#the epitome of a teenage boy

[respectthepetty]

I only respect and love Fadel because he is consistently a Black Brooder unlike these other triflin' heifers! He might be a killer, but he is the only honest one in the bunch!

And he is always brooding, even when he should feel pleasure.

Alexa, play Britney Spears "Criminal"

"Mama, I'm in love with a criminal, and this type of love isn't rational; it's physical"

Same, Style. Same.

[twitt3rpate]

when first reading about Edward Cullen in his POV, i couldn't help but think about all the crazy, downright psychotic-driven things he does as a seventeen-year-old boy. And then I met a seventeen-year-old boy in love and suddenly Stephanie Meyer's rendition on Edward's POV makes a ton of sense.

Let's be real, teenagers are dramatic and I pity Carlisle and Esme for putting up with their bs for all of eternity.

[digo3d]

As much as I love Gil he's built like fucking Christian Bale in that one movie

The goddamn pose too what the fuck 😭

[katetcake]

THE SATURDAYS IN BEN 10?!??!!!!!

[writethrough]

I Know Better

(Billy Hargrove x Female Reader)

Synopsis: You've heard every rumor about Billy Hargrove—from the girls, the guys, the teachers, the parents—it never interested you all that much. Until one of those pesky rumors involved you.

Warnings: Language, slut-shaming

Word Count: 1396

A/N: This is the first stop on the apology tour for everyone who's sent me in a request. It's been a year for some of you, and I'm so sorry and grateful for your patience.

I had a really hard time starting this in the sense that I had so many ideas, but none of them fit with this prompt. So, it took me a while to settle on the story I wanted to tell. I had to stop thinking about this as a “Billy is mean to everyone” fic, and start considering it a “You are Billy’s soft spot” fic. It had to be a “How is he different because of you?” And then it sort of clicked.  

This is a sort of soft-launch to a larger something. I'm not sure if it will turn into a full multi-part fic or just spontaneous additions in this little fanfic universe.

And to the anon who requested this, Tumblr ate your request when I tried saving it to my drafts, so I really, really hope you come across it.

I hope you enjoy!

Anon Request: “Another Billy request idea is “he’s mean as fuck to everyone but me

"Like??? Maybe I need to go to therapy but the hard as stone exterior on that boy and the thought of him being sweet as pie to his girl makes me mush” 

Moodboard by @saradika

Billy Hargrove never scared you. 

Not even in high school when all you heard about was his bark and bite and overall terrible attitude. 

You didn’t cross paths often, surprisingly so with how small Hawkins was, but sometimes you’d get glimpses of him against his locker or waiting by his car. 

You still remembered the time he pulled in beside you as you were shutting your door. 

Max had waved at you before rushing off to the middle school. Then, Billy had slowly risen, lighting a cigarette in the process, and locked eyes with you. 

He greeted you by name, a lazy smile spreading across his lips, and sauntered away. 

You had replayed that morning for the next two weeks, stunned that he knew your name let alone gave you the time of day. 

It was a month or two afterward when you actually witnessed Billy at his worst. 

You weren’t there for the start, but you had turned a corner in the halls and were met with other students gawking at a fight. 

You shoved your way between teenagers, intent to get to your class before the bell rang when that mullet stopped you. 

Billy had been looming over Roger, the school’s very own sleazy douchebag. 

In your mind, whatever that prick had said or done, he absolutely deserved the consequences Billy was doling out. 

You were about to continue walking when Billy leaned in closer to him with a tilt of his head. And until that point, you didn’t know that gesture could be so menacing. 

“Wanna say that again?” 

Your brows pulled in confusion. 

What could Roger have said that made Billy so furious? 

It must have been some insult, something that cut right to whatever insecurities Billy hid from the world. You really couldn’t imagine what he’d be self-conscious about. To you, Billy was the epitome of confidence. 

Billy’s eyes caught your shoes, and you swore his shoulders tensed. He trailed up your body and met your gaze, grinding his teeth. 

He slowly straightened, and without another word, stormed out of the building. 

Mrs. Click finally arrived and disbanded everyone and helped Roger to the nurse’s office. 

Your last class was full of whispered theories and passing notes. 

I heard he keyed Billy’s car. 

No, Billy definitely slept with the chick Roger was eyeing up. 

Could’ve sworn I heard Roger call some girl a slut-in-the-making. 

The day couldn’t have been over soon enough. 

At least it was the weekend, and in a month, you’d be graduating. 

You were walking to your car, sun in your eyes, and didn’t see Billy leaning against it until you were too close to pretend you forgot something to head back inside. 

“Hey,” he said, putting out his cigarette. 

“Hi,” you said slowly, gripping your backpack strap. 

“You okay?” His hands slipped in his pockets. 

Your furrowed your brow. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” 

He chuckled. “Fair enough.” 

He pushed off your car and took a few steps toward you. 

It was really the first chance you had to take in how blue his eyes were. And while normally you’d look away as you held each other's gaze, something planted you where you stood. 

He had the barest of smirks, so slight that you’d dare call it a smile. 

“If I said I wasn’t alright, would you agree to hang out tomorrow?” he asked. 

You let out a surprised laugh and glanced down. This was the first conversation you’d ever had with Billy, and he was asking you out. 

This was probably how he operated. He’d set his sights on some girl, give them that eat-you-alive smirk, and you’d wake up alone Sunday morning without even a note saying “bye.” 

But even with all that, your curiosity won out. So you made a deal. 

“Tell me what that was all about, and I’ll be there.” 

There was a flash of anger, but you didn’t think it was toward you. Leftover feelings for whatever happened no doubt. Then, he softened in a way you had never seen before. 

“I’ll pick you up at six,” he said, beginning to walk away. He turned around before he could get too far. “Don’t bring a jacket.” 

“Why?” You couldn’t help your smile. 

“You’ll have mine.” 

The cocky grin would’ve been irritating with anyone else, but Billy’s was endearing. 

You drove home with a stupid smile plastered on your face, and you stayed that way until Billy rapped on your door. 

— 

That Saturday night, he tried to breeze past his altercation. Until you leveled him with a sincere look and said his name. 

He had leaned back in the booth, ripping his remaining fries in pieces to distract himself. 

“He pissed me off,” Billy said, still maintaining his gruffness. 

“I figured as much,” you said gently. You knew if he sensed anything else, you wouldn’t get any answers. 

He huffed, glancing at you before returning to his basket of food. 

“The prick said somethin’ he shouldn’t have.” He shrugged. “I told him as much.” 

