each inch made your breath shutter in your chest. 

He knew he really wasn’t going to last long anymore - he had already done literally all he could to hold himself back - and he leaned right over you with his forearms pressed to the pillows on either side of your head as he filled you completely once more. You leaned up to kiss him, lips smacking wetly and sloppily with your passion and heat, and when he rolled his hips into yours, you broke your kiss with a lingering moan. 

Lando stared at your face right in front of him as you wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders and neck and he pushed into you slowly again. Your sweet moans were nothing less than beautiful to him and he thrusted into you a bit stronger to have you making more of those pretty sounds. 

“Please,” you whimpered, cut off by his lips finding yours again as he thrusted into you a little faster. You squeaked against his kiss and smacked your hand down against his shoulder blades in surprise at his change, nails sinking into his skin. 

“This okay?” Lando asked softly, his breath falling against your cheek. 

“Uh huh! Gimme more.” you nodded. 

Lando couldn’t get enough of your filthy words so he egged you on - testing the waters - with a little, “Beg.” 

“Fuck me harder!” you pleaded, “I wanna cum all over your huge cock. Want you to make me cum, sir. Want you to make me scream, sir.” 

“Oh fuck.” Lando groaned quietly, slumping down on top of you a little more as he let his hips take their natural desperation out on you, pounding into you faster. 

“Shit!” you gasped sharply, head tossing back against the pillows, “Yes! Keep going!” 

“Good girl.” Lando breathed, so quiet as if he were nervous to say it out loud but you still heard and it still made your stomach twist. 

Your ankles linked behind his back to keep him as close as possible and you welcomed his lips back on yours to share a few more sloppy kisses and hungry moans before he was pulling back to breathe again. Lando had to tuck his face into your neck because looking at you felt like far too much to handle as he stayed nice and deep and fucked you quicker. 

“Yes.” you squeaked out, digging your nails into his back. “Yes, yes, yes-” 

Lando moaned shakily against your skin, already feeling himself needing to cum again. He desperately thought of his exam again, trying to think about anything to make it last just even a little bit longer. He was getting so close so fast and as you did the same, the squeeze of your muscles only drew him dangerously closer to finishing. 

The sound of his panted, strained breaths against your ear was invigorating and the tight reverberations of his soft groans had you biting his neck to keep yourself composed, to keep from getting too loud between the thin hotel walls. But you still moaned for him, pleading sweet little moans that he felt in every inch of his body and his balls fucking ached to cum after so much edging. It nearly brought tears to his eyes. 

You could tell he was close as he shuffled closer to you on his knees and his thrusts were turning sloppy and his groans were turning into strained little whimpers, his cock pulsing strongly deep inside of you. Just to help it along, you dropped a hand down between your snug bodies to rub at your clit, already so sensitive that the slightest touch had you shuttering with overwhelm. The way it made your pussy clench up had Lando gasping and you held him by the back of his neck to keep his cheek pressed to yours. 

“Do you want to cum inside me?” you asked softly, voice dripping like honey. 

He nodded quickly. 

“Yeah? Good because I want it. I want you to cum so fucking deep inside me, sir. Please, gimme it.” 

Your voice was strained as you were getting yourself close too by the extra help of your hand and Lando’s fists were tightening on the pillows on either side of your head as he fucked you right down into the bedsheets. Your words certainly weren’t helping him hold himself back but thankfully he didn’t have to hold it much longer because in seconds he was privy to the perfection that was your orgasm. 

He could hardly get a good look at your face with how close your heads were but he got the best of it; how your nose scrunched up and head fell back and how you sobbed out his name to the ceiling with a trail of the sweetest moans and whimpers he had heard all night. But the best part was how it felt, how fucking tight you got around him, because the moment your orgasm washed over you, the vice like grip of your muscles sent him to his own rapid conclusion. 

Lando literally tensed so hard he trembled, eyes scrunched closed as he grunted out a whimpery, “Y-Yes…yes- f-fuck-” 

He held onto you so tightly that he couldn’t get any deeper inside you if he tried and he savoured the feeling of coming in something that wasn’t his hand. It was hard to wrap his mind around the fact that it was you. 

Your heels pressed into his ass to grind his hips against yours to make sure he let it all out, your shared breathy moans lingering in the warm air of the hotel room. Lando bucked into you a few more times and you kissed at his neck as he came down from his most incredible orgasm to date. His hands loosened on the pillows and he leaned back just enough to look at your face properly. 

His cheeks were dusted pink and he was blinking away the pleasurable tears that had brimmed in his eyes, parted lips staring down at you in near awe. You brushed your hand through his messy hair and you both leaned in for a quick kiss or two before you were guiding him back by his biceps as he sat back on his knees between your spread legs. 

Lando’s chest nearly hurt with how fast his heart was beating and he pulled out of you slowly, watching the trickle of cum that dripped out in his wake. He licked his lips and raised his eyes up to yours as if asking for permission to touch you as he reached his hand out and smeared his fingers through it greedily. 

“That’s so fucking hot.” he breathed. 

“Feels so good too.” you giggled. 

Lando shifted out from between your legs and fell onto the bed at your side, both of you resting back against the pillows and staring at the ceiling as your breathing steadied. You grabbed his wrist of the hand that had just been in the mess you made and you pulled it up to your mouth to suck off his fingers. Lando exhaled shakily as he watched you lick him clean - nearly deepthroating his fingers as you did so - and then you shoved his hand away with a little blissful laugh and a lick of your lips to linger on the taste of him. 

In the silence that fell for the initial moment after everything, Lando started to wonder if he should be saying something…bringing you something…thanking you? He felt like a fool, not knowing what he was supposed to be doing and he turned his head to look at you again, speaking your name into the warm air between you. 

“Lando.” you replied right back with a little smile, lolling your head to the side to look right back at him. 

“I have to tell you something.” he whispered. 

You shifted your body onto your side to give him your full attention, face falling into slight concern, “What is it?”

He bit at his lip nervously before confessing to you, “I’m a virgin…I was a virgin...”

Your lips pricked up into a tiny smile at the corners and you stroked your thumb across his cheek, “Yeah, sweetheart, I could kinda tell when you kept having to stop to keep from cumming too fast.”

Lando’s cheeks went red, “Oh.” 

“Was that okay though? You didn’t mind losing it to me? I should have asked but I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything.”

Lando propped himself up on his side too with a quick shake of his head, “Absolutely. I wanted nothing more than to lose it to you, honestly. It was like a fucking dream.” 

You shared light laughter and he leaned in - hesitating for a split second - and kissed your lips. You raised your hand up to the side of his neck to keep him there a moment longer, smiling into his mouth as your breathlessly moulded into messy little kisses. 

“Was it okay for you?” Lando pulled back to ask, “I wasn’t…too clueless, right?”

You bit back your smile at his courtesy and shook your head, “No, you were amazing. Pleasantly surprised you could actually make me cum.”

He let out a little sigh of relief and you both leaned in for a few more quick kisses between light blissful giggles. Lando felt a surge of pride for himself, like he was unbeatable, and when you pushed him back by his chest, he flopped back onto the sheets with a smiling sigh. 

“I’m gonna go clean up.” you said, scratching your fingers gently over his abs, “You’ll be here when I come out?”

Lando nodded, sharing in your smiles, and he watched you climb off the bed and retrieve a clean pair of underwear and a t-shirt from your suitcase by the wall before disappearing around the corner into the bathroom. When he heard the door close behind you, Lando permitted himself a deep exhale, raking his fingers through his hair as he stared up at the ceiling with shocked disbelief all over his face. He had been playing it cool for hours and suddenly, with the wash of reality overcoming him, he was stunned to silence by what just happened. 

He mouthed a “what the fuck” to the ceiling and then sat up on the king size bed to locate his underwear from where they had been earlier tossed across the floor. He got up and tugged them on before tiptoeing past the bathroom door to where his backpack was left in your rush of entry. With his phone in hand, Lando returned to the side of the bed and sat down as he unlocked his phone with your birthdate as his passcode and swiped across his home screen that was wallpapered with a picture of you, and opened Instagram. 

His two best friends were chatting to pass the time in the groupchat,

georgerussell63: It’s literally 11:00 right now and I’m going to be so tired for my exam tomorrow but I can’t go to sleep until we know wtf is going on alex_albon: I know alex_albon: I’m so wide awake alex_albon: I can’t even lock my phone I’m scared we’ll miss something georgerussell63: Do you think anything happened? alex_albon: Ahh idk- georgerussell63: Omg wait Lando just opened the messages georgerussell63: Hello?? alex_albon: Lan?? You alive?? georgerussell63: Mate don’t just leave us on SEEN  alex_albon: What happened? We are dying here! landonorris: Guys landonorris: Oh my God georgerussell63: LANDO alex_albon: WHAT HAPPENED landonorris: I fucked her alex_albon: WAIT WHAT georgerussell63: WHAT THE FUCK?? georgerussell63: REALLY? landonorris: Ahherghbj omfg yes really alex_albon: Proof plz omg we need proof georgerussell63: Wtf kind of proof Alex? The used condom? Nasty landonorris: Yeah that’d be difficult since we didn’t use a condom- alex_albon: LANDO NORRIS georgerussell63: WTF georgerussell63: WHY NOT alex_albon: BECAUSE WE WANT THOSE BABIES LES GOO landonorris: HAHA landonorris: Idk she just said she’d take plan b tomorrow and idc pffhf landonorris: I’m fucking buzzing holy shit georgerussell63: Where are you rn?? alex_albon: Give us all the details mate landonorris: In her hotel room landonorris: She’s just in the bathroom so I probably can’t chat for long but landonorris: Yeah I had to tell you guys right awayyy georgerussell63: Hear that Albono? georgerussell63: Our boy isnt a virgin anymore 🥲 alex_albon: I’m literally speechless omg alex_albon: Did you get her follow yet?? georgerussell63: ALEX georgerussell63: Mate georgerussell63: Who cares about a follow right now georgerussell63: The boy just shagged the girl of his dreams 🥵 alex_albon: I'm just ASKING if its a one time thing or what landonorris: Idk it literally just happened so we haven’t even really talked landonorris: I still can’t believe it really georgerussell63: Was she good? 👀 alex_albon: 👀👀👀 landonorris: YES landonorris: She was so fucking loud too landonorris: And her dirty talkkkkk holy shittttttt georgerussell63: YEEESH alex_albon: Oh my GODD

Grinning from ear to ear at how boastful he felt, Lando glanced at the bathroom door to make sure it was still closed before he went over to the full length mirror and opened his camera. He tilted his head back a little to show off the bruising hickey on his neck and the faint reminisce of teeth marks just below it and he snapped a picture for his friends.

landonorris: *sent an image* georgerussell63: Ohhhh you got BRANDED alex_albon: LANDO alex_albon: Fucking get it mate omfg

Lando took a second to look at himself in the mirror as if he were a whole new person. He felt new…improved…absolutely buzzing. He turned around in the reflection just to see the pretty red scratches down his back and across his shoulder blades. With a disbelieving giggle to himself, Lando raised his phone up over his shoulder and took a picture through the mirror.

landonorris: *sent an image* alex_albon: LANDO georgerussell63: SHIT alex_albon: You must have had serious game to be scratched up like that holy shit georgerussell63: You really did it omg landonorris: YEAH I REALLY DID IT landonorris: Four positions landonorris: Not including her getting on her knees first landonorris: The whole time she was basically screaming for it landonorris: Hottest thing I’ve ever fucking done landonorris: She was so fucking incredible  landonorris: Even better than I could ever imagine  landonorris: It felt so good I’ve never come so fucking hard before lol georgerussell63: Geeeeez it’s getting hot in here alex_albon: I’m dying to know what this means for you two alex_albon: If she liked it that much this better not be a one time thing alex_albon: She better have fallen in love with you rn georgerussell63: Our boy’s got such good stroke game he wins girls hearts alex_albon: Hell yeah landonorris: Seriously guys it was unreal georgerussell63: I’m so obsessively happy for you rn it’s probably unhealthy 

Right then, the bathroom door opened and you stepped out, only giving Lando a few seconds to say goodbye to his friends. 

landonorris: gtg talk tomorrow

“You okay?” you asked cautiously.

Dressed in only a t-shirt and panties, makeup washed off and hair brushed away from your face, you were still a vision to him and Lando smiled at you softly as you walked over to him.

“Mhm, my roommate was just asking where I was.” he lied casually, still not wanting to be seen as too much of a cringey fanboy as he locked his phone in his hand. 

You walked into his outstretched arm and slid your hands over his bare chest and around his shoulders, “Do you need to go?”

Lando shook his head, his breath sweet and shallow as his heart rate sped up by just having you in arms reach and he bumped his nose gently against your cheek, “Not unless you want me to go.” 

Lingering just in front of his lips you whispered your response, “I wouldn’t mind some company tonight.”

“Yeah?” he smiled. 

You nodded with a smile of your own and guided him closer by the side of his neck to kiss his lips. He hummed softly into it and raised his hand up to cradle your cheek in return, letting his lips lock so effortlessly with yours. After a few seconds, you pulled him back towards the bed and you both climbed under the sheets together. 

“Did you wanna watch Netflix or something?” you asked. “It’s still a little early.” 

Lando hesitated for a moment at your side, “Is it weird if I ask you to read to me? I missed your reading today after all.” 

You laughed lightly but leaned right in and swallowed his lips up with eager kisses, “Mm, no, that’s so fucking sweet. Get your book.” 

Lando grinned and shuffled back out of bed to unzip his backpack and pull out his hardcover that only a few hours earlier he was waiting in line for you to sign. Now, he was taking it into your bed and passing it to you once more while holding his arm up to permit you to cuddle up against his chest. You rested back against him, both of you propped up slightly against the pillows, and he snaked his arms around your waist and pressed a kiss to your cheek as you flipped to the first chapter. 