You nodded slowly, narrowing your eyes in thought. Billy wasn’t know to beat around the bush. He said what he thought, and you kind of admired that about him. Even if that got him in trouble. But the way he wasn’t maintaining eye contact when that was his favorite way to throw someone off guard was suspicious. He was hiding something, of course, but it felt more than hiding something from you alone. 

You took a shot in the dark. 

“Are you…Are you not telling me what he said because it was about me?” 

His jaw clenched and hands stopped. 

So, that was it. Roger had said something nasty about you, and for whatever reason, Billy took it upon himself to…defend your honor? 

But why? 

And what could it have been to make Billy react like that? You hardly knew each other. 

You inhaled deeply. “Okay. Tell me what he said.” 

“You don’t need to hear his bullshit.” He met your gaze, steady and stern. You wanted to slap your chest to keep your heart from skipping. 

“Billy,” you started, “I promise whatever he said isn’t going to affect me. I just want to know why you had him on the ground.” 

At this point, you had dissociated from high school and the people in it. All that mattered was graduation. 

“What does it matter?” His tone came out more harsh than you anticipated, but the way his face pinched told you he didn’t mean for it to happen. 

You leaned on the table. “Because I’ve had a really nice time so far. And as much as I appreciate you standing up for me. If you wanna continue this,” you gestured between you both, “you can’t beat the shit outta people.” 

“You wanna go out again?” His eyebrows rose slightly, and your cheeks warmed. 

Of course, that was what he took away. 

“Billy,” you warned playfully. 

“Alright,” he sighed. “He caught me starin’ at you a few times. Said your legs were locked shut, but I could probably get them open.” 

You scrunched up your nose. You knew Roger had to have said something vulgar, but you were more surprised it was about you then the actual content. 

“Okay. Was that all?” Sure, it was gross, but that didn’t seem like something Billy would lose his shit over. 

“That happened last week,” he admitted. “Told him to shut the hell up, and I thought that was that.” He shifted in his seat. “Guess he saw you lookin’ at me and he started callin’ you names. And then I hit’im.” 

Names.  

You could hazard a guess what names he called you. Probably the same ones he called every other female who didn’t wanna sleep with him. Ones that would describe him more than you. 

You reached across the table and grabbed his wrist. 

“Thank you for telling me,” you said. “And I need you to know, I don’t give a single fuck what that dipshit thinks.” 

He chuckled, putting his hand on top of yours. 

“So, that mean a second date is in the books?” he asked. 

“Like I said, only if you don’t punch someone when they say something you don’t like,” you said, hoping your face conveyed how serious you were. 

He leaned his elbows on the table. 

“I was thinkin’ a movie for next time.” 

Taglist: @bookshelf-dust, @steph-speaks, @nix-rose, @ballerina-orchid, @realmermaidariel

If you’d like to be added to any taglists, please comment or message me with the character you’d like updates on. 

[ch0llies]

ROCK ME | CHRISTOPHER STURNIOLO

oneshot - sunshine!reader x goldenboy!chris

Your relationship with Chris Sturniolo is the epitome of a first teenage love. It’s late night drives with the music too loud, whispered secrets under the covers, and sneaking into each other's houses just to fall asleep wrapped up in each other. It’s the kind of love that feels like summer. It’s warm, wild, and infinite. But with him, it’s not just a season. It’s all year round.

story warnings: smut, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), p in v, multiple rounds, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial (if you squint), fluff, established relationship, etc. If any of these topics upset you...don't read!

word count: 10k (sorry)

The wind rushes through your beach-waved hair, the summer heat warming your body as laughter bubbles past your lips. The bass from the speakers vibrates through your chest. You’re weightless, golden, and free, just like the setting sun in the sky.

Chris lighty grips the steering wheel with one hand, the other draped lazily over the console between you. His black Ray-Bans sit low on his nose, and he tilts his head slightly, peeking over the frames to catch a glimpse of you.

That signature smirk tugs at his lips- the one that got you hooked in the first place, the one that still makes your stomach flip, the one you could never say no to.

The warm glow of the sun catches on his skin, highlighting the freckles scattered across his nose. He looks so effortlessly beautiful. The kind of boy you’d write songs about. You have no idea how he’s yours.

You’re wearing nothing but an orange string bikini top and a pair of light-wash denim shorts, the fabric rough against your sunburnt skin. Chris isn’t wearing much more. Just pink swim trunks and a backward Somerville High cap, a reminder of your life beyond these summer nights.

But you don’t want to think about that.

Unbuckling your seatbelt, you shift onto your knees, climbing onto the center console. Chris barely has a second to react before you’re pushing yourself up and out through the open sunroof, arms spreading wide as the night swallows you whole.

The second your head breaches the top, you scream- loud and free, the sound ripping through the air and blending with the music. The wind hits you harder than you thought, stealing the breath from your lungs, pushing the extra skin on your face back. The sky stretches out above you, painted in deep pinks and oranges.

Chris’s laughter rumbles beneath you, but his grip is firm when he slides a hand up your waist, fingers pressing against the bare skin just above your shorts. “Be careful, baby,” he yells, his voice barely carrying over the wind, but you hear it. You feel it. The warmth of his palm spreads across your skin, grounding you even as you chase the high of the moment.

You tip your head back, hair tangling messily in the wind, letting out another breathless laugh. The music is deafening, the bass pounding through your body, but all you can focus on is the feeling- the reckless, intoxicating freedom of being here, with him, like this. In love.

Chris’s fingers trace slow circles against your side, his grip tightening as if to remind you he’s there. He’s always there. “You’re gonna get yourself killed,” he mutters, but there’s no real frustration in his voice.

You dip your head forward, glancing down at him through strands of hair, your chest rising and falling with the adrenaline still buzzing through you. “At least I’d die happy,” you tease, voice breathless, full of laughter.

Chris shakes his head, lips tugging into a smirk. “Not happening,” he says, his fingers grazing up your ribs, sending a shiver through you despite the summer heat. “I’m not done with you yet.”

The world feels endless up here, with the wind in your hair, the night sky stretching out forever. But nothing compares to the way Chris’s hands feel against your skin- warm, steady, always there.

You don’t have to look down to know he’s watching you, the way he always does. Like he can’t believe you’re real. He really should be looking at the road but you’re not even mad.

Chris is the golden boy of Somerville High. Captain of the lacrosse team, hometown hero, the kind of guy teachers brag about long after he’s left their classrooms. The guy everyone wants to be, wants to know, wants to love. He walks down the halls like he belongs to them, like Somerville itself is stitched into his skin, and maybe it is.

And you?

You’re the sunshine girl. The one who gets along with everyone, who turns strangers into friends with nothing but a smile. The girl who gets good grades without trying too hard, who sings too loud at parties, who dances barefoot in the grass just because she can. You’re golden in a different way- soft and bright, light spilling into every room you walk into.

Maybe that’s why it never made sense. Why people still don’t get it. But you do. You know how it happened.

You know it started long before anyone else had noticed. Before the stolen glances, before the late-night drives, before he whispered your name like a secret he never wanted to share.

It started in eighth grade, when he caught you skipping class to sit in the empty stands of the football field, watching the sky instead of paying attention to anything else. He sat next to you without a word, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You get lost up there too?” he’d asked, nodding toward the clouds.

You’d just smiled, something soft, something easy. “Yeah,” you’d said. “Guess I do.”

It started freshman year, when he saw you crying behind the gym after another boy on the lacrosse team that you had a crush on asked a different girl to hoco. And instead of making some dumb joke, he just sat with you. Shoulder to shoulder, silence stretching between you, solid and safe.

It started sophomore year, at some house party, when the music was too loud and the air was too thick and his eyes…God, his eyes. They were locked on you like you were the only thing worth looking at. You don’t remember who kissed who first. Maybe it was both of you, leaning in at the same time, laughter turning into something else, something breathless.

You do remember the way he groaned against your lips, the way his hands tangled in your hair like he’d been waiting for this for years. The way he lifted you, effortlessly and careless, and pressed you against the wall like he was never going to let you go.

But that was nothing compared to the first time.

Junior year. The backseat of his Jeep, parked down by the beach, the moon high in the sky. Your body still damp from the water, his skin burning hot against yours. He looked at you like he was afraid to blink, like he needed to memorize everything. The curve of your lips, the tilt of your chin, the way your breath hitched when he traced lazy circles on your hip.

“I’ve never-” you’d started, but he kissed the words right out of your mouth, slow and deep and reverent.

“I know,” he murmured, forehead resting against yours. “Me neither.”

Then he was everywhere, hands and lips and warmth and the most intimate parts of him. And you were his, in a way that felt bigger than a single night. In a way that felt like forever.

Now, here you are. The summer before senior year.

You drop back down into your seat, breathless, the rush still buzzing through your veins. Chris doesn’t let go of you, doesn’t even pretend to be annoyed. Instead, he rubs slow circles into your sunburnt skin, his thumb brushing over the edge of your bikini top, something soft in his touch.

You turn your head, watching him as he drives, golden and effortless.

“What?” he asks, side-eyeing you.

You shrug, grinning. “Just thinking about how unfair it is that you’re so pretty.”

Chris snorts, but there’s a blush creeping up his neck. “You’re one to talk, baby.”

Your life is made up of moments like this. Soft, sweet, and beautiful. All because of him.

Like the time he helped you pick your dress for junior year prom.

You’d dragged him to the boutique, standing on the fitting room pedestal while he lounged in one of the chairs, arms crossed over his chest, looking entirely out of place among the frilly pink decor.

“You know I don’t care what you wear, baby,” he’d grumbled, watching as you stepped out in another dress. “You’d look good in anything.”

“You have to care,” you insisted, spinning around so the skirt flared out. “I need honest opinions.”

Chris rolled his eyes, but there was something soft in his gaze as he studied you. Then he stood, walked over, and reached out to tug at the orange fabric, his fingers brushing your exposed back.

“This one,” he said simply, eyes locked on yours in the mirror. “Wear this one.”

And when prom night came, when you stepped out of your house and into the golden glow of the streetlights, Chris just stood there, blinking like he forgot how to breathe.

“Damn,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Baby, you’re gonna kill me.”

Or the time he came on vacation with your family.

You had spent weeks convincing your parents, listing all the reasons why bringing your boyfriend wouldn’t be an issue.

“He’s basically part of the family already,” you argued.

And maybe that was true, but you were still surprised when they agreed, letting Chris tag along to your beach house rental for a week in July.

It was like a dream. Waking up to the sound of the waves, sneaking out of the room your parents assigned Chris. And especially the mornings you’d both sneak out of the house just before sunrise, Chris pulling you into the water before the world was even awake.

“You’re insane,” you whispered, legs wrapped around his waist as the tide lapped against your skin.

Chris just grinned, his hands holding you tight, safe. “Yeah. insanely in love with you.”

And then, of course, there were the lacrosse games.

You went to every single one, always in the front row, always wearing his number on your cheek in red glitter paint.

Chris had his routine. Right before a game, right before he ran onto the field, he’d find you in the crowd. You’d blow him a kiss, and he’d pretend to catch it, pressing his fingers to his lips like it was some kind of good luck charm.

“You know I have to do that, right?” he’d told you once, breathless after a win, sweat dripping down his temples. “Superstition. Can’t play without it.”

“Uh-huh,” you teased, reaching up to push his damp hair out of his eyes. “So you winning is all me, huh?”

Chris grinned, looping his arms around your waist. “Exactly.” Then, without warning, he picked you up, spinning you in circles until you were shrieking with laughter. “You’re my good luck charm, sunshine.”

And then there was that time. The time that haunts you to this day. The time his parents walked in on you.

Chris’s bedroom. His hands in your hair, your nails digging into his shoulders, both of you breathless, caught up in each other, making far too much noise, until the door opened.

You didn’t even have time to react before MaryLou gasped, spinning on her heel so fast she nearly fell over.

“Jesus Christ, Christopher,” was all she said before slamming the door.

Chris just groaned, dropping his forehead against your shoulder. “We’re so dead.”

The next day, he came home to a box of condoms sitting on his bed. No note. Nothing.

He held them up when you walked in, blinking like he was still in shock. “My parents hate me. I don’t know how I can ever look my mother in the eye again.”

You burst into laughter, doubling over on his bed. “I think they just don’t want grandkids yet.”

Chris groaned, tossing the box across the room. “Unbelievable.”

You had laughed then, breathless and teasing, throwing yourself back onto his bed. But that was months ago.

Chris was still driving with one hand on the wheel, the other now resting against your thigh. His fingers trace slow, lazy patterns over your skin, dipping just beneath the frayed edges of your denim shorts. It’s an innocent touch, but your body reacts like it always does. He has completely burned himself into you.

The warmth of his palm seeps into your skin, his thumb brushing back and forth, featherlight, like he’s not even thinking about it. But you know Chris, know the way his mind works, the way his hands move with purpose, even when he pretends they don’t.