“You sure this isn’t weird?” he asked softly. 

You leaned your head back against his shoulder and smiled up at him, petting your hand through the side of his messy hair, “Promise. I love it.” 

Lando smiled back and leaned down to kiss your lips and then your temple as you turned back to your book. You read the first few chapters out loud - only stopping once to order room service for a late night snack and refreshments - and shared kisses between each chapter that only had Lando’s stomach fluttering with butterflies at how sweet your voice sounded reading the words that spoke wonders to him. He made you skip over the smut - whispering that he didn’t think he could handle getting hard again - and you did with a shy little laugh as he admitted that your filthy written words always had such an effect on him. 

When you were both fading, the half read novel was tucked onto the bedside table and the lights were turned off in exchange for the presence of each other’s bodies. He was a stranger to you but somehow he made you feel so warm inside like you had known him much longer than a few measly hours. His fingers twirled through the roots of your hair at the nape of your neck and you were put to sleep in mere moments after such a tiring day. 

As Lando held your slumbering body to your chest, his heart was soaring. He wondered if you could hear it racing for you, all his mind taken up by every last bit of you. 

Lando’s alarm went off at 8am, ringing loudly from the dresser across the hotel room. You stirred first and your shifting woke Lando as he had been clinging onto you like a koala all night. His tired eyes blinked open, trying to piece together where he was for a second and why his dorm room bed suddenly felt so comfortable and why his pillow he was clutching felt so warm. 

He had almost entirely forgotten that the previous day wasn’t a dream. 

When he blinked himself into consciousness, he shifted away from you at the annoying ringing of his alarm, “Sorry.”

“S’okay.” you yawned as he climbed out of the king size bed and traipsed across the clothing strewn floor to retrieve his phone and turned off the noise. 

He had class at 9:00 but he certainly wasn’t going to make it across the city in time if he took his time with you. In the mayhem of the previous night, he had completely forgotten about his class. 

“Shit.” 

“Everything okay?” you asked, rolling over to face him under the sheets with your hands tucked under your head. 

Lando glanced up at you, in awe of how angelic you looked in the morning, and then looked back down at his phone to pull up the bus schedule, “Yeah…just…forgot I had class this morning.”

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry.” you sighed, “I shouldn’t have kept you.”

“God, no, don’t be sorry.” Lando assured you quickly. “No regrets here.” 

You smiled up at him as he came over to the side of the bed and leaned down to kiss your lips. 

“I had a great night.”

You reached up to hold him by the back of his neck to keep his lips on yours a moment longer, “Me too.” 

Both of you pulled back from your kiss smiling and Lando nearly stumbled over his feet as he turned to retrieve his clothes from across the floor. You giggled at his clumsiness and sat up against the headboard to watch him pull his shirt on and button his slacks up. He looked as passé as one could be but in his mind, he was stewing about saying goodbye to you. He didn’t want to say goodbye to you. He didn’t want to never speak to you again. 

“Lando.” you called. 

He looked up at you from his belt, blue eyes wide, “Yeah?”

“You look good.” 

He cracked a small smile and looked back down to the buckle on his belt, “I feel good.”

“Wonder why.” you teased. 

He returned to the side of the bed and sat down to lean back with one hand propping himself up on the other side of your lap. You stared at each other for a moment, eyes moving between eyes and lips. He needed to ask. He felt stupid asking. 

He forced it out of his mouth, “Can I…can you…maybe follow me on Instagram? So we can maybe keep talking?”

You smiled cockily at him, “I was wondering when you were going to ask. Was starting to think you just saw me as a booty call.” 

Lando laughed awkwardly, relieved, “God, no.” 

“Pass me my phone?” you gestured to your purse sitting against the wall and he got up to reach into it and pull it out for you. When he returned to the side of the bed and you unlocked your phone, he leaned forward a little to peek at your background out of pure curiosity. The aesthetic picture of notebook paper and pen was almost expected. You opened Instagram, right away being notified of dozens of likes, comments and a few follows but you ignored them and selected the search bar. “What’s your user?”

“landonorris.” he said, leaning forward a little more as he spelt it for you, “l-a-n-d-o-n-o-r-r-i-s. All one word.” 

The sight of his profile appearing on your screen was almost more surreal than the sight of him inside you the night before and he bit back his smile as you requested to follow his private account. His follower count looked miniscule compared to yours but you didn’t seem to bat an eyelash at it. 

“There,” you said proudly, “Accept me and then send me a message. I wanna look at all your sexy pictures.” 

“They’re hardly sexy.” Lando scoffed. 

“You’re sexy so they will be too.” you giggled, leaning towards him slightly.

Lando laughed shyly under your strong compliments and he let his eyes flutter closed as your lips met. You both stayed still for a moment, letting your kiss linger between you before moving back in for a few more little ones. 

“You have a bus to catch.” you whispered as you pulled back. 

“Mhm.” Lando pouted. 

“Don’t forget your book.” you gestured to where the hardcover was left on the nightstand. 

He grabbed it quickly as he stood up again, “Right. Thanks.”

“Thank you for dinner, by the way.” you said, “And for a truly unforgettable night.”

Lando smiled bashfully, “Yeah. Right back at you.” 

He dipped down to kiss the corner of your mouth and then he started for the door of the hotel room. As it closed behind him and he was suddenly alone in the long hallway, he slouched back against the wall and let out a deep breath before taking another one in nice and slowly. He opened his instagram requests as he waited for the elevators and he couldn’t help but screenshot the sight of your verified account in his pending follower requests. 

With you now in his followers, he slid into your dms with a casual, 

landonorris: Hey 😉 Don’t forget to stop by the drug store today

The whole way back to campus, Lando was grinning out the window and holding your signed copy of your book to his chest. He felt as light as air and as if he had been living the most perfect dream the last 24 hours. The only thing he realized he had yet to do was read your note you left him in the inside cover of his book. In the light of the morning sun across the streets of Bristol, Lando carefully opened the hardcover novel and admired the crisp silver sharpie inked across the dark inside page in your careful handwriting, 

“Lando,

Thank you for being so thoughtful and genuine.”

Signed with your curling signature and a little heart. 

Tag List: @black-fireproofs @k3nmakyan @m4rt10ne @strawberryy-kiwii @herebereblogs

♡ None of the original writing on this blog may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

[tarjapearce]

Heathens (Pt. 1)

Priest! Miguel O'Hara x Nun!Reader

art by @maxro_art on IG (Her Deliverance AU is ❤️❤️🤌🏻)

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. If you're sensitive regarding religion, please don't read this. Masturbation in holy places, explicit language, wet dreams, Female anatomy, oral ( F receiving) Gentle Dom Miguel, Corruption kink, overused tropes cause yeah, a tinge of yandere undertones if you squint, mutual lust, Not Proofread ~

Summary: Father O'Hara had a little lamb ~

A/N: Another for the Miguelverse ~ Reblogs and comments are much appreciated c:

Main Masterlist

From all the places you could've find solace from war, The house of God was the least of lieus in your list. Not that you had a choice.

Family long gone after unsuspected explosions decimated your town, followed by constant tragedies such as losing friends along the way either by enemy and merciless hands or sickness. In the end, it was only you. You had outlived them all despite your short age. And now, they lived crammed up in your memories.

Happy, smiling and very much alive. Sometimes you'd see familiar faces on stranger's bodies. Grief had slowly nested within your soul and when all hope seemed lost, the chapel had saved you from what surely would end up in your premature death.

The blackest of black matched the crispest white you had ever seen, they were all donned in their beatific robes, prayer beads dangling at every gentle step they did. And there it was, epiphany unfolding itself before your experienced in horror eyes. It was your call.

All the answers to your laments and aching heart were sent as them. Nuns of the Mistbourne Parish. A church located in the outskirts of a now rundown by conflict Nueva York. The church that now played a major role in taking in as much people within their sacred walls, before they could be dispatched to a more adequate place.

Without hesitation, you had joined. And now, six years later you still remained with them. Early twenties had settled right for you as a nun. Ever devoted, compassionate, and diligent.

As time went on, the main city was reconstructed, burying it's dark tragedy under freshly built towers, hiding the pain under the rugged carpet full of concrete and wire homes, like nothing ever happened. Like if war had never stepped upon it and gave it a much needed renewal at people's lives expenses.

But no matter how many changes time brought, life in Mistbourne's Parish remained the same. Untouched by the technological advances from the outer world. There was always something to do, as simple as it was. And so far, you've been satisfied with it.

The only alterations worth of mention was your holy family expanding.

A new couple additions to the staff. More sisters, an eighty percent of them were beyond fifty. You were the youngest, their child. After all some ended up raising you within the house.

And him. The new priest.

The tallest and bulkiest man you've ever seen. As much as staring was considered rude and borderline a sin, it was unavoidable to do so, when his rusty brown eyes fell upon you. Their color unique, like he was. Never in your life had you seen someone like him, or another man besides the butcher and the guard. He had definitely been a regular man before coming here.

The soft weary expression lines in his sharp countenance revealed his own fair of lived experiences.

He towered over you, crisp white dot on his black rimmed neck line, parading his status with modest pride, and golden praying beads dangling on his narrow hips, you held yours while asking forgiveness for keep staring.

"Father."

Father O'Hara. In his mid thirties, broken family also torn by war, wearing his vows in the shape of a ring on his right hand.

"Sister"

His voice deep yet gentle, like a lullaby. His steps took him away to his own residence. The rectory outside the church.

It made sense as to how some workers were renovating it in the past few weeks. The parish last priest had been sent off in sacred duties, only to realize later that he had killed a man. Cops and detectives surely made a show out of it.

Dark times, according to Sister Lianne, one of your mother figures. But now, Father O'Hara had taken his place, erasing all traces of the previous man with concise and pithy actions.

He took his role seriously. Said masses on sundays, visited the sick, baptized people; but his most popular feat was to hear the confessions. The most intimate secrets revealed to him by either your fellow sisters or people from the town that came to expiate their sins in hope to be forgiven.

You'd sometimes run into each other, bumping casually in the narrow wooden floored halls, you'd often apologize, only to reciprocate a polite smile on both ends. He'd sometimes help you out by carrying things a bit too heavy, or you'd help him out lighting up the altar for his speech.

Yet, his hands in one occasion took an accidental taste of your body dimensions underneath your beatific robes, while preventing you from falling down the stairs. He'd scold you for being careless and carrying things that obscured your sight.

After many sorries on your behalf, you returned to the cells and went straight to your own dorm, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

His hands felt burning upon remembering the dents of your form, the curve of your waist and certainly the warmth that irradiated from you, so so close from his.

Unexpectedly it had brought memories from his past. His old life where he'd have his lovely and temporary companion for the night impaled deliciously with himself before war and hell broke loose. Before he was forced by the subversives that raided his town to create a new fake identity in the spot as they heard him speak spanish or fight a war he hadn't started, much less would end. And so, his life as Father O'Hara begun.

Odd enough, the sudden and thoughtless choice had granted him peace after witnessing so many terrors his fellow human could be capable of. His need of help has always been stronger than anything and when he finished licencing some sacrifices were required.

Poverty vows weren't an issue since his previous life had been modest yet good enough to go by. Little difference between his current lifestyle.

The obedience vow took him a little longer to fully yield. But he accomplished it to a T, just to avoid more trouble. He faked it until he made it.

His chastity vow had been a quite the challenge to perfect, but no matter how much the temptations paraded before him in the many parishes he was assigned to, he didn't give in. His libido had been sapped out of his body, like a campfire after completing it's useful cycle.

Not because of his brand new sanctity invested by holier-than-thou elders, but rather a broken mind full of grievance and other negatives that always haunted him. The gunshots and bombings too fresh in his mind.

It had been years since he touched someone in a way that wasn't holy. Since he had provoked things in someone else that clearly would make him go under the laicization from the clergy without second guessings.

Until he held you the other day.

Both of your eyes too enraptured in eachother that had sent an igniting spark to his spine. Reviving all those inactive nerves he thought his existencial toll severed long ago. His eyes had gave a brief rake over your face.

Wide and round eyes staring back, both in awe and surprise straight into his soul. Nose flaring softly just like your mouth, whose bottom lip trembled at the little erratic breaths your lungs exhaled upon being in physical contact with a man for the first time in ever, while cheeks bloomed with a not so discreet flush. And your body heat.

Jesus all mighty.

It was dangerously tempting. For a brief moment his past self had taken over, but quickly vanished upon hearing steps. Earning you to fix your crucifix and cowl nervously and him to fist his hands to refrain himself to take another taste and fix his collar and cassock.

To his conclusion, the robes you wore did not match what was underneath. He noted much, but having you wear that loose habit only fuelled his now active and sinful imagination. An opposite from your habits' purpose.

Priest life was hard, and the Celibacy vows were his biggest damnation. Mind often plagued with 'I shouldn't have done this.' 'This is ridiculous' 'Fucking idiot' 'Why did I even lie about this?' But even so, priesthood was better than ending up dead or mutilated by mines somewhere in the battlefield, in the middle of a war he didn't started, much less would end.

Government later was forcibly recruiting all those men, be them widowed or married. It didn't matter. War wasn't for him. Neither Priesthood.

But he'd bear it. He'd bear it until he was put in another parish church full of older and witty ladies he'd definitely wouldn't lust after.

----

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

The sweet voice behind the confessional punctured walls, perked up his ears. He had memorized a lot of things, your voice included.

"I... I haven't confessed in weeks. But it grows me concerned that... my mind is somewhere else."

Silence. You were met with silence as expected, it also encouraged you to keep talking.

"A man has flooded my thoughts and no matter how much I try to occupy myself, he's there. Leading me to temptation and sin."

A man?

His brow quirked as he slanted over the little wooden division between you, to hear better and take a peek on your face. The only men he could think of was the guard, the butcher and himself. The only men inhabiting the same area as you.

"How does this man tempts you?"

"He... He visits. In my dreams I mean and..."

A low 'forgive me, God' echoed in your stall. His throat dried and his hands rested on each side of his knees, gripping at the fabric of his pants.

"He does things I know I shouldn't partake in... But, it feels too real."

"You sound scared. Does it frightens you?"

"Very much so. But it is a strange sort of fear, Father."

"What kind of fear then?"

It took you a long pause to muster

"A fear of him stopping his visits in my mind."

He gulped.

Your hands took the crucifix and held it tighter, "For him to stop doing such sinful things to me, even in my dreams."

"Have you sinned in the carnal affairs?"

"N-No. I would never. I've never engaged in them, Father."

His groin twitched, as a hand raked over his scalp. A shaky breath that was forced to come out in silence. Only when he thought you couldn't be more innocent, there you were proving him wrong.

"Ever?"

"I promise to you with my life, I've never."

"I must know" He wetted his lips with his tongue, "What kind of things does this man does to you?"

"W-What?"

Your spine straightened up instantly, eyes wild, staring another hole into the already punctured division. Cinnamon color in his skin, the only brief glimpse you managed to see. But even so, his gentle yet cornering voice brought you down from your initial jump.

"I need to know, so I can dictate a penance."

The flush on your cheeks returned, burning bright upon remembering the all too lucid dream you've been having about your secret man. That, even though visited frequently, you still didn't know his face, just his body as it smothered yours wholy in a constant merciless and scorching rut.

All what you remembered was him feasting between your legs like a starved man. His hands maneuvering your soft mounds to then give a gentle squeeze.

"His hands are the ones that bring the sin, Father."

"Explain yourself"

His voice was sultry, buttery rich and smooth on the other side of the stall. A subtle order. To your dismay, that same demon had a similar voice tone. Alluring, speaking to you in a foreign language it had you mewling and asking for forgiveness every time you remembered, cause you had begged the faceless man for more.

"He touches and... t-tastes places I shouldn't allow no man to delve in." With a thick gulp you continued, "His tongue is... marvelous."

His eyes widened for a second as his hand hovered over his crotch

"Marvelous?"

"I feel the biggest sinner by admitting this. Please, do forgive me."

"Accountability is part of the process."

He tried to sound as professional as he could, but little did you know his mind was torturing his already crumbling resolve with such vivid details. Celibacy wasn't a problem, until now. Hearing such sinful words coming from such a unsuspecting thing like yourself, a virgin that is, made his old self to re-emerge.

Disguising himself as a sheep, while he fought through his holy learning years to tame his wolfish appetite.

There were plenty of ewes in the flock , but so far the only one that made his mouth water was you. A perfect little lamb. And now, this. We're you set to making him break his vows?

No. You weren't. He was reaching his limits to break celibacy and you were just having wet dreams about someone that definitely made him wonder about your past life. A past lover? No. Not even that. A possession? A demon? No. Definitely not.

He had heard things whenever on lunch duty. Mindless talk that revealed more to him from others and you than they intended to. You, a nun. Picked up from a ravaged village nearby and raised within  the nuns, meaning, you had zero idea of what pleasure meant.

He believed, but wasn't a complete blinded idiot to faith. Your body was asking for physical and forbidden relief. Just like his.

But again, the golden band around his right hand not only forbid but also was the perpetual reminder of what was a stake.

"I know, Father. But... this man has such power over me that has pushed me to sin. He... he has pushed me to take such vulgar matters in my own hands."

Maker's mercy

His cock twitched harder and he was unable hold back and gave a firm  squeeze while biting his lip to quiet himself at the long forgotten and heady pleasure that was drowning his body in an alarming rate.

As if done of being fed lies and a quick and sloppy handjob for ages. It was disgusting how easy was to sin, how well his body ached and reacted to such stimulus. How effortlessly his old habits had caught up to him.

He was the one that needed a penance now, cause he couldn't shake the image of you spread with your legs wide open, naked, sliding your fingers in between your weeping folds. You'd certainly have your mouth shut or lips bitten to avoid having anyone hear you.

He had closed his eyes while his jaw clenched, occasionally sweeping his tongue over his lips to keep them moist.

"Say it. Say your sin."

He commanded in a voice that had your cheeks flustered and your pearly nub a throb. His hand half squeezed half stroked over his clothed groin. Swollen and needy cock begging to be set free and properly taken care of.

"I..." A dry gulp and your hands went to your crotch, begging your nature to behave. Cheeks impossibly red.

"I've enjoyed touching myself after dreaming a man... f-fucks me, Father."

The word 'fuck' coming out your delicious looking yet pure lips, had his teeth gnawing at the insides of his cheek, self control harder to keep under the leash. It barked, howled even demanded for more explicit details.

Instead, he sighed quietly and cleared his throat. The sudden noise had you gripping the skirt of your habit in shame.

Miguel didn't say much besides the prayer of absolution and a couple of more prayers as your penance. The same right hand that was squeezing his cock was now being kissed by you, to confirm your forgiveness. Plump, warm and soft lips caressed his ring finger.

And once you were gone, his hand took control on its own, slid under his soutane to stroke himself. If you felt like a sinner, he was the devil himself.

The vice like grip in his own cock made him shudder, sensation foreign yet so welcoming after years without it. A little whine escaped past his gaping mouth, exhaling pecaminous breaths as he stroked like teenage boy that just discovered masturbation for the time ever. Sloppy, desperate and wet motions echoed in the now sullied stall.

He fisted his hand tighter, thick fingers coaxing a much needed release, hips rutting into his choking hand. Quiet whimpers and an array of curses flew out his mouth.

His flushed tip swayed and shook under his own rough ministrations while his jaw clenched, he clawed at the chair when hot and thick spurts of his cum dribbled down his hand and wrist before time; pooling in the hollow of his palm while earning a gutural growl that dissolved into a shaky whimper, as he curled against the wooden and punctured wall for a brief lapse of seconds to regain his composure.

"Fuck..." He had to lay against his chair to keep the light-headedness at bay, drowning in his own made pleasure, panting like he had run a marathon for hours.

He shouldn't have lied back ago. And  definitely shouldn't have become a priest. He was soiling their already tainted reputation. His old self was back to stay.

He cleaned up his hand under his robes to then leave to change. He was given a glimpse as you were picking up some harvest in the orchard while he was making his way back home.

---

Window's glasses echoed with the soft rain. The parish has been quiet during weekdays, but busy for you. As winter approaches the harvest must be picked, the grains sorted and the meats stored.

You saw Father O'Hara less and less, and when you did, they were mere glimpses. He was as busy in meetings with other priests, or preparing for the mass that was now given twice a week.

If you weren't in the garden or the laundry, you were in the choir.

Lingering yet brief gazes chased each other. He had heard some nuns speaking about him, some had wonderful things to say, saying that he had been one of the most efficient priests the church has had.

Others mentioned between hushed and bashful whispers about his physical condition and how they caught him go for runs at crack of dawn a couple of times.

And you, just wanted to go to confession again and ask for forgiveness. Not to spill the advantures you had in your dreams with a man that oddly resembled like Father O'Hara, but to unleash your heart's desires to wonder what was beyond the parish.

It was your life, all you've ever known so far. But one of those trips to the city during a beneful visit to another location, had left you amazed. How could a world so different like yours could be considered bad and straying?

But again, vows. Your vows bound you, and once broken, there was no turning back. But right now all that mattered was to get to the dorms. The rest was out in another visit to the city, you were to stay to finish your tasks in the kitchen.

Weather changed so abruptly that one moment you were taking the last basket of vegetables inside, to then run for the dorms to seek refuge. But they were far and the only thing in sight was Father's O'Hara rectory.

It was either getting a terrible fever from the cold and unforgiving rain or ask him to lend you an umbrella to mitigate the glacial numbness spreading through your body. Another reason you barely went out during these days, rains in the countryside were merciless.

Miguel was tending his own garden when the rain begun drenching. Even more when the thunders broke the peaceful white noise. He removed his soutane and shirt off leaving his inner vestments free, but the desperate knock on his door made his undressing ritual to stop.

While quirking an eyebrow, he approached the door and opened it. Eyes widened in surprise upon seeing you, soaked through your bones. lips blue and shivering from the cold.

"P-Please-"

"Jesus. Come in."

He ushered you in, then rushed to get a towel. A frown in his face deepened upon hearing your teeth clatter, clothes stuck to you like a second skin.

"C-Can I... borrow your... u-umbrella?"

Without much though he smoothened the towel against your face, drying it.

"An umbrella? Really?!"

A vehement shake of your head, while trying to get him off you.

"You're freezing cold, the dorms are too far for you to leave. Don't be stubborn."

"I... I don't h-have clothes."

You mumbled through rattling teeth while your eyes darted hazily over his naked torso. He sighed.

"Unbelievable. You're freezing to death and you're worried about clothes. Get them off, I'll put them to dry."

He grumbled while taking more logs into the fire to what would be his living room. If it wasn't for the glacial and biting freeze that refused to leave your body and the foggy thinking in your brain, your cheeks would be beyond red. Crimson even from such simple act.

A weak nod you gave. Your hands stopped bracing your shivering body to focus on removing the cowl and headdress. Releasing through shaky motions your soaked hair that wasted no time to stick on your face and neck.

The next was your crucifix, and praying beads, the tempo you removed them could make a slug to easily win the race, this alarmed him greatly. He had seen what hypothermia did, way before turning himself into this holy persona.

Without much thought, he peeled off your habit that weighed you down.

"Qué mierda más pesada" (Such a heavy shit)

He held you by one arm as he removed the outer layer off. Your eyes drooped and he gave you a little shake.

"Hey, hey, look at me."

Eyes concerned raking over and it dawned on you. Those eyes, the same beautiful and unique eyes were the same that visited in your dreams.

A difficult gulp rolled down your throat as Miguel kept undressing you while grunting. Wet clothes were a pain in his beatific ass. Shivering dicreased, but your lips remained blue, a new shade of purple drawing over them.

"I-It's so cold" You mumbled through laborious breaths.

"Course it's cold. You're soaked! What were you even doing?"

The way he scolded you felt like someone you've known for years was giving you a lecture. So casual, homey, normal. It was Miguel O'Hara speaking, not Father Miguel. The ever gentle and patient man you've been helping.

"Jesús bendito, con cuánta cosa te vistes." (Holy Jesus, so many layers.)

He murmured while pushing you to his chest as he removed the dress that covered your underwear. It felt like a heatless body had been thrown over him, but the warmth irradiating from him felt heavenly. Your form instinctively nuzzled your head on his chest. He had to stop to gulp at the sensations

Even though his mind slapped itself, His couldn't help but wander over your shivering and weak body.

"W-Wait"

A small dark patch hovered above the joint of your legs. Taut peaks followed by lovely areoles ever standing and shivering under the flimsy white fabric of a short nightgown that proved even harder to remove since it clung to you like a second skin, refusing to abandon your body.

He peeled you off of everything despite your protests, but was sufficiently prude to not look over your naked form. A minute too slow and it would be late. Like the young boy in his arms, that had died out of cold once the subversive groups arrived in the forsaken town, they had forced him and the rest to go through a frozen river. He made it, but the boy didn't.

His mind wasn't in the tip of his cock.

That will come later.

But his brain had only one single purpose right now. To keep you alive but for that he needed keep you warm.

Despite the recklessness of his actions, he pulled a freshly folded duvet around  while pulling you ontop of his chest and sat together near the fire. Hands moving to dry your hair as much as he could. Your skin was full of goosebumps, frosty to touch, that relished into any source of heat available. His torso, the duvet and the raging bonfire made your head spin.

It felt like his hands, rubbing some life back into your arms while he shielded your body, embracing your form with his torso and limbs. Like a paramedic on duty. Your cheek smooshed against his solid chest, it made him shudder with your own coldness but eventually the body heat treatment would be effective.

"Sorry" it was all you managed before your teeth shuddered again, and his fingers caressed your neck, placing a new wave of delicious heat on your skin.

"You'll be fine."

Your body was slowly but surely returning to it's temperature. Miguel remained there, basking you within his body, fingers gingerly caressing as much cold skin as he could under the duvet. Even his breath provided a little heat. Your erratic breaths collided against his skin, earning a discreet shudder from him.

You had drifted off to limbo, trying to sleep a bit, but unable to completely do so. Not when a man, the Parish Father nonetheless, was holding and nursing you back to an acceptable temperature with his own.

"Father O'Hara..."

Miguel's ears perked up upon you mentioning his name.

"It's Miguel."

He mumbled while drawing lazy circles on your lower back. The fire and the duvet had kept you toasty to curl even more towards him. Teeth no longer clattering.

"Thank you, Father."

"Stop."

His eyes rolled in annoyance, as his hands stopped caressing your skin to then rub his face.

"Stop calling me that."

"But that's your-"

"I don't like it."

He grumbled while looking down at you.

"Call me Miguel."

"I can't do that. Feels too disrespectful."

"I'm not Father O'Hara here, understood?"

You nodded

"Are you cold?"

"I am. Not as before but yes. Has it stopped raining?"

His own smell was making your mind a puddle, some of that fragrant incense remained etched on him.

"No. Just got worse."

You sighed while resting your head on his chest. Heartbeats a mellow lullaby.

"I'm sorry for all of this."

"You were cold and soaked." He pointed dully and bored.

The duvet was brought closer to your chest while staring at the flames. Fingers tracing a lazy and mindless pattern in his abdomen.

"I was picking up the last batch of harvest when rain poured on me."