You shift slightly in your seat, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to ignore the slow fire building under his touch. Chris notices, of course he notices, and his smirk deepens, barely visible in the dimming light.

“Something wrong, baby?” he asks, voice smooth, teasing.

You roll your eyes, but it doesn’t carry much weight. Not when your pulse is hammering against your ribs, not when the song “Rock Me” playing through the speakers seems to fit too well, like fate decided to soundtrack this exact moment.

You glance at him, and God, he’s so mesmerizing. One hand gripping the wheel, muscles taut beneath sun-kissed skin, his jaw sharp in the golden light. His lips are parted slightly, tongue running over his bottom one like he’s deep in thought.

Like he’s remembering, too.

“Do you remember summer ’09? Wanna go back there every night…”

Chris exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Remember this song?”

Your heart flutters, something deep and wanting. You know what he’s thinking.

You remember that night. It was after a lacrosse game, after driving three hours to the playoff game that he scored the game winning goal in. Somehow, you ended up tangled in his backseat, hands desperate, mouths hungry.

Your voice had been breathless against his ear. “I want you to rock me, Chris.”

And he did. Again and again and again.

The memory makes heat curl in your stomach, makes your breath catch just slightly, and Chris knows. His fingers flex against your thigh, grip tightening just enough to make your skin prickle with anticipation.

You turn to face him fully, shifting so your knee brushes against the gearshift.

“You’re such a tease,” you murmur, eyes locked onto him.

Chris grins, slow and dangerous. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

His hand slides just a little higher, not quite enough, but enough.

You suck in a sharp breath, and he laughs, that soft, lazy laugh that always makes your stomach flip.

The song builds, the chorus swelling, wrapping around you both.

“I want you to hit the pedal heavy metal, show me you care…”

Chris leans in slightly, voice dropping lower. “Sing it for me, baby.”

You shake your head, biting your lip to fight the smile threatening to break free. “You’re so fucking annoying.”

He just squeezes your thigh again, dragging his fingers in slow, torturous circles. “And yet, you’re still in love with me.”

And God, you are. Wildly, recklessly, endlessly in love with him.

Chris just grins, the kind that’s all mischief and golden-boy charm, the kind that makes your stomach flip even after all this time. His fingers linger on your thigh, slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

You roll your eyes, pushing his hand off playfully, even though you already miss the warmth of his touch. “Pay attention to the road before we crash, golden boy.”

He snorts, but obliges, turning his focus back ahead as the Jeep glides down the quiet summer streets. The sun has nearly disappeared now, the sky shifting from honey-gold to deep navy, the kind of night that feels endless, the kind that makes you believe you’ll never have to grow up.

Then, as if reading your mind, Chris leans back, one hand lazily resting on the wheel, the other drumming against your thigh again. “You hungry?”

Your stomach growls at the mention, making him laugh, and you groan, slumping into the seat. “Shut up.”

Chris shakes his head, reaching for the console to turn down the music. “Nah, this is why I keep you around. You’re so cute when you’re mad.”

You swat at his arm, and he catches your wrist easily, pulling your knuckles to his lips for a quick, teasing kiss.

“McDonald’s?” he suggests, voice light, like he already knows the answer.

Your eyes narrow. “You just want an excuse to get a large fry and make me feed them to you while you drive.”

Chris shrugs, smirking. “And?”

And ten minutes later, you’re sitting in the McDonald’s drive-thru, Chris rattling off the usual order—two large fries, a ten-piece McNugget, a McDouble for him, and a vanilla milkshake for you. It’s routine by now, muscle memory. You don’t even have to ask for extra napkins, because Chris already grabs them, stuffing them in the glove box where he knows you’ll need them later.

The second he pulls out of the parking lot, he’s already reaching into the bag, shoving a fry into his mouth.

“Hey, those are mine,” you scold, reaching over to smack his hand away.

Chris just laughs, shoving another one in his mouth before holding a fry up to your lips, eyebrows raised expectantly. You huff but take a bite anyway.

The drive back is comfortable in the way only summer nights can be. You hum along to the song he had playing on aux, dipping fries into your milkshake, and Chris sneaks sips of it every time you aren’t looking even though you secretly know he does it.

By the time you pull into his driveway, the house is quiet, the lights off except for the faint glow from the kitchen window. His parents are asleep and his brothers probably are too.

Chris shifts into park, then turns to you, smirking. “Wanna come in?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Like you have to ask.”

He grins, pushing open his door before jogging around to yours, yanking it open with dramatic flair. “M’lady,” he teases, offering his hand.

You roll your eyes but take it anyway, letting him pull you out before he slams the door shut as quietly as possible. You both make your way to the side of the house, where Chris knows exactly which windows creak, which steps to avoid.

By the time you sneak upstairs and get to his bedroom, Chris is already kicking off his shoes and tossing his hat onto his desk before he goes to his closet and put on a random teeshirt.

You plop onto his bed, stealing a handful of fries from the bag. “You know,” you say between bites, “your parents definitely know we do this.”

Chris flops down beside you, pressing his head into your shoulder dramatically. “Yeah, well, after the whole condom thing, I think they’ve just accepted it.”

You laugh, turning your face into his hair, inhaling the faint scent of saltwater. “You’re never getting over that, huh?”

Chris groans. “I still can’t look my mother in the eye sometimes. It’s so awkward. She definitely saw my dick.”

“She birthed and raised you. She’s already seen you naked.” You laugh.

“Yeah but that’s different!” He exclaims in a whisper, digging his head even further into your shoulder.

You laugh, before setting the food aside and turning toward him fully. He lifts his head from you and his eyes flicker to yours, and for a moment, the teasing fades. The room is dimly lit, the only glow coming from his bedside lamp, casting everything in a soft, golden hue.

He reaches out, tucking a loose strand of your tangled beachy hair behind your ear. “You tired?”

You shake your head, voice softer now. “No.”

Chris nods, thumb grazing the curve of your cheek before he leans in, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to your lips. It’s not hurried, not rushed like it so often is. It’s sweet, gentle- like he’s savoring it, savoring you.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours.

“I love you so much, my beautiful girl,” he murmurs.

You smile, fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt. “I love you too, baby.”

Chris exhales softly, his breath warm against your lips, his hands never leaving your skin.

His thumb strokes gently over your cheekbone, tracing invisible patterns like he’s memorizing you all over again.

You lean in first this time, tilting your chin just enough to capture his lips again. It’s slow. So slow, like neither of you are in any rush, like you have forever to get lost in each other. His mouth moves with yours effortlessly, no desperation, no urgency. Just warmth. Just love.