Your toes curled in as a soft breeze flickered the fire and he tilted his head to watch you closer.

"Now I'll have to explain why there isn't enough corn."

"We'll go by. It's ok."

"Are my clothes ready yet?"

A snort that  would be translated into an 'Are you kidding me?', your brow furrowed.

"You'd be lucky if they get dry during the night."

Another defeated sigh. But a sudden thought however made your cheeks burn faintly.

"D-Did you see me naked?"

"No."

Oh.

There was a silent pause before you spoke again. Curiosity tempting.

"Have you seen other women naked?"

He huffed playfully while pushing your hair away from your lovely and sweet face.

"Yes. I was a regular man before all of this."

His fingers curled up in his hand, morphing into a lazy fist

"Do you miss it?"

"Would be a liar to say if I don't."

"You... You've had sex before?"

He chuckled while with an open palm, took a taste of your skin, deliberately roaming your lower back. You shuddered.

"I did. Plenty of times."

Your audible gasp made his eyes droop hazily in a smirking grimace.

"I was told it felt marvelous."

You looked up at him and he pulled your chin upwards, he really had to keep his restrain under a leash to not take you here and there, instead, he cupped your face and hovered his lips over yours

"Do you want me to teach you, Sister?"

He was the demon. The very same one that visited in your dreams and left you a soaked mess. A little too late you'd noticed that he wasn't wearing his vow ring. It was placed somewhere else you truly couldn't care less at the moment.

You only nodded.

"Use your words, dear"

"Please", you gulped, "Teach me."

It was in that moment that he sealed your lips with his. Your first kiss ever. Chaste and sweet at the beginning that slowly turned into this obscene display of his mouth assaulting yours with his tongue in between gentle licks and bites of his lips.

A shaky whine then a whimper escaped your throat upon feeling his hands skimming down your spine. He only let you go when you tapped out for air.

"How often am I on your mind, pequeña?"

Finally the demon in your dreams had turned into a reality. Eyes were closed, unable to look at yourself melting under his touch. Nipples perked against his chest.

Plump and hot lips caressed yours but they stopped. Hands pulled you upwards, Miguel turned you around so your back was now colliding with his chest.

"You're still cold."

Cheeks grew impossibly red while he slowly peeled off the duvet out of your body, leaving you bare before him. You gulped as he moved your hair to a side and slowly kissed up and down your neck.

His hands were unable to resist any more and cupped your mounds, like in your dream. Calloused palms, rough against soft breast.

"Qué maravilla. Is this how your dream goes?

Legs smothered together, a little strip of hair etched to your pubic mount. He hummed in appreciation to then part your legs above his. Cunt pulsing at the coolness of air brushing past it.

Both of your legs dangled ontop of his as you remained nested above. Your heart beat at the playful moves his middle and index finger pulled on your nipple as his free hand darted over the joint of your inner thighs. You could feel him trembling underneath, the restrain made his breath hitch.

Your own turned erratic once more as he slid three fingers in between your folds. A shy Ah escaped your lips while he used two of them to part the outer labia

"Look at that, little one. Is that what you touch when thinking of me?"

Drunk eyes darted between your legs and his skillful hand, the engorged and pearly clit peeked out as one of his fingers flickered slowly. Focusing the right amount of pressure in it that had your moans shaky. He paused to adjust his fingers as they caressed and rubbed as much flesh as they could.

Mouth etched to your ear. Deep and needy breaths fanned behind you

"So so pretty. Look at that"

He made a show of his fingers coating themselves in your slick. One of his digits hovered over your entrance, slowly it disappeared inside. A muffled groan echoed in the void space

A wet and shlicking sound came from his ministrations, head unable to move, too enraptured into watching him sliding in and out. Skin bloomed with a new wave of goosebumps as his tongue licked your neck and earlobe, rewarding you for taking one finger deliciously, that he licked up clean before going back to rub at your clit.

"Want to add another?"

A breathless and hissing yes.

You didn't know who was with you right now since Father O'Hara couldn't. Your brain still refused to believe they were the same man. One preached and talked mass every Sunday, the other had your head spinning while his fingers explored your insides with such gentleness it only increased your whimpers and need for something more and bigger within you.

"Does that feel good, Hm?"

A dumb nod while more escaped your mouth repeatedly

"More?"

"Please!"

How could he deny to such petition? Even most when you were gripping him so deliciously and pulsating with every stroke he delivered in, grazing at your sweetest spot.

"Like this?"

He increased the tempo and your breath hitched, hips moving to meet his fingers aiding them to reach deeper and deeper.

Breaths turned into short and shallow pants, blood rushed to your cheeks. One of his digits pushed past between your lips meeting your moist muscle that wasted no time into kissing it. All you could hear was yourself and your weeping pussy that demanded for more.

But they weren't enough. Brain was sent into an override when the climax washed over you. All the pent up need and lust drowned you. Strong pulsations dictated the contractions that trapped and milked Miguel's fingers. Mind split in two in a shattering and core shaking spasm.

Mouth gaped, eyes heady and drunk with blind hot pleasure, body convulsed while an array of mumbles and clumsy curses flew out of your mouth to finally end with a delicious quivering cry.

"It's okay, shh, it's okay, pequeña." He cooed you through it while kissing your neck. Heart pounding in your ears.

It took you a moment to breath properly. How could you have missed this? How could you remain so ignorant to this? Alienated from something you were often told it was dirty and condemning.

He had only touched in the right places and you were melting. But why stopping there? You knew he also wanted you, his hard on pressing over your lower back, begging to set free.

"M-More"

He shook his head with a proud smile

"Can't do that, preciosa"

A capricious whine came through your throat, "Why not?"

"Cause, as much as I'd love to take you until you recite the bible backwards to me, you know what could happen."

"You don't want me, then? Why stopping now?"

"Far from that. And we must be discreet. Wouldn't want you to be whipped by Sister Lianne."

He took your hand and kissed your wrist. While his other limb pulled you closer to him.

"I am the only one that shall leave marks on you, my dear. Is that clear?"

"Yes, but-" He took your chin in a gentle but firm grip.

"Is that clear?"

You nodded with a pout.

"Lay on the bed."

"What? "

"Lay on the bed, so I can taste you."

Miguel could fulfil that fantasy. With Bambi-like steps you pushed yourself up and walked over his bed. Plush surface welcomed your body under a creak.

"Spread them."

Toes curled up for a second before spreading them open. Clit already tingling with a foreign yet needy sensation.

He kneeled before you, like he did every day he worshipped the Lord. But this time it wasn't God, but you. Nose nuzzled over your inner thighs while taking a whiff of your scent. Tantalizing and so alluring for his own senses.

Slow and deliberate kisses were placed above your flesh, the strip of hair that decored your pussy, to finally sink in between soaked folds.

The mewl you gave only made him feast upon you. Hands grope the sheets by instinct as he spreaded you further.

His tongue lapped and curled at your hole, slurping it without refrain and inhibitions. Devouring it like it would be his last meal.

Your dream had felt too vivid, yes, but this was completely different. This was in a whole new different level. His corruption had tainted your soul and it was gladly welcomed into your arms.

Legs twitched and shook while your head was thrown back, chest heaved with shallow breaths, unable to breath properly as his tongue was set into fucking your drooling hole.

The way his tongue fucked, dribbled and guzzled your cunt had you mewling and moaning the filthiest things you didn't think possible you could get out.

Good was an understatement, heavenly was a measly word to compare what you felt like. It was maddening and he gave you no rest.

Have you ascended? No. He just wrapped your supple thighs around his head, preventing you from squirming too much, holding your hips in place as his sloshing and assailant mouth gave you no rest.

You hadn't recovered completely from the other orgasm when a new one had approached. Lurking around your senses.

His name was moaned, over and over and when your hands were done of clinging onto the sheets, you held onto his hair. Silky and smooth chocolate locks slid under your fingers.

Eyes peeked over you, and he had to pause for a moment to squeeze his cock. Aching and weeping for him to let him free and make you his. But that would come later.

That would come much later when he had more leisure time and when he'd get protection. As much as he wanted to wreck your snug cunt, he didn't want you to be whipped and shamed like another nun was when the higher ups found out she was pregnant by an outsider.

"Miguel"

His name on your lips rich and tasty, like him.

Your voice snapped him out of his trance to immediately go for your clit. Plump lips pursed and captured the engorged nub. While his hands pushed your legs up and folded them, giving a complete access to your pulsating pussy.

He slurped and souped while his tongue teased. Wet laps sent jolts through your spine each time he tasted you.

Too much. Too good and too soon, yet he didn't stop. He shook his head like a mad dog subduing it's prey and that move alone had you gushing over his mouth. He quickly gobbled it all down.

You whined, cried and blabbled, even tried to pull his head away but he delivered you a last stroke with his tongue to then lick his lips clean.

"Please"

You mumbled through blown breaths as he watched you with a lust blown glare.

What had he done out of you?

"Greed is a sin, my dear."

What had he created?

"But if you're good enough, the wait will be worth it."

His little lamb was so willing for him, aching to be tainted, corrupted even more. And his task was to banish such whims.

He'd given you a taste of what laid ahead. A promise of a much unholy reward if you followed this path with him. But your resolve had been made the first time you came.

He'd be your first and last. There wasn't any need for another to teach you what he was compliant to demonstrate.

You'd be his to fuck. His to tame and corrupt.

You'd be his.

---

Taglist:

@plumplumpurin

[bekolxeram]

The sheer number of times Eddie is mentioned when Buck comes out to Maddie has been pointed out time and time again. Some take it as a sign that Buck is subconsciously in love with Eddie, some see it as foreshadowing for these two to be romantically involved in the future, while others simply think it's an Easter egg left in by writers as a nod to shippers.

The way I see it, there is a reason why Eddie keeps being brought up in this scene, but it's not what you think.

If you've rewatched this scene as much as I have, you'd remember that Buck actually isn't coming out to Maddie on purpose in this scene. He originally goes there to talk and ask for her advice, because he feels bad about the hot chicks incident when Eddie walked in on him and Tommy at the restaurant.

In fact, he fully intends to keep the identity of his date hidden. He can't even risk Chimney getting wind of it, in case he or Eddie puts two and two together and figures the whole thing out.

Maddie is always there to talk things out with her brother, but she would never turn down a chance to gossip.

He completely dodges Maddie's question and quickly changes the subject. He needs to tell Maddie the full story of his disastrous date, but he can only refer to Tommy as his date, or "this person". The more he does this, the higher the risk of slipping up, Maddie would likely ask more questions about this mysterious person as well, so Buck frames the whole narrative around the only person he can safely refer to: Eddie (and Marisol, but she isn't important in this story).

Maddie picks up on Buck's secrecy, now she really wants to know who this person is and why Buck refuses to reveal their identity. Buck again immediately shuts it down, and brings the topic back to Eddie.

While I'm sure Buck feels bad for lying to his best friend, especially when there's no reason to expect Eddie reacting with anything less than acceptance, when Buck starts actually talking about his behavior and what upsets him the most, it isn't really about Eddie. He's ashamed of himself for lying right in front of Tommy. In fact, he's so upset over Tommy cutting the date short and leaving him on the curb that he accidentally uses a gendered pronoun.

Maddie "I am 9-1-1" Han makes a career out of being a good and thorough listener, so of course she notices the pronoun. From this point on, the subject of the conversation shifts from Eddie to Buck's newly discovered sexuality, and later, Tommy.

Buck knows he goes to Maddie because he feels bad, but he still hasn't fully processed the fact that he's into men too and what it means to him. He's still calling himself an ally, a supporter of queer people, but he's confused as to why it doesn't seem to apply when it comes to himself. Maddie correctly points out that he's no longer just an ally, and the recency of his discovery might have been the cause of his strange and panicked behavior during the date.

This is the prime example of acting turning the same line into different meanings. The first "wow" seems to me like Maddie is finally connecting the dots. She practically raised her brother, it's not unlikely that she has previously witnessed Buck having boy problems. I feel like it's a "wow, everything makes so much sense now" wow. It looks like Buck takes a little offence at it and asks Maddie to clarify what she means by "wow". Maddie tells him it's more like a "wow, this is a nice surprise" wow.

Oh, boy is completely clueless. Maddie is just trying her best to keep up with Buck's increasingly oblivious statements.

Buck suddenly brings up Tommy, probably because he hasn't been able to stop thinking about him since the kiss. Apparently, he's so attracted to Tommy both physically and as a person, it makes him realize his interest in men, something no other has achieved thus far. Maddie recognizes the name her brother has been harping on for the past few weeks.

Poor Maddie must be so confused. First her brother and husband-to-be keep talking about how cool this pilot who saved everyone is, then he becomes Eddie's friend and Buck gets all jealous about it. Most recently, Maddie is horrified by Buck's action on the basketball court, because he only has a history of hurting himself to get someone's attention, not the target of his attention seeking. And now Buck has gone on a date with Tommy? So Maddie decides, one step at a time, let's not get ahead of ourselves. Buck initially tells Maddie about lying to his best friend and how he feels like a fraud, so she tackles (no pun intended) this part first.

If you come into this scene with preconceived notions, the word "feelings" being in proximity to the name Eddie may seem like to you that Maddie is pointing to "Buck's misplaced romantic feelings towards Eddie". But if you put these lines into context, Buck simply isn't sure of how he feels about his bisexuality in general. In fact, the only thing he's certain of in this entire conversation is his attraction to Tommy. Maddie also isn't bringing up Eddie out of the blue because she thinks her brother is secretly in love with his best friend. Again, Buck originally does want advice about lying to Eddie, albeit partly using his name to avoid revealing his date's identity, so Maddie gives it to him now, no need to read too much in between the lines, especially after the "wow" exchange.

Now that the Eddie stuff is out of the way, Maddie can comfortably gossip about Buck's new hot pilot crush. And Buck looks absolutely smitten at the mere mention of Tommy.

Eddie is undoubtedly a very important person in Buck's life, and it must be killing Buck inside for lying about something so important to his best friend. Though in this scene, Buck seems to be mostly using Eddie's name to circumvent the necessity of mentioning Tommy's name and to deflect any probing question about his identity. Once he accidently lets it slip that he was on a date with a guy, he pretty much drops the whole Eddie act entirely.

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

Cooper realizing he's falling in love with his companion would be so weird for both of them.

I imagine it would be a long, awkward, painful (at least for Coop) road dotted with increasingly significant gestures, increasingly intimate moments...but there would also have to be a sort of "healing" from the way things have been so far.

I mean, he's only stayed alive this long by being ruthless, selfish, doing whatever he needed to do to look out for number one. Falling in love with someone, caring about them, fucks that M.O. up pretty badly.

If he wants you to stick around, he has to show you he can treat you well. We know that he loves so passionately and deeply when he does, that he has the capacity for it. But, at the same time, it's so difficult for him to be vulnerable enough to show that kind of tenderness to someone again. He's confident in himself when it comes to most things, but this is fairly uncharted territory. He's not even sure he fully remembers how to romance a lady.

He never sleeps, so he always sits up keeping watch overnight. You wake up one morning to find that he's cleaned your guns, sharpened your knives while you slept. Soon, that becomes a regular occurrence. Another morning, after a particularly cool night in the desert, you find that his duster is draped over you. Low-pressure gestures like this, ones he can perform when you aren't watching, are the easiest for him at first. You always thank him for these things, but for a long while you fail to truly realize their significance. As far as you're concerned, he's just demonstrating that he finds you tolerable, which is better than he's acted towards you in the past. Maybe he's even apologizing for being shitty in his own way.

But slowly, the gestures start to happen in the light of day. He'll slow his pace to walk side-by-side with you, instead of leaving you struggling to keep up with his long strides. He lends you his hat when the scorching sun roasts your face, at least, until he finds another one for you. One day you come across an expanse you'll need to cross, but it's up to your shins in disgusting muck and water. He offers to carry you across. You look at him like he has six heads, completely unsure if he's mocking you or not. You don't accept the offer...this time around.

If you're doing drugs together, he offers you the last hit, the last line, whatever. Funnily enough, this is what makes you start to realize that he may be trying to communicate something else; he's selfish about a lot of things, but his drug stash is undoubtedly the biggest. You were floored enough when he'd offered to share at all. When he makes that offer the first time, you look at him for what feels like a long while before you accept.

You also lean in and give him a kiss on his rough, pitted cheek when you take whatever it is from him, terrified that you're misreading the situation and he'll shove you away. But he doesn't; he smiles at you, a more genuine and relaxed smile than you think you've ever seen on him before. But then he looks away, almost shyly, and things are quiet again.

That night, you lay your head on his lap when he sits down beside you. He doesn't say anything, but as you're drifting off to sleep, you feel him start to play softly with your hair.

[pimento-playing-hopscotch]

😈😈😈

Brian and Natacha on set.

[temiizpalace]

Ahhh ok I love your page so far and this is my first time making an ask so I hope it’s ok. I’ve been craving a little drama for a bit and I had this idea a bit ago and I just wanted to share it :)

Cater, Leona, Riddle taking their s/o home for a Holliday/school break. Reader is sweet & respectful but isn’t afraid to put someone in their place, even royalty. A lil bit of fluff at the end would also be nice. You have creative liberty, it’s your story after all :) don’t forget to eat and drink water, and feel free to ignore this if you want <3

☆┆KNOW YOUR PLACE!

SUMMARY: your partner takes you to his hometown for the break, but you run into someone who thinks they’re a head above the rest..

CHARACTERS: RIDDLE, CATER, LEONA

GENRE: fluff

ROMANTIC

WARNINGS: people are asses

NOTES: i love this idea!! it was a lot of fun to write and i appreciate the request 🫶🫶 hopefully this was up to your standards and you enjoy!

reader is g/n, implied to be yuu

🌹┆RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

“are you sure you’re okay with this..?”

riddle asks hesitantly, standing by the mirror as he fiddled with his fingers. since you had no place to go to over the break, riddle had invited you to his hometown. granted, he was quite nervous in asking you thanks to the relationship with his mother, but the excitement was immeasurable once you agreed to join him.

“of course i am.” you smile, taking his hand gently. “i understand how difficult it is for you to go back, so i want to be there with you.” riddle blushes at your words of kindness, unused to such affections (especially at NRC). he clears his throat and squeezes your hand. “i-if you insist.. we best be on our way then. mother expects us to be there by 8:30 on the dot.”

riddle leads you into the mirror, holding your hand the whole way through. as you stepped into the queendom of roses, you take in the breathtaking sights of the small village in front of you. “i live close by, have you gotten your gift prepared?” he asks, strolling past the various shops and bakeries.

you pause in your tracks, tensing up at the question. “we needed gifts..?” you ask, feeling part of your soul leave your body. riddle stares at you with a dumbfounded expression, utterly shocked at the fact you had come unprepared. he sighs, taking a deep breath. “thank goodness we’re by the shops. on any other occasion i would have your head..” he mumbles, causing you to awkwardly laugh and walk inside the store.

it was a small store selling small things, like purses. however, it’s not the expensive name brand purses that’d cost both your arms, it was cute and little cozy handmade bags that screamed home just by looking at them. you were in awe at the intricate stitches made onto the bag, not to mention impressed by such a simple design. “do you think your mother would like this?”

riddle turned to look at the bag, examining it thoroughly for any rips, tears, or stains. he smiles softly before nodding, holding it up to get another proper look. “i’m sure she’ll love it..”

as you both walk over to the line, chatting away at what you both were going to do on your visit, you had accidentally bumped into a woman covered in jewelry and what seemed to be designer clothing. you can see where this is going, right?

“ah, im sorry.” you quickly apologize. the woman gasps offendedly, looking over to where you had bumped into her. “excuse me? do you know what you just did? you had just RUINED my new designer jacket.” she exclaims, putting the fur jacket near your face. “do you know how much this had cost me? how do you expect to clean this up?”

riddle’s eyebrow twitched, staring at the supposed mark you had left. there wasn’t even a trace of such thing, she was just lying to make extra cash. “actually, i think you had bumped into them.” he answers, trying to be as calm as he physically can. “i wasn’t talking to you, little girl. buzz off.” she angrily glared at riddle before shifting her attention back to you.

as you glanced back at riddle, you could see him seething with anger. he grit his teeth and clenched his fists, not to mention his face was completely red. “ma’am, i in no way have damaged your jacket. you had bumped into me, and what you had said was uncalled for. please do not talk to us again, we are done here.”

you walk away, squeezing riddle’s hand as a way to calm down, but the woman wouldn’t give up. “how dare you defy me.. you little brats!” she grabbed onto your shoulder, trying to pull you back. instinctively, riddle drew his magic pen, but you signaled him not to use it. you push the woman off your shoulder and look at her with disgust laced in your eyes.

“don’t EVER lay your hands on me like that. do that again and i’ll be more than happy to call the authorities.” you had raised your voice, the entire shop looking at the scene. as the woman looks around, she mumbles something before leaving the store. you sigh, not expecting such ignorance from people so soon. “i’m sorry about that, riddle.”

“no, you didn’t do anything. i could’ve used my unique magic on a civilian if you hadn’t stopped me..” he murmurs the end part, but smiles at you nonetheless. “are you going to be alright?” he asks, caressing your cheek. “yeah, ill be fine. it wasn’t anything serious.” you smile back at him, feeling a ray of sun hit both of your figures in the middle of the shop.

“now cmon, let’s purchase this gift for your mother and get outta here.” you laugh, taking his hand and pulling him toward the register.

“..yeah.”

🦁┆LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

“why’d you have to tag along..”

leona grumbles, leading you up to his room for your stay. “because i know you’d skip out on the dinner if i didn’t.” you retort, knowing damn well he appreciates your company.

“pssh.. why does that bother ya?” he murmurs as he opens the door for you like a gentlemen, despite his contradicting remarks. “no reason, i just want you to show more respect for your family is all.” you mention, walking into the large room. it was definitely bigger than his dormitory, and arguably larger than all of ramshackle. but it was nice.

“..do what you want. settle in, im takin’ a nap.” leona strides over to his bed, yawning while stretching his arms. you frown at him as he turns his back to you, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back. leona lets out a surprised grunt before facing you with a scowl. “what the hell was that for-“ he starts before looking at your piercing gaze.

“you’re getting ready for dinner. now.” you demand, standing your ground. he stares at you, no longer having a snarky comment to each word you say. he clicks his tongue before grabbing a nearby outfit and changing in the bathroom. he gave up easier than expected, but at least that means less work for you. speaking of which, you decide to get ready yourself in preparation for the night.

sitting at the table, tensions were high. you expected it just to be leona’s family, but it appears to be a whole system of royals lined up inside the palace. even leona himself was shocked, but he also wasn’t one to keep up on his family events..

the dining hall was incredibly loud. sounds of laughter, bickering, and natural conversation can be heard from every corner. “told ya you shouldn’t have attended.” leona whispers, causing you to raise a brow. “it’s crowded, but i know you’re just trying to find an excuse to leave.”

he frowns before picking at the lettuce on his plate. “you should eat that.” you comment, seeing as the entire steak was gone but the salad was practically untouched (not including him picking at it). “hm? wanna eat it for me instead?” he smirks, about to push the salad onto your dish.

“no way!” you laugh keeping the plate away from him. the night continues, playful laughter exchanges between you both. suddenly, the banter comes to a stop when leona was bumped on the shoulder, and it wasn’t on accident. a snobby looking royal looks back and gives leona a disgusted look.

“my mistake, kingscholar. I didn’t realize second-sons were invited to such a grand event.” the royal chuckles, expecting a groundbreaking reaction from leona. all leona did was furrow his brow before speaking. “yeah well here i am in all my glory. now put a sock in it and get lost.”

the royal flinches, changing the subject to you. “and who might this be? a partner of yours? i had not realized you had one. i never thought you’d get one with such a nasty scar and attitude..”

leona scowls, clenching his fists before suddenly feeling your hand atop if it. “i believe you should show more manners. he may not be king, but he’s royalty just as you are. if you just came to bother him with disrespectful remarks, then i think it’s best you just leave us alone.” you state, leona’s cheeks turning a slightly darker shade.

“who are you to tell me this? you don’t look like royalty, not to mention you reek of no magic. you too attend night raven college don’t you?” he continues, causing your blood to boil. “were you too rejected from royal sword academy? how saddening it is to see.”

you want to punch him, and want to punch him bad. however, you contained yourself and decided to respond respectfully. “acting so snobbish is much more saddening. if royals like you are ruling kingdoms, then i fear its only a matter of time before it falls thanks to a poor king. how about you get your act together and show respect to your peers.” maybe it was a little less respectful than you thought.

“tch. this is not the last of me, kingscholar.” the royal gives up, walking away from the two of you. you smile, looking back at leona, who was a little flustered as you came to his rescue. “i didnt need you to defend me.” he murmurs before averting his eyes to the side. you open your mouth to speak, but get cut off as he suddenly ruffled your hair. “but you got guts.”

you knew this was his way of saying thank you. you laugh. unsure as to why, but something about his awkward ways with affection were definitely charming. “what’s so funny?” he asks, lifting his hand and raising a brow. “ahh, it’s nothing.”

♦️┆CATER DIAMOND

“i have so many things for magicam now!”

cater exclaims, laying out his new props and figures onto the table. after he insisted on you joining him to his hometown, cater took you on a date across town so you can see all the wonderful places the Shaftlands has to offer. you smiled as he already began to take pictures, not hesitating to join in. “they’re adorable, cater! i really like this figure right here.”

you picked up said figure and smiled admiringly at it. cater took in your expression, feeling entranced before snapping out of it. “welll, if you like it so much you can have it!” he exclaims, causing you to shake your head. “no, no! you bought it, it’s yours. i just thought it was nice is all.” you protested, but he wasn’t going down easily.

“well i’d do anything to make my partner happy, so if you like it, it’s yours. no take backs ☆!” he giggles, causing you to pause. “..thank you, cater.” you flash him a smile before watching him take out his phone for a quick photo. with little to no time to react, he had already snapped a photo of you with a huge grin on your face. “hm.. you’re so photogenic, yknow?”

you feel your cheeks get warm at his words, but you came to your senses once you realized you both were in public. “we should pack up the things and get ready to go.” you suggest, cater already being a step ahead of you by packing everything back into its packaging and bag.

a man walks oddly close to the table, but you had decided not to question it. suddenly, in a swift movement one of the expensive props were gone, the man dashing away. “HEY!” you shout, cater looking at you with a look of confusion. “[MC]? is someth— WOAH!” before he could finish, you sprinted towards the thief. the culprit looks back, seeing your angry and annoyed face before turning forward.

“shit..” he mutters trying to pick up the pace. cater follows behind you, feeling tired from running and carrying the bags. “S-SLOW DOWN!” he shouts, but you had one goal in mind. you charged at the mystery thief, a yelp escaping him as he hit the concrete floor. “Give it back.” you stated sternly, pinning his hands behind his back and keeping him in place.

cater catches up, running out of breath as he walked towards you. “hey, what was that about— WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” the culprit struggles, trying to get up off the ground. “LET GO OF ME, FREAK! I DIDN’T DO NOTHING!” you furrowed a brow at him before grabbing the loose stolen item off the ground. “don’t lie. you tried stealing from us. i’m reporting you to police so no poor soul has to deal with you.”

cater looks at you with a puzzled expression before realizing one of his props WERE missing. “i guess i’ll call police then..?” cater awkwardly adds, pulling out his phone to dial the number.

the police eventually show up, taking in the culprit to discover this has happened more than once. he sells these stolen goods for drugs. cater looks at you, a hint of admiration and a little fear could be seen in the glint of his eyes. “hm?” you hum, noticing his staring.