Chris sighs into the kiss, pulling you closer, his hands sliding down to your waist, fingers pressing into the soft skin below your bikini.

You shift, pressing yourself closer, and he groans softly in response, deep in his throat. The sound sends a shiver down your spine, your fingers tightening around the fabric of his t-shirt.

He feels so good, smells so good, and you could stay here forever, tangled in him.

Chris tilts his head, deepening the kiss just slightly, just enough to make your breath catch. His hand spreads even further across the warm expanse of your back, his touch setting fire to your skin.

You sigh against his lips, melting into him as his other hand skims up your thigh. His fingertips brush along the frayed hem of your shorts, not pushing, just feeling, just reveling in the warmth of you.

When you pull back for air, his lips chase yours, barely letting you breathe before he’s pressing soft, lazy kisses along your jaw, down the curve of your neck.

“Chris,” you whisper, and he hums against your skin, his breath sending goosebumps down your arms.

“Hmm?” he murmurs, lips brushing the sensitive spot just below your ear.

You don’t answer, just tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging lightly, and he groans again, a sound that always makes your stomach tighten, makes your thighs squeeze around his hips.

His hands slide to your waist, gripping gently as he guides you into his lap, settling you over him like you belong there- like he’s been waiting for this, for you, all night.

You both pause, foreheads pressed together, chests rising and falling in sync.

His hands are steady on you, thumbs rubbing soft circles into your skin, and when he looks up at you, his eyes are heavy, dark with something deeper than just desire.

Love.

“I jus’ wanna take my time with you,” he murmurs, voice thick, fingers tracing along your spine. “Wanna kiss you slow. Wanna make you feel good.”

Your heart stutters, your body burning with something softer than lust, something heavier than need.

You press another kiss to his lips. Slow and deep and meaningful.

“Then do it.” you whisper against his mouth.

Chris doesn’t need to be told twice.

The moment the words leave your lips, he groans deep and low, something that rumbles through his chest and straight into your core. His hands tighten on your waist, fingers pressing into your skin as he tilts his head and devours you.

The softness melts into something new, something desperate and raw as he kisses you harder, mouth parting against yours, tongue sweeping over your bottom lip before slipping inside. It’s slow, but there’s an edge now- a hunger, a need.

His hands slide up your back, slipping beneath your bikini top, his thumbs grazing over your ribs and to the front, right over the softest parts of you. You shudder, pressing closer, gasping when he bites your lip, tugging just enough to make your stomach clench.

“Chris,” you breathe, and he hums before flipping you onto your back in one smooth motion.

His body is heavy over yours, deliciously warm, his hips pressing into you as his lips move down your jaw, down your neck, sucking and kissing until your skin is marked with his touch.

You arch into him, hands gripping at his back, before pulling at the hem of teeshirt. He gets the hint pretty quickly and rips it off before diving right back into you.

“You make me fucking crazy,” he mutters against your skin, lips ghosting over your collarbone before he’s tugging at the strings of your bikini top, undoing them with agonizing slowness.

You shiver, anticipation burning through you as his hands slide beneath the fabric, pushing it aside, palms gliding over your bare skin.

Chris exhales harshly, pulling back just enough to look at you. To really look at you. His pupils are blown, lips swollen from kissing you, his chest rising and falling like he’s trying to keep himself under control.

“Goddamn,” he breathes, shaking his head. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

You don’t get the chance to respond before his mouth is on you again, his head trailing lower, lower, leaving a path of heat down your torso.

Your back arches when his lips brush against your nipples, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging lightly.

“Chris,” you gasp, breathless, already wrecked from just his mouth, his hands, the way he touches you.

He grins against your skin, his hands gripping your hips as he presses a kiss just above the waistband of your shorts.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick, grinning with mischief. “I wanna hear you say it.”

You bite your lip, hips shifting beneath him, your body begging for more, but Chris is waiting, his eyes locked onto yours, watching every reaction, every little movement you make.

So you give him what he wants.

“I want you to rock me,” you whisper.

Chris groans, dropping his forehead against your stomach for half a second, like your words just wrecked him.

Then, he looks up at you, and his expression is nothing but pure, unfiltered lust.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes. “Anything you want.”

Chris’s lips trail lower, leaving a path of heat down your stomach, his breath warm against your skin. His hands are everywhere but they’re so fucking slow and deliberate. His fingers tracing over your hips, brushing the frayed hem of your shorts. His eyes flick up to meet yours, dark and wanting.

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, tugging just enough to make your breath catch. “Can I take these off?” he murmurs, voice low, rough with restraint.

You nod, but it’s not enough for him.

“Need you to say it, baby.”

“Yes,” you whisper, voice barely audible, but it’s all he needs.

Chris groans softly, dragging the denim down your legs, the slow feeling of fabric moving against your heated skin making your core wetter. When he finally tosses them aside, his eyes roam over you, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip like he can’t believe you’re real.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his hands sliding up your thighs, spreading them slightly as he presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, then higher, higher.

Your fingers dig into the sheets, breath coming in uneven pants as he moves closer, his mouth leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

“Baby,” you breathe, and he hums in response, lips brushing against the last piece of fabric between you.

You lift your hips instinctively, silently begging, and he chuckles, shaking his head. “So impatient,” he teases, but his voice is thick, strained and you can tell he’s just as desperate as you.

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your bikini bottoms, dragging them down with the same agonizing slowness, his lips following the path they leave behind. When they’re finally gone, when there’s nothing left between you, he just looks at you, his hands gripping your thighs, holding you open for him.

“I’ll never get tired of this,” he murmurs, completely wrecked and full of nothing but love.

A gasp rips from your throat as his mouth moves against you, soft and slow and perfect.

His tongue slides up and down your folds, separating them and pushing his face even deeper into you if possible.

His hands tighten on your hips, keeping you still as his tongue finds flicks against the most sensitive part of you, drawing a moan from your lips that makes him groan in response.

He loves this. Loves the way you tremble beneath him, the way you say his name like it’s the only thing you know.

“Chris- fuck.” Your fingers find his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against you, the vibration sending sparks down your spine.

He takes his time, savoring every reaction, every shaky breath, every whisper of his name. It’s slow and unhurried, like he wants to memorize you, like he needs to.

His tongue moves in slow, deliberate strokes at first, teasing, tasting, savoring every inch of you. He groans into you, the vibrations shooting straight through your core, and the sound alone is almost enough to make you fall apart.

But you don’t want it to end yet. And neither does he.