“remind me not to ever steal from you.” he states, replaying the scene back in his head. “you didn’t need to tackle him, it was just one figure!” you shrug before taking his hand in yours gently. “i guess i didn’t want him stealing from you. especially since it was one of the more expensive props.”

“..you’re such an angel.” he states with a look of awe, causing you to laugh. “definitely not, but thank you.” suddenly, an arm pulls you in. your arm comes into contact with caters as he leans in and snaps a quick selfie of you two. he adds the caption before hearing your phone get a notification.

it reads: “my heroic partner ❤️❤️❤️”

you feel your heart beginning to beat faster and your stomach starting to do backflips. just cater doing the bare minimum was enough for you to feel this way. “isn’t it perfect?” he asks, chuckling as you get pulled out of the trance. “..yeah.”

“i like you being my hero.” he smiles, planting a quick kiss on your cheek before tugging your hand. “now cmon, i know this totally adorbs café on the next block and i’ve been dying to take you!”

A/N: WRITERS BLOCK ABSOLUTELY KILLED ME WITH THIS ONE, NOT TO MENTION THE EXAMS UGGGGHHHH

date published: 5/12/24

© temiizpalace — don’t steal or copy my work!

[braaan]

In all the ways that matter (w/ Yunjin)

male reader & lesserafim yunjin

smut & angst & fluff (the one where you want more of what’s already yours), 6k words

Let’s be honest: you don’t deserve Huh Yunjin.

She’s an ambitious mishmash of love languages. But from the way she’s always including you in wishlists back to her parents in New York, how she’s always testing new big-stretch-and-yawn-at-the-movies level ways to get her hands on you, or how she’s going on her eighth permutation of pet names and emojis for you on her phone (it’s been POOKIE🧸🦷🤭💙 for the past 2 weeks — your longest running), anyone would guess that she was fluent across the board.

And that’s only while you’re pretending that looks don’t matter.

Because whenever it feels like you have to chalk up a point for Yunjin’s personality, one of her physical features always stops you at the blackboard. 

Yunjin looks like she was grandma-knit: finished patiently and smoothed tender. Where skin would normally crease, Yunjin softens. And between the way her eyes sweeten into crescent moons when she laughs, how her lips always find a way to ease back into their permanent pout, or how perfectly her chin nestles in between your fingers, there was nothing about her that didn’t compete to be your favorite.

But all of them have to settle for second best. 

Because your favorite thing about Yunjin is her eyebrows. 

They waltz between well-learned battle lines on her forehead, stretching emphatically behind boundaries they know other features did not dare cross, because compared to the rest of her face, they’re bold. They explode from sienna to whiskey and hook insultingly fast, threading down to points so sharp that it only feels right to dot them at the end like exclamation marks, putting a megaphone to the stories that her eyes tell. Only on Yunjin’s face does softness ring loudly. Eye contact morphs into reverie, amusement magnitudes up into hilarity, and tenderness becomes love.

You think it’s unfair.

It’s unfair that the reasons you could fall in love with her are endless. It’s unfair that she can simultaneously make the world the two of you share both so tiny, special, and unreplicable and then larger than life, ever-expansive, and infinite. And it’s unfair that she makes doing all of this at the same time look so effortless.

It’s a high bar to clear.

But you try anyway.

If not to at least get close to the standard she sets, for the sex.

-

The two of you are practically asking for it the time you get caught.

Standing at the far end of a HYBE practice room, it’s all so fitting: under the only lit floodlight, her on her knees, your cock at attention inches from her lips, tension teetering above climax — Huh Yunjin was going to give you a performance.

She’s kissing at the bottom of your shaft, lingering half a second longer each time as she slowly makes her way up your length. She mewls, ad libbing your grunts with soft, venom-laced yeah?s.

“You sound so pent up,” she starts, thumbing your cockhead counterclockwise.

You give her bits and pieces of an affirmative response: you let out a forced breath somewhere between a grunt and an exhale, grip your cock tighter, and pinch one of her nipples with your free hand. She translates.

“Mmm?” Yunjin purrs. She runs the flat of her tongue long across your entirety, flicking up as she reaches the tip.

You’re gripping at anything you can to stay alive. Trying to keep the facade up that you can compete. You splay your free hand and grab at her chest, playing dirty; grasping for a reaction. She plays your game and picks up the rhythm on your cock.

“You don’t want to just paint my face right now?”

Your breath is hot on your lips, tight in your chest. You’re parrying, blocking, countering. You look deep into the pools of honey bourbon in her eyes. You’re falling into the abyss.

Who fights fair with a poisoned blade? Yunjin? Not with the tears dotting the corners of her eyes; not with the drool running down her chin. Her cheeks are hollow as she swallows further and further down your cock. Her lips brush the base of your shaft. It feels good. She knows it feels good, the way she’s looking back up at you; the way you’re groaning.

She raises her eyebrows.

You cum.

And despite all of the preposition, conviction building, and white-knuckle–steeling, you think, you don’t really ever lose. Because the moment you ride out your orgasm, it’s great.

You can’t compete. You kick off the cliffhanger and throw yourself into freefall. You see white flashes where there used to be color, and the tightness under your stomach evaporates into a vacuum: hot, and all at once. You can fully exhale and for what has to be a full minute, you die.

And as usual, after she makes peace with killing you, Yunjin brings you back to life. 

She kisses the top of your cockhead before sitting back on her heels. Under the spotlight, sweat literally shimmering, she’s glowing, and she’s ethereal. Her tongue darts at the sides of her mouth before retreating, replaced by her bottom lip, equal parts pink and proud; satisfied and smug. She grabs at a small towel sitting next to her before beginning to clean up, dabbing at where you’d made a fucking mess out of her face.

But not before the door to the practice room opens. Your stomach shatters, and everywhere you just felt warm goes cold. A woman takes the empty space in the doorway, starts in your direction, and continues way too fast.

Your brain is instantly numb, and you scramble for something further than a stone’s toss away from the plot of a cheap porno. She slipped on her towel and grabbed my zipper on the way down! What do you mean Yunjin’s in this room with us? My COCK? God no, this is a thermometer that just looks a lot like- You don’t get far.

And before you try at reasoning that would effectively end you on the spot, the woman gets close enough. She yelps, producing a folder from behind her to try and shield you from any further consequences.

“Can you put-” she shakes her hands — folder and all — in your general direction, “everything away?”

Jolted awake, you scramble at your pants at your ankles, pulling anything your fingers brushed against in the direction you thought was closed. In hindsight, the zippers for your pants pockets probably didn’t matter much, but you zip those too, hoping the thought counted. Yunjin reappears next to you, the straps of her newly stretched tank top sitting awkwardly on top of her shoulders, now resembling probably anything else closer than they would elastic.

The woman gingerly peeks an eye over at the two of you and lets out a deep, full exhale. “Good, phew!”

“You would think we’d have that practiced by now,” she tuts, using what was once her plastic barrier to fan herself. She shoots a dirtier glare at Yunjin before turning towards you, and her expression visibly softens. “Oh! Same guy!”

And instantly, anything that would give off that she was disappointed just a moment ago dissipates, and is replaced by genuine admiration.

“I respect that you guys are trying to make the dating thing work!”

There were some things that practice wouldn’t get you used to.

See, when you and Yunjin first started dating, you expected a little bit of onboarding. A little bit of catching up to speed: When were her parents’ birthdays? Was she allergic to anything? What were her favorite movies? For extra credit, you’re even brushing up on the idol industry: How long was a comeback promotion period? What was an aegyo? — the usual.

But you’re still taking notes to this day.

(It’s a Saturday a couple of months ago, and you and Yunjin are snaking through the aisles of a thrift store.

“And Chaewon’s seeing them?"

Okay: Yunjin’s snaking through the aisles of a thrift store. You’re trailing behind her, making sure you connected all the right dots together.

“Nope,” she says, eyes scanning a tattered band tee. Then, equally nonchalantly: “Idols get horny, too. Dating just makes things messier than they need to be.”

There’s an expectant pause, then Yunjin turns to look at you.

“Not that that’s a rule or anything,” she adds, placing a hand on yours as if to close the lid on any implication that tried to escape. “It’s just not most people’s style.”)

‘Given’ was probably the word for it, you think. The idol industry collected teenagers at their most formative periods, and where others their age condensed pre-calculus and high school breakups, they learned choreography and how to introduce themselves across the language spectrum. When other kids’ hormones flared up and made them deal with acne, they were digitally edited, scrubbed clean, and hidden behind locked doors. An industry formed on cherry-picking highlights had to have a gnarly underbelly — what would be taboo had to be a given — and it probably only helped that everyone had to look like sex.

So you try to catch up and blend in. Try to not get hung up on how casually sex, drugs, and secrets are laced in sentences. Try to take what Yunjin says at face value.

Still, as her manager leads you through the lobby towards the revolving doors, and you’re bowing profusely as you try to apologize for what she brushes off as not the first time and very normal, there’s a certain edge about it all. Like no matter how airtight Yunjin’s grip tried to be, that you were fortifying a house of cards with pillars of paper mâché.

And it sure as hell didn’t help that halfway through the lobby, you trade greetings with her fake boyfriend.

There were some things that practice wouldn’t get you used to.

-

So get this: your girlfriend was going to be one half of a manufactured dating scandal.

She stood too close to another idol at a variety show, and online forum sentiment was eating it up (or something like that). There it was: a full page, in bold. All over social media. Yunjin, and the boy with the jawline and swoon-inducing eyes (not that you were jealous), everywhere at once, and on the tips of everyone’s tongue. The buzz brought eyeballs to her group debut, and what better way to snowball that momentum than to confirm it?

Yunjin just didn’t know that you knew yet.

And for your sake, it was probably for the better that she thinks her secret was safe. Firstly, because you don’t know how to feel about how you get the information. You were both at the pinnacle of industry — dating an idol — and at the mercy of it — cobbling together information from vague fan accounts, building a list of social accounts that got leaks right; irony never played fair.

And secondly, because you didn’t know how to bring it up.

Truth be told, you don’t know how to feel about it. You don’t know how you’re supposed to feel about it. You’re equal parts ruptured and reductive. Half of you thinks it borders on trust, and the other half scolds you for thinking that way: that you signed up for this, and don’t know how to compromise. Half of you imagines what they talk about when you’re not around: how far he’ll go to convince the public of a relationship, and the other half thinks you have no self-esteem for stooping that low.

All of you yearns for Yunjin. Because where there were all the things that you had to get used to, there were also the FaceTimes. The phone calls of complete silence when she just wanted someone to listen but was too exhausted to recount what practice was just like. The joy on her face when she told you that was going to debut.

Imposing would be selfish. She deserved everything she worked for, and you don’t even come close to par. Under it all, through the glitz, you see the Huh Yunjin that you fall in love with over again every single day, and she had too tight of a grip on your heart for you to break hers.

So you don’t bring it up, and wait for her to.

-

It’s quite literally pathetic the way notifications on your phone evoke a physical response out of you. Like it fires a neuron, you’re diving hands outstretched every time you hear it chime.

Sure, it hasn’t paid off yet — you’ve dropped literally everything to be greeted by promotional emails, pushes about the weather, and pings on the latest discounts — but you’ll hold your breath.

Though as you pick yourself up off the floor from familiar disappointment at another non-Yunjin notification, you can’t say that you’re less confused. And you’ve caught yourself multiple times today way too deep in somber tangents for some of it not to start sticking.

The loudest of them all stemmed from the fact that it felt like the answer was implied. That if there was nothing to it, it’d be easy to talk about. That if it was anything like the dating mantra, since it didn’t apply to the two of you, Yunjin would address it at face value.

And tautologically, because she didn’t, it wasn’t.

-

It’s the end of the week when Yunjin finally texts you.

have dinner plans tonight mister? :)

You draft two texts. The first makes you sound sixteen: obnoxiously sad about the state of affairs of literally everything. The second makes you sound sociopathic: blunt, deflecting, and not enough emojis. You send a third.

Nope! What do you have in mind?

Before long, you’re sitting on a blanket overlooking the Hangang. The sun’s setting, playing a global game of cat and mouse: light spills through the gaps in willow trees, gazebos, and construction, highlighting pockets of parkground with its blessing of orange-red. You’re where the surface area’s the largest, like the paper bowls of ramen didn’t anchor the blanket down enough, and the sun’s rays are what did the trick.

Or, technically speaking: bowl of ramen.

Because while Yunjin was three-quarters of the way finished with hers, sneaking bites in as she took breaths in between practically spoiling her next comeback, yours was virtually untouched. You made do with spinning the floating egg in your bowl dizzy.

“You know,” Yunjin starts, “you didn’t have to come out if you weren’t hungry.”

You look up at her. Her head’s cocked at an angle, piqued such that it catches sunlight. In the glow, she’s beautiful.

“I’m a big girl now,” she emphasizes. “You can tell me no. I might cry myself to sleep after, but — you know — in a big girl way.”

Her eyes curl up into tiny moons like they always do, and you give her a weak response.

It’s tightrope thin. Yunjin’s prodding, expecting you to riposte, poking at things she knows will get a reaction out of you; you don’t bite. You’re both expecting an answer. Your heart is jackhammering at your chest, and between the punctuation, in the offbeats, you want to yell. You want to find out if your house of cards is built on sand.

-

The both of you are walking back towards HYBE, along the scenic route that you always take, and only someone purposely oblivious would guess that everything was fine.