His nose presses against your clit at such a delicious angle as his tongue moves in and out of you, setting a ruthless pace- the pace he knows you need, the one that drives you crazy, the one that has your thighs shaking against his shoulders.

Chris moans against you, gripping your hips harder, pulling you closer, deeper, like he can’t get enough. Like he needs you more than air.

And God, he’s so deep, his face buried between your thighs, the heat of his mouth sending sparks all through your body. You’re gasping, your fingers tugging at his hair, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t let up.

You whimper, arching against his tongue, and the cocky bastard grins against you before diving back in, licking into you like it’s his last meal.

“Chris,” you gasp, voice wrecked, breathless.

His grip on you tightens, keeping you exactly where he wants you. “Mmm?” he hums, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through your body.

You whimper again, unable to form words, unable to do anything but take what he’s giving you.

Chris pulls back just enough to look up at you, lips glistening, pupils blown. He smirks, dragging two fingers through your slick folds before slipping them inside, curling them just right, making you cry out.

“There we go,” he murmurs, watching your face twist in pleasure. “That’s what I wanna hear.”

You can barely breathe, barely think, as he starts moving his fingers in slow, deliberate strokes, his mouth returning to your clit, wrapping around it and sucking softly before licking over again and again.

Your hands fly to his hair, tugging hard, and he moans into you.

“Baby,” you whisper, barely able to get the words out.

Chris just grins against you, his tongue flicking faster, his fingers thrusting deeper.

And fuck, you’re so close but he knows your body too well. Knows exactly when to stop, exactly when to pull back, leaving you on the edge, aching for more.

You whine in protest, hips bucking up to chase his mouth, but Chris just smirks, pressing a teasing kiss to your inner thigh.

“Not yet, ma,” he murmurs, voice dark, wrecked. “I wanna take my time with you.”

Moments later he dives right back in. His tongue is everywhere, working in you with slow, teasing flicks one second and deep, dragging strokes the next. His fingers pump into you at a perfect pace, curling just right, pressing into that spongy spot that has you moaning his name like a prayer.

He loves it when you moan his name. Loves the way your body responds to him, the way your thighs twitch around his head, the way you can’t stop moving and arching into his touch, chasing his mouth, desperate for more.

Your fingers are buried in his hair, tugging, pulling, and he groans against you, pushing you further into the mattress at the same time without even thinking about it.

The vibrations shoot through your core, send a spark of electricity down your spine, and suddenly, you’re right there. Right on the edge, breath coming in broken gasps, body trembling.

Chris feels it, knows it, and he doubles down, fingers fucking into you harder, his tongue relentless, determined to push you over that final edge.

“That’s it, mama,” he murmurs, words muffled against your soaked skin. “Give it to me. Wanna hear you.”

His voice is practically a moan that’s full of pure need, and that’s what does it. His voice, his mouth, his hands- everything.

Your body seizes up, a sharp gasp ripping from your throat as the orgasm crashes over you, hard. Pleasure pulses through you in waves, your back arching off the bed, your thighs tightening around his head, but Chris doesn’t stop.

He groans as he licks you through it, his hands gripping your shaking thighs, his tongue still working you over, dragging every last bit of pleasure from your body until you’re whimpering, too sensitive, too overstimulated to take any more.

You tug at his hair, trying to pull him away, but he presses one last kiss against your soaked skin before finally, finally lifting his head.

Chris looks like he just fell from heaven. His lips are swollen, glistening, his pupils blown wide, his breath coming in ragged pants.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning as he moves up your body, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses against your stomach, your ribs, your collarbone.

When he reaches your lips, he kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

You sigh against his mouth, fingers still tangled in his hair, your body boneless beneath him.

Chris chuckles, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Goddamn, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick with awe. “You’re so fucking hot when you come on my mouth.”

You let out a breathless laugh, still trying to catch your breath, and Chris just kisses you again.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his thumb brushing lazy circles against your hip.

You were still feeling the after effects of your orgasm, chest rising and falling rapidly, skin burning from his touch, his mouth, him. But as the haze of pleasure started to clear, you noticed something else, something that made heat flood your stomach all over again.

Chris was rubbing himself against the mattress.

It was subtle, but once you saw it, you couldn’t not see it. The way his hips pressed into the bed, slow and desperate, his breathing just a little too uneven, his grip on you just a little too tight. His jaw was clenched, brows furrowed, his body tense like he was trying to hold himself back.

“Chris,” you whisper, realization hitting you all at once.

Chris huffs out a breathless laugh, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, like maybe he could hide from how completely fucking gone he is for you.

“Shut up,” he mutters, voice strained, like he’s embarrassed, like he can’t help it.

You feel another rush of heat pool between your legs, because fuck, he looks so good like this. Flushed and desperate, still clothed while you’re bare beneath him, his self-control hanging by a thread.

“You get off on eating me out?” you tease, running your nails lightly down his back, feeling the way he shudders at the touch.

Chris groans, exhaling sharply through his nose. “Ma-”

Your fingers dip lower, tracing the waistband of his swim trunks, and his whole body jerks, his hips pressing down harder into the bed.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, squeezing his eyes shut, but it does nothing to hide the way he ruts into the mattress again, like he needs it.

You grin, pressing a slow kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You’re so hot when you’re needy.”

Chris groans, his hands gripping your hips harder, like he’s trying to keep himself from losing it. “I’m about two seconds away from ruining these fucking shorts,” he admits, voice whinny.

You shiver at his words, your own arousal sparking all over again. “Then take them off.”

Chris swears under his breath, kissing you hard, all tongue and teeth and desperation.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, forehead pressed against yours as his fingers fumble with the waistband of his trunks. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You giggle breathlessly, helping him push them down, and the second he’s free, you feel just how much he had been holding back, how worked up he is.

And God, you want him so bad.

Chris presses his lips to your jaw, your neck, everywhere, his body hovering over yours, his hand wrapping around himself as he exhales a shuddering breath.

Then, he looks down at you, pupils blown, expression full of nothing but pure, unfiltered hunger as you wrap a hand around his girthy length.

Chris groans, deep and guttural, his forehead pressing against yours as your words sink into his skin like fire. His fingers twitch against your waist, gripping just a little harder, like he’s trying to ground himself.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice wrecked, desperate. “Don’t do that. I’ll finish way too fast.”

You simply laugh but oblige, taking your hand off him. “You always say that but then last all goddamn night.”

He simply smiles down at you. And then he’s kissing you, messy and deep, his body pressing into yours, his hands roaming everywhere and gripping your thighs, your hips, your ribs, like he can’t get enough.

You whimper against his lips, still sensitive, still pulsing from the high he just pulled from your body, but it’s not enough. Not even close.

Chris must feel the way you shift beneath him, the way your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, because he grins against your mouth, his hips pressing down just enough to make you gasp.

“You want more, baby?” he teases, voice rough, laced with something dark and needy.

You nod, breathless, fingers digging into his shoulders.

Chris chuckles, low and knowing, his lips trailing down your jaw, sucking a bruise into the sensitive skin just below your ear.

“You’re so greedy,” he murmurs, nipping at your throat, making you shiver. “So fucking sweet.”

His hands skim down your body, fingertips dancing over your waist before settling on your hips. His touch is warm, steady, as he spreads your legs further, settling between them like he belongs there. He knows he does.

Your heart is pounding, anticipation burning through your veins as he shifts, pressing his length against you, dragging his tip through your slick folds, teasing you, making you ache.

You whimper, tilting your hips up, desperate for more, and Chris moans, the sound vibrating against your skin.

“God, baby,” he rasps, rolling his hips just right, making your head tip back against the pillows. “You’re so fucking wet for me.”

You whine, fingers clutching at his back, nails digging in just enough to make him shudder.

“Chris,” you breathe, voice wrecked, full of want.

He exhales sharply, his forehead pressing against yours again, his hips rolling into yours at a slow, torturous pace.

“I got you, mama,” he murmurs, voice softer now, full of something deeper, something more.

And then he pushes inside you, slow and steady, stretching you perfectly, filling you inch by inch, until he’s buried deep, his chest heaving, his body trembling against yours.

Your breath catches, pleasure coiling through you at the sheer feeling of him.

Chris groans, his hands gripping your hips tight, his head dropping to the crook of your neck.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters, voice muffled against your skin. “You feel so good. So tight.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, pressing your lips to his temple.

“Move,” you whisper, your voice barely a breath.

Chris lifts his head, his eyes locking onto yours. And then he rocks into you. Slow, deep, intentional.

His lips find yours again, swallowing your moans, his hands sliding under your thighs, pulling you closer, pushing in deeper, making you feel everything.

You sigh into his mouth, body melting into his, completely lost in him, in this, in everything you are together.

Chris groans, resting his forehead against yours, his breath ragged, his movements slow and torturous.

“God, I love you,” he murmurs, hips rolling faster, voice thick with emotion, with need. “So fucking much.”

You gasp, clinging to him, eyes fluttering shut, overwhelmed by the intensity of it all.

“I love you too,” you whisper, your voice shaking.

Chris moans at that, his pace picking up just slightly, just enough to make your toes curl, just enough to make you feel the depth of his love, his devotion, his everything.

The world outside ceases to exist but Chris doesn’t stop.

Not after you moan his name like it’s the only word you know. Not after your nails rake down his back, leaving behind marks that will be there for days. Not after he kisses you, slow and deep, like he wants to drown in you.

Not after he pulls another orgasm from you, his name spilling from your lips in a broken, desperate cry as your body clenches around him in a way that was almost painful.

If anything, it only makes him hungrier.

His lips never leave yours, even as he rides you through it, even as he groans into your mouth, hips stuttering, body trembling. But he doesn’t stop. He won’t stop.

He won’t stop until he’s given you everything.

Until the summer heat isn’t the only thing making you sweat. Until the only thing you can think about is him. The way he fills you, the way he ruins you, the way he worships you like you’re the only thing he’s ever believed in.

Chris exhales a ragged breath against your lips, slowing his thrusts just enough to make you shiver. His forehead presses against yours, his body heavy against you, but not in a way that suffocates. In a way that makes you feel safe. In a way that makes you feel like his.

“You okay, baby?” he murmurs, voice rough, wrecked.

You nod, but it’s not enough for him.

Chris pulls back slightly, searching your face, brushing a stray strand of hair from your damp forehead. “Talk to me,” he whispers.

You swallow hard, your fingers tracing down his spine, reveling in the way he shudders beneath your touch. “I want more.”

Chris groans, low and needy, like your words just broke him completely. “Fuck,” he breathes, his grip tightening on your hips. Then he flips you over.

You gasp, a surprised giggle slipping from your lips before Chris cuts it off with a kiss, pressing you into the mattress, his body covering yours. His hand slides up your spine, trailing goosebumps in its wake, before tangling in your hair, tilting your head to the side as his lips move to your neck.

“You sure you can handle another round?” he teases, dragging his teeth along your pulse point, making you whimper.

“Yes please,” you breathe.

Chris chuckles darkly against your skin, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the base of your neck before rolling his hips forward, sliding back inside you with ease.

You both moan at the feeling, the delicious stretch, the way your bodies mold together perfectly.

Chris grips your waist, holding you steady as he starts moving again, slow but deep, drawing out every sound he can.

“You feel so good, baby,” he mutters, voice husky, full of reverence. “So fucking tight and wet.”

Your head falls forward, pleasure sparking through every inch of you, your thighs trembling as Chris pounds into you, his name slipping from your lips like a mantra.

His pace picks up, hips snapping against yours, the headboard knocking softly against the wall with each thrust, the room filled with nothing but the sounds of your moans and his ragged breaths despite the fact his entire family lay sleeping behind the walls.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, pulling you up so your back is flush against his chest, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “You were made for me.”

You whimper, overwhelmed, overstimulated, but you don’t want him to stop. You never want him to stop.

Chris’s hand drifts lower, fingers slipping between your legs, rubbing tight circles against your clit, his other arm wrapping around your waist, holding you in place as he ruins you.

“One more, baby,” he murmurs, voice dripping with want. “Give me one more.”

And you do. Your body tightens around him, your head falling back onto his shoulder as another orgasm crashes through you, sending sparks down your spine, making you tremble in his arms.

Chris groans, his grip tightening as he follows, spilling into you with a deep, shuddering moan, his body stiffening, then relaxing against you.

Silence settles between you for a moment, the only sound being the heavy rise and fall of your breaths.

Then Chris laughs, his lips pressing against the side of your neck, arms still wrapped around you.

“You’re actually gonna kill me,” he mumbles, voice hoarse, spent.

You smile, turning your head slightly to catch his lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

“Guess I’ll have to bring you back to life,” you whisper against his mouth and within seconds he has you flipped on your back and has slipped inside you, cock already hard again.

His skin warm and slick with sweat. His breath is heavy against your cheek, his lips barely ghosting over your jaw as he tries to steady himself, tries to regain control.

But there’s no control here.