“Do you,” Yunjin perks up, trailing off, “not like the comeback?”

You don’t say anything.

“Maybe,” she pokes again, “you’re grumpy because I haven’t been texting you?”

You feel her eyes peek at you then retreat. In your peripheral vision you see her purse her lips, nod, and then smirk. You hear a tiny breath.

“Are you,” and she lets out an exaggerated gasp, “seeing someone else?”

“I know about your scandal, Yunjin,” you blurt out, and it's too fast for either of your own goods.

There’s a beat. You both stop walking. You turn her way.

“Your dating scandal — your fake boyfriend — whatever.”

Yunjin isn't great at hiding her emotions — her eyebrows give it away. You see her face gradient across shock, then consideration, before landing on shame. Her eyebrows knit, and she can’t meet your eyes.

There’s another beat. You can hear your heart thump in your ears, and despite the autumn at night, you’re hot. You’re searching her face for a tell, some semblance of an answer; anything.

You’re imposing.

And for the first time in the past week, you’re thinking of her. Of her today and her in the past. Of all the work she put in to get to where she wanted to be. Of what she had to give up to have tonight with you. Of all the nights before this, and the many she had to cancel abruptly because work came up. Of her being here now, and you selfishly making this about yourself.

You’re imposing, and it feels like shit.

“I’m-,” Yunjin starts, voice shaky.

You look at her, and there’s tears pooling in her eyes.

“I didn’t know how to bring it up,” she continues slowly, and then the surface tension breaks. She shuts her eyes tight, and then she’s crying. “It’s in the contract we signed. It helps our comeback.”

You hear the Huh Yunjin that you first fall in love with. Before the glitz, before she had to pretend like she was an adult-

“I don’t know what to say.”

- before she had to hide anything from you.

(The two of you are in front of the HYBE building, and she’s giving you shit for how messily you eat. It’s a late spring, and Yunjin’s hair is shoulder-length and cherry oak. You’re missing a lecture on the pigeonhole principle, and she’s dodging her manager — sea salt ice cream was seasonal, after all.

“How did you get it on your nose?” She chides you, dabbing around your mouth with a scrunched napkin. “They should have you give your I.D. to see if you can handle a cone instead of a cup. Nine-year olds can do this better than you.”

“What if you don’t debut, Yunjin?”

You were always good at telling it like it was, even if you had to disregard social tact. But you had a point. Yunjin was going on her third trainee year, and internally, it didn’t look like it was going to be her last. 

There’s a couple of beats before she softens.

“I don’t know.”

It’s a side of her that really only you do. Under the spunk and the character she has to amplify, there is fear: that she’s taking too large a gamble, that she’d be perpetually behind if she didn’t make it, that it’d be safer if she just did what everyone else was doing.

She can’t meet your eyes, and she’s fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

“I just think things tend to happen for a reason,” she says, with more resolve than you expect. “And I don’t think it’s worth it to question it deeper than that.”

“How much of that is because you’re scared of the answer?”

There’s a pause, and the implication is clear.

“Do you always hate to have just a cute, fictional moment?” You look down at her, and she’s expecting it, staring back at you, eyebrows knit, lips in an exaggerated pout. “We can’t just — I don’t know — kiss and end things on the high note?”

You break, and let out the unflattering start to a laugh. She’s deflecting, and you know to let it go. In your heart of hearts, the two of you know that you’re both right. That there’s fear in uncertainty — a lot of it — but also hope. That big payoffs don’t come if you don’t gamble it all.

You lean down and kiss her on the nose.

She’s staring at you as she walks all the way back through the revolving doors, a smirk across her lips, and the unmistakably blue speck of sea salt ice cream on her nose. She’s yelling, letting you know to let the rest of your face have some ice cream, too.)

And you’re staring at her, wishing this time was half as picturesque. She doesn’t have the words; she doesn’t have to. Asking the hard question was your thing. She’s pleading, frantically, and her watery eyes are beckoning. You want to tell her that it’ll all play out, that things happen for a reason; you don’t have to — that was her thing.

Under the soft, streetlamp glow, you see the Yunjin the public doesn’t — the uncertainty, the gamble, the fear. You hear the desperation in the dark days; the resolve, unconvincing yet unabashed, that what was far out was not so; the throughline: that if she pretended to be convinced, maybe you would, too. 

You see the Yunjin you love, and you’re so fucking whipped.

You thumb the tear trailing down her cheek. You’re defeated, and it bleeds into your voice, but never going to pass on hitting where it hurts. “What happened to changing the idol industry?”

She chokes back a laugh through tears. “Okay,” she starts, and through the sarcasm she tries for — and how muddy it was between sniffles — she’s glad to hear your voice. “It’s the goddamn industry. What am I supposed to do in the debut video: admit defeat? Who’d watch that?”

“Sorry, it’s just — all of it — so dumb,” she adds for good measure, swiping at her eyes.

Hanging in the night, in the words unsaid, in between the watery sarcasm and the tension quickly evaporating, it’s clear. The two of you resolve a silent conversation. You’re punctuating her apologies with eye rolls, and she wants to hear you say you love her, but she knows that already. You say you don’t deserve her, and she calls you stupid.

Tears hot down your cheeks, you’re both laughing now, bouncing off of each other. And then, into the what’s next of it all: “I can try to get out of it,” Yunjin says.

It’s cathartic and real, and should disarm you.

But you say no.

Down to your cores, you and Yunjin were infinitely kindred. Intertwined forever, etched in the books of fate with permanent marker. You were after each other's hearts, molded from the same cosmic clay. You had each other in all the ways that mattered, and that would never change.

-

The last stop on your train home is when you get the notification.

are you headed home?

And in the moment, you catastrophize. It was in the middle of the weekend of her comeback. What was she thinking? Did something happen? How far were you away from HYBE?

But even if you played the same situation back a hundred times over, there was no way in hell you’d get to the conclusion that Huh Yunjin was in your foyer, behind your door, and wearing what didn’t leave much to imagination.

“Yunjin-” you try and start, before you’re kissed quiet. 

Her hands are on top of yours, leading, as you smooth down the creases of her vanilla crop top and run your thumbs down her body. Your fingers are fluid, filling the divots, tracing along the lines, running the valleys of muscle in the flat of her stomach. Between bouts, as her lips linger inches away from yours, for a moment uncaptured, you breathe in air nonvenomous, and try to grapple with it all, scrambling for something to hold on to before your brain short circuits.

You’re sinking, and you don’t know how to wrestle rights from rudimentaries. Yunjin’s eyes, glazed over, zero in on yours, and she kisses you again. Her lips are sweet and have a bite to them, yours smack as you swallow the venom thick on your tongue. She pulls away, you come up for air.

Standing in the soft, orange-yellow glow of light from the room adjacent, you see the Yunjin the public does — the siren, sultry and seductive: her eyes, soft, malleable, and unassuming — how she could convince you that your name was something else entirely if she looked at you head on — her lips, venom-laced and tantalizing — how she’d push the agenda. 

Except this time, you’re finally lucid, and you see the parallel. In the muscles — impressive in the light, but meek at the same time, like it split moments in the spotlight with softness — in the eyes — perpetually provocative, but infinitely innocent — in the perfect unattainable. Everything is polished, nudged purposefully in its direction. It’s all artificial, doctored, and done up.

Huh Yunjin is a product of industry, and you were going to fuck it out of her.

Yunjin’s smirk dismantles as you rip your hands from her grip. It completely falls apart as you pull her into you face first, thumbs across her cheeks. And as she tries to pull back, you’re keeping her where you want her, kissing into the poison. Her hands grab at your chest; at your dress shirt, half foregoing permission, pulling buttons apart, and half to steady herself as you move your dance deeper into your living room.

You’re leading this time, and as your knees bump brown velvet, you’re able to rasp: “Yunjin, on the couch.”

“How do you want me?” she whispers, breath hot on your lips.

“Legs apart.” You push her into the middle seat, and her hands are working at her shorts. There’s an audible zip, and they’re on your hardwood.

And as you’re kneeling down into the negative space in between Yunjin’s thighs, in the seconds, sultry and slow-burn, you catch a glimpse of her face. Spread across the finger in her mouth, eyes half-lidded, and eyebrows upturned, you think you see anticipation. Like you were going to rip Yunjin apart, and — straying away from what she was taught, coloring outside the lines — she might let you.

You test the theory: you take her into your mouth.

And you don’t think you’ve heard an exhale more pained. 

You’re generous — lapping at her heat through lace, grazing against her clit — and with variety — kissing her inner thighs, nipping at skin. Yunjin’s sensitive and unintelligible.

“Fuck,” she manages to get out, her hips bucking, searching for more of you. One of her hands tries to meet you where you are, to pull her panties to the side, to feel you on her. But you redirect her to where you want her to be: your free hand on her wrist, you lead her up her chest. And though reluctantly, she translates. Together, you’re undoing buttons, palming the fullness of her breast, and flicking at the hard bud of her nipple.

Eventually, you give Yunjin what she wants.

You’re cradling her thighs around your forearms, and at the angle you have her, suspended, supported by the small of her back, you swear she yelps. You draw her underwear to the side, and then Yunjin’s squealing. She’s whining, she’s so wet, she’s raking her nails at your scalp. Your mouth’s on her cunt, drawing long across her folds, tonguing the alphabet over her clit.

There’s this moment. She’s arching, thighs hooked tight at your arms, on her tiptoes. You poke your tongue into her heat, there’s a high note, and then Yunjin’s cumming in your mouth.

And as you coax her through it, tongue flat, letting her ride your mouth, you’re sharing a gaze. Morbid curiosity can’t stop her from peeking at the mess she’s making, and you want to see what it looks like to kill a goddess.

“Fuck,” Yunjin repeats, like it’s the only word she knows, as you lick your lips. Her head’s tucked into her chest, and the orange bask she’s painted in is competing with the blush sauntering across her cheeks.

“You’re so-” she starts, dodging your eyes, kicking out gingerly at you.

“Mm?” you beckon, easing yourself in between her legs, undoing the button at your pants, freeing your cock tenting at the fabric. “I’m so?” you press again, tugging her panties off, soaked beyond belief.

And how you have her under you, top unbuttoned, hanging off her shoulders, how she can’t meet your eyes, it’s apt. Like she’s disarmed. Like under the layers of polish and practice, purposefully put away; under the glitz, the expensive everything: multisyllabic and most likely mispronounced; under the spunk, in her personal space, when she wasn’t allowed to deflect, Huh Yunjin was naked, and like putty in your hands.

All it took was your mouth on her cunt.

And she sure as shit didn’t need to say anything to you to admit it. It’s hard to miss, the way she’s folding her legs behind your waist, the red across her cheeks deepening.

“Think about your answer,” you quip for good measure, and with your cock hovering inches away from her pussy: “I’m going to fuck you now.”

And truthfully, the confidence is more for you than it is for Yunjin. It’s far from your first time, but every time you slide your cock in Yunjin’s cunt, it’s like everything around you takes a collective deep breath. Time becomes measured in fractions of a second, and you’re clairvoyant and hypersensitive. The head of your cock pushes into her pussy, and it’s hot.

You inhale a breath, picking up the sex in the air.

You swear your vision inverts. There’s white where there used to be color.

You catch the entirety of Yunjin’s mewling, as she goes from fuck, please, and your cock into falsetto. She’s mixing your name with untranslatables.

You feel her fucking cunt.

Teeth gritted, you’re pairing hard and soft. You bury your length in her, the front of your thighs slapping the back of hers, and kiss her lips tender. You only taste Yunjin, and you kiss her like she’s lifeblood. It’s sweet: her lipstick, her taste still on your lips, the breaths you’re sharing. And as Yunjin breaks for air, you’re whispering in the negative space, breath hot.

“Yeah?”

And she’s nodding her head, uncontrollably. Agreeing to anything you put forward, before you even asked. Anything that kept your cock in her.

“You’re-” you try again.

Your hands wrap around her midriff, her hands wrap around your wrists.

“You’re such a-”

God, her fucking cunt.

Except you need to hear it. You want to hear her say it, airtight, with no room for implication to escape.

“Yunjin,” you finally manage, and then in whole: “You’re such a good girl for my cock, aren’t you?”

She’s nodding her head, mumbling. But that wasn’t good enough for you. You’re hilting, deep in her cunt, and steadying yourself, curling a hand around her neck. “Yunjin” — a little louder — “answer me.”

Her hands around your wrists tighten, and she lets out this moan. Like she’s trying to give you the answer you want, and frustrated that she can only whine. Finally, through the untranslatables: yes, yes, all for your cock-

But that wasn’t it. Your fingers are pressing into her throat, and you’re pounding into her, wet all over you; imprinting her into the sofa. “Yunjin,” and it’s dark. “This is all you want, isn’t it?”

And she’s doing everything she can to convince you. She’s pushing herself into your length, grabbing at your hands, and through eyes half-lidded, staring deep at you. To show you she can compete, to show you just how good she was — just for you. And through your grip: “Yes, fuck. God, yes — this is all I-”

But it’s not what you want to hear. You’re riding the line. You’re biting your tongue bloody. Yunjin’s cunt is suffocatingly tight against your cock. Your grip’s white-knuckle on her skin. You shut your eyes tight. You know what you wanted to hear.

“Your other boyfriend can’t give it to you like this, can he?”

And you spend all the luck that was supposed to last you this lifetime, because in a moment of lucidity, you pull out. But immediately after that, you’re left to your own devices, and of course, you cum.

It’s hot, and you feel like a rubber band twanged across the middle. Like everything tight is wrenched out of you, and then let go, left to ricochet on your spine, springing back and forth. Your ears are ringing, your toes are curling; you’re letting out an orgasm so deep, you’re only saved by the fact that your eyes are closed for half of it.

And as you stir, blinking vision back into your eyes, your brain coming back to center, you’re thinking back, and you realize what the fuck you just said.

Yunjin’s meeting you where your eyes are at. Your brain’s numb, her jaw’s frozen in this half-scoff, lips untouching. She raises her eyebrows, giving you somewhere between what the fuck and intrigued. It’s expectant. You opened this up, she’s saying, now what?

You’re standing in the sand, and your house of cards is crumbling. You’re toeing where you expect the line to be, can’t find it, and don’t need to look to know it’s long behind you. Your chest is tight, and the implication is still in the air. You’re scrambling for something: something to walk it back, something in between the lines, anything to drive a stake through the premise and kill it entirely.

Yunjin is less patient. She ventures into the unknown, since you won’t. “Has this been about that the entire time?”

“Yunjin,” and you’re honest, preemptively reaching your hands out to her. “I don’t know why I said that.”

You’re looking straight into her eyes, completely wide. Her eyebrows pinch, and there’s a couple of beats. You know you should take them, to fill in the blanks; not to let the implication linger. But before you do: “I thought about my answer,” Yunjin starts, lowering her fingers to where you left yourself on her stomach.

And only after she runs her forefinger across her tongue, only after she cleans it of cum: “You’re so good, and no one can give it to me like you do.”

Spread across the bite in her lip, eyes half-lidded, and how she’s staring at you through her lashes, the implication’s crystal. And you would probably literally short circuit, if not for the second wind that was Yunjin licking you off of her fingers as she doubled down.

It all crescendos. She’s flipped over, and you’re pounding her into the couch, half to punctuate any sentences that implied she wasn’t completely yours, and the other half because her cunt was still so goddamn tight. The upholstery’s harmonizing, the hardwood exhaling on her offbeat.

You’re gripping Yunjin’s hips, bottoming out in her cunt at an angle, pulling her back into you. And she’s writhing, whining, taking your cock deeper and deeper.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she’s saying, and it irks you a little more than it should.

“Yunjin,” you spit, and you’re pressing your thumbs into her skin. “Shut up and take this dick like a good girl.”

And when you’re both pressing the buttons-

“Who else can fuck you like this, Yunjin?”

no one no sorry so sorry all yours this pussy yours you fuck me so- so hot when you’re jealous

“Yeah? You want me to? You’re such a good girl for me, baby,”

yes so good only for you so messy all over your cock fuck cum in me cum in me please i’ve been such a good girl please

- the gray area might as well be a chasm.

Because after you cum inside her, Yunjin drooling over your sofa, breath shuddering, leaking all over your cock, you have a mountain to climb. Physically — how you’re crumpled over her, exhausted, entangled — emotionally — how you’ll both put a cap on this in its entirety — and all of the rest of the above.

You’ll wait for her to bring it up.

-

Yunjin’s wrapped in your dress shirt, two sizes too big, and her head’s on your chest. Nothing short of Herculean, you’re in bed, and under polyester.

“He has a girlfriend, you know,” she says.

“Huh?” you manage intelligibly.

“My scandal.” Yunjin motions under the sheets, like the word needed air quotes. “Cute little thing. Works at an animal hospital. Always the loudest voice in the fanchants.”

You’re stunned, and don’t know what the right line of conversation is. “How are they taking it?”

“Probably makes their sex hotter, too.”

Dating made everything so much messier than it needed to be.

-

Two weeks after their comeback, the scandal breaks.

The official post is tame, but knowing netizens — a look at the comments confirming your suspicions — they’re feral. It’s a collage of three photos that look like they were taken from fifty feet away, but unmistakably of Yunjin an arm’s length away from another figure. They’re on a blanket overlooking the Hangang; she’s cuddled up in one of your hoodies, two sizes too big; and in the third photo, enlarged in post for emphasis, Yunjin’s nestled in his arm, selling the relationship pretty goddamn well.

You open an alt account and leave a hate comment.

LET’S BE HONEST HE DON’T DESERVE HER 💀💀💀😭😭😭

---

:)

[pers1st]

i can't handle change - leah williamson x reader

part two of let down

pairing: leah williamson x barça!reader

warnings: bit angsty

You had expected your first day, merely a day after arriving in the city, to be full of football. Barcelona did media duties occasionally, for sure. But you had expected to throw yourself into training immediately here, mostly in an attempt to conceal your emotions and at least act as though you wanted to give everything for this club. In truth, you wanted to give everything for yourself. You wanted to keep yourself a candidate for the national team, you wanted to keep yourself a candidate for Barcelona once they were ready to sign you back, you wanted to play, partially, out of spite as well. Anger was one of the emotions in your mess of a mind, and although you knew that it was no use, you wanted to show Jona the mistake he had made.

What you hadn't expected was the absolutely overwhelming amount of cameras, catching every inch of you they could. London Colney, otherwise known as the Arsenal training centre, was nice, but it was different from what you were used. The corridors were small and you feared they'd squish you if you stared at the white walls for a second too long. The friendly woman from the entrance, who's name you had missed due to her heavily accented English, had led you all the way to Jonas' office on the first floor, and the man was gauging at you with a grin you couldn't quite place. You shifted uncomfortably.

"So, let's put pen to paper!", he clapped his hands as he gently motioned to the seat next to him after having shaken your sweaty hand.

"Yes", you croaked as you sat down, taking the pen with the Arsenal logo into your shaky grip. The smile on your lips was fake as ever as you scribbled your name onto the dotted line. You fooled them again when holding up your shirt for the cameras. And again as you sat in front of the social media's team, answering all of their questions.

Your move surprised everyone in the Women's Football Community, can you tell us what exactly made you choose Arsenal?

Of course. I think Arsenal are very good with the fans, and they play really good football. I'm really excited to maybe play at the Emirates, and yeah I think anyone can see they are a real family so that's why I'm happy to be a part of it.

They payed the most. That was the answer you would've given, had anyone actually wanted to hear the truth from you. But people didn't want the truth. People wanted you to love Arsenal. And although it pained you, you had to admit that so far, it wasn't that bad.

Leah gave you a tour of her home that was now yours too, and the training grounds were nice. The gym was nice. The changing room was nice. The cafeteria was nice. You couldn't hate the club as much as you had when you hadn't seen it yet - hadn't been a part of it.

"So, do you like it here?"

You thought for a second that you would choke on your food when Wally asked you this, completely blindsiding you as you sat with her, Leah, Laia and Teyah in the dining hall, letting most of their conversation slip past you. Their English was difficult for you, not because you hadn't learned (or, attempted to learn) them language, but because you'd never heard it as much as you did here. The words were starting to become a constant, distant noise somewhere in the back of your mind, but as Wally looked at you expectantly and the others turned towards you, you knew that this wasn't something you could escape.

"Yeah, sure", you smiled. "It's nice here."

"Your contract is two years, right?"

You nodded. "Sí."

Two years. Two long years of being away from Alexia, except for Spanish camps. Two long years of being away from your parents, your actual teammates, your actual home. The thought didn't scare you as much as it used to.

"So, two years and then you'll go back?", Leah nudged you playfully, sipping her water as she smirked.

You shrugged. "We should see."

Over the next few days, you got to know the team, and London, even better. Leah spent every minute she could with you, always partnering with you during training and offering to show you her favorite cafés and places in the city when you weren't kicking balls around, inviting you over to her flat for a movie night or taking you to the little Spanish market she'd found halfway across the city. You appreciated her company, knowing that she was trying to make this transition as comfortable for you as possible. She didn't succeed completely, as you still felt homesick whenever she spared you a minute to call Alexia, or when you checked Barça's social media to see all of your teammates together, seemingly not even missing you.

Logically, you knew that they did. Barça was a family, and Alexia told you everyday that the girls were asking about you. Many of them texted you as well, informing you that they would try and find a livestream of your cup game against Reading, in which you would likely make your debut for your new club. Still, seeing them without you felt like someone was shooting daggers through your chest, piercing the skin and leaving you to bleed. You wanted to be there. You should be there. They had taken that opportunity away from you, ripping it out of your hands and tearing it apart like a piece of paper.

Anger and longing rose within you interchangeably, and if you didn't know any better, you would've believed you were simply going through a breakup like any other. But you forced yourself to push through the first week as hard as you could, keeping conversations with Alexia short in order to not be pulled back into memories and instead attempt to enjoy the present.

You were glad when Laia told you about her birthday party just a few days before your first match. The team had planned to go to Laia's favorite Spanish restaurant, and as you were a part of the team now as well, Kim had extended the reservation for another person. That was how you had found yourself, dressed in a tight black dress with a pullover on top, in Leah's car, allowing yourself to accept her offer to share a ride, trying to ignore the ringing phone in your hands.

Your ringtone cut off the soft country music playing in the background, which you had told Leah many times you would not enjoy. When the ringing finally stopped, you breathed a sigh of relief. Just for it to start again mere seconds later.

"Maybe you should answer that", Leah huffed, her eyes focused on the road but a soft smile on her lips. You shrugged.

"It's Alexia."

"You're ignoring the Alexia Putellas?" Leah's expression turned into a shocked one at once, but you could only chuckle.

"You're feeding her ego. She's just- my best friend, you know?", you attempted to explain how Ale's success had never driven a wedge between the two of you, not only because many believed you were equally good at football, but because Alexia was likely the most down-to-earth person you knew. Of course, the woman knew how good she was. Everyone did. But she'd never let it change her.

"Isn't that just more of a reason to not ignore her?"

You shrugged again.

"I dunno. Don't want to talk to her."

Leah's eyebrows furrowed as you finally reached your destination and she put the car into park. Your phone began ringing again. This time, you declined her call, texting her quickly that you couldn't talk right now.

"Why?"

You shrugged again. It seemed like all you knew to do, but as you looked at the way Leah's expression didn't relent in the slightest, you knew that it wouldn't work anymore. Maybe it was good to talk to Leah. Maybe she would understand.

"It just reminds me of home, you know. I miss it", you croaked, suddenly overwhelmed with longing once more. You wanted nothing more than to be in your apartment again, to drive to the Barcelona training grounds in your blue and red shirt, to join Mapi's banter, you even missed being yelled at by Irene and Marta.

"Are we really that bad?", Leah attempted to joke, a hand of hers flying out to gently land on your knee. Your breath hitched at the sudden contact, your eyes leaving hers to stare at her fingers on your skin.

“No”, you huffed. “Not at all, that’s the problem.”

Sitting in the car with Leah, nothing but the annoying country music in the background, for a second felt like a breath of fresh air. For just a second, you could focus on the warmth of her skin, on the air refresher dangling from her rearview mirror, on the eyes that she lay on you gently, on the softness of it all.

“Should we go?”, you broke the silence, knowing that Laia would not be happy if you were late. It was past ten already, and you softly smiled at the knowledge that some Spanish habits never truly left. It felt comforting to eat this late, as stupid as it sounded. It reminded you of the countless team dinners you’d had with Barça. You didn’t allow yourself, once again, to dwell on the fond memories as you pushed your door open without awaiting Leah’s answer, her hand retrieving from its position as she followed you into the restaurant, a bottle of Spanish wine in your hands. You had brought as much as you had been allowed to bring, and you figured passing Laia one singular bottle couldn’t hurt too much.

The restaurant held a nice atmosphere, one that immediately pulled you in as the bell jingled above your head. Most of the girls were already sitting at the table reserved for you, who all turned as they waved at you happily, grins plastered on their faces. Laia caught your eye first - she was wearing a little plastic crown, grinning like a kid on Christmas as she rose from her seat, hurrying to welcome you and Leah, who seemed to be the last ones to have arrived.

"¡Feliç aniversari!", you hugged Laia shortly, rubbing your hand across her back before pushing the bottle into her hands.

"Merci", she smiled as she accepted it, taking Leah into a short hug as well before you made your way towards the only seats available. The warmth of Leah's body next to yours, the familiar food and music playing softly in the background almost made you forget about the guilt in your stomach. You weren't supposed to enjoy all of this half as much as you did.

Seemingly as a distraction, though you figured you subconsciously wanted to remind yourself of what was your actual home, you opened Instagram. A video of Aitana singing the Barça chant, laughing into the camera with golden confetti around her shoulders, made you halt. You scrolled. You saw the trophy.

Shit - that was what Alexia had been calling you about. Of course. It came back to you flying - the supercopa final was today. How could you have forgotten? It was all you had been looking forward to ever since the winter break had ended. Yet you were so far away from it all, the match had slipped between your fingers, and you were left with nothing but the reminder that Barcelona functioned just as well without you, that they had simply moved on, while you were stuck here - in a Spanish restaurant, with your "friends", trying to remind yourself that if you tried hard enough, this could feel like home.

With a screech, you pushed your chair back and wobbled out of your seat uncomfortably.

"Just need the bathroom", you excused yourself in response to Leah's surprised expression, before marching through the restaurant and leaving all of the girls behind.

The bathroom was empty, luckily, and you let the tears flow at once. How had you been so stupid? How had you thought that, even for a minute, you would be okay so far away from your home, watching your teammates do all the things you wanted to do with them, while seemingly not missing you at all?

It didn't make any sense to you- Barcelona could win every trophy they wanted, while you were stuck in London, not even sure whether they would want you back after your contract was over. Were you delusional? Were you ever going to return to Barcelona?

Just as your brain started spinning further, and you had to steady yourself on the sink, knuckles turning white from how hard you wanted to keep yourself grounded, the door to the bathroom swung open. You didn't need to look up to know who it was - her body was right behind you, and she smelled of vanilla, just like her car did.

Leah. It was Leah who had entered the bathroom. Leah who was frantically trying to get you to talk to her, all the while you were choking on your sobs. Leah, who had tried her best to make you somewhat comfortable in the club she loved so much. How were you supposed to look her in the eye?