Not when you’re beneath him, body still trembling from the pleasure he just wrung out of you, looking at him with those wide, needy eyes, lips swollen, chest rising and falling like you need him just as badly as he needs you.

Chris groans, dropping his head into the crook of your neck, kissing your skin lazily, but keeping himself buried inside you because he can’t pull away.

“I can’t stop,” he admits, voice low, desperate. His hands grip your thighs, spreading them wider, tilting your hips up just enough to make you whimper. “I don’t want to stop.”

You tilt his chin up, forcing him to meet your gaze, your fingers tangling in his messy, sweat-damp hair.

“Then don’t,” you whisper, lips brushing against his.

And fuck, that’s all it takes.

Chris kisses you hard, stealing the breath from your lungs as he starts moving again. He sets a deep, steady rhythm, pushing into you, filling you completely, making you feel every inch of him.

Your back arches, hands clutching at his shoulders, nails raking down his back, and Chris groans, rutting into you harder, deeper.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he mutters against your lips, hands gripping your thighs, keeping them spread as he rocks into you, slow and deep, like he needs you to feel this, to know how much he wants you.

Your head tips back against the pillow, a whimper slipping from your lips, and Chris takes the opportunity to drag his tongue down your neck, sucking and kissing, leaving marks he knows you’ll complain about tomorrow.

His hands slide up your body, cupping your breasts, thumbs brushing over your sensitive peaks, making you gasp, your legs tightening around his waist.

Chris grins, pressing another kiss to your lips. “You’re so fucking sensitive, ma,” he teases, voice wrecked. “Still not over the first one, huh?”

You shake, legs trembling, body overstimulated but still aching for more.

“Chris,” you breathe, tugging him closer.

He groans, pressing his forehead to yours, moving his hips in slow, deep thrusts, dragging out every ounce of pleasure.

“Say it,” he mutters, voice dark, demanding. His hand slips between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing slow circles. “Tell me what you want.”

Your breath hitches, your nails digging into his arms as he keeps going, his pace slow but ruinous, building you up again, bringing you to that edge.

“More,” you gasp.

Chris smirks, but there’s nothing cocky about it this time. It’s adoration, it’s pure fucking need.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours. “Then take it, baby.”

Chris snaps his hips forward, thrusting into you harder, his fingers pressing against your clit, pushing you higher, closer, and you can feel it. You can practically taste the pleasure you were so fucking close.

“Cum for me, ma,” Chris whispers, his voice wrecked, full of love, full of you.

You cum hard, your body clenching around him, your back arching off the bed, your head falling back as you cry out, his name tumbling from your lips for what felt like the billionth time today.

Chris groans, his pace faltering, his grip on your body tightening as he watches you fall apart beneath him, as he feels you squeeze around him, pulling him deeper, dragging him with you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck- mama” he mutters, his movements growing sloppy, desperate. He thrusts into you one last time, burying himself deep before he shatters, his body trembling, his breath coming in ragged pants as he spills inside you again, pressing his forehead to yours, his lips brushing your cheek.

You both stay like that for a moment, tangled together, skin slick, hearts pounding, chests heaving.

Then, Chris chuckles breathlessly, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to your lips and pulling out.

“Round three?” he teases, smirking against your mouth.

You roll your eyes, laughing softly, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

Chris doesn’t hesitate.

The second the words leave your mouth, he kisses you. Deep, slow, filthy. Like he’s already planning on making good on his round three comment. His hands slide up your sides, warm and steady, fingers brushing over your ribs before cupping your face, holding you there like you’re his entire world.

And you knew you were.

Your body still burns from everything he’s already done to you, but you want more. You need more. You can feel him pressed against you, still hard, still ready, and it sends another pulse of heat straight to your core.

Chris groans as your nails scrape down his back, his hips shifting against yours, already chasing that friction. His breath is ragged when he pulls back just slightly, his forehead pressed to yours, his pupils blown even wider, his lips swollen and wet from kissing you.

“You’re such a dirty girl,” he mutters, voice wrecked, his hands gripping your thighs, pulling you closer, pressing his length against your slick heat that’s covered in two rounds of both yours and his cum.

You grin, breathless. “And you love it.”

Chris lets out a dark chuckle, pressing a lazy kiss to your jaw, down your neck, sucking another mark into your skin just because he can.

“Damn right, I do,” he murmurs, shifting above you, lining himself up, dragging the tip of his cock through your cum covered folds, making you whimper.

Your body shakes, overstimulated but aching for him again, and Chris feels it. He feels how sensitive you are, how badly you need him.

“I love fucking my cum back into you,” he groans, his voice full of something dark, something possessive. “God, and you’re still so tight.”

You whimper, tilting your hips up, and Chris chuckles, pressing a teasing kiss to your lips.

“Still so desperate, too” he murmurs. You roll your eyes, tugging him down, biting at his bottom lip, making him groan.

“Just fuck me already.”

Chris laughs, but it’s rough, strained, like he’s barely holding himself together.

“Whatever my girl wants,” he mutters but sinks into you nonetheless. It was slow and deep, stretching you all over again, making your eyes roll back and having your nails dig into his shoulders as he fills you completely.

Chris groans, his head dropping to your shoulder, his arms tightening around you.

“Fucking hell,” he breathes. “I’ll never get tired of that feeling.”

You whimper, still sensitive, still ruined from him, but you don’t want him to stop. You never want him to stop.

Chris lifts his head, tilting your chin up, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“Look at me, ma,” he murmurs. “I wanna see your pretty face.”

And fuck, the way he watches you as he starts moving, the way his eyes burn into yours as his hips roll in deep, deliberate thrusts- it’s enough to destroy you.

He drags it out, keeping his pace slow, making sure you feel everything, making sure you need him as much as he needs you.

“Chris,” you gasp, legs tightening around his waist, your hands tangling in his hair, tugging him closer, and he moans, his hips stuttering just slightly.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he mutters, his lips pressing against your temple, your cheek, your jaw. “So beautiful. So fucking mine.”

You shiver, the possessiveness in his voice making another wave of heat crash over you, making your stomach tighten with pleasure.

Chris feels it, knows it, and he speeds up just slightly, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath hot against your lips.

“Gonna cum for me again, baby?” he murmurs, his fingers slipping between your bodies, finding your clit, rubbing slow, tight circles. “Gonna let me feel you?”

You nod frantically, barely able to speak, barely able to breathe, the pleasure building so fast.

“Say it,” Chris demands, voice dark, hungry. “Tell me who’s making you feel this good.”

“You,” you gasp, barely able to get the words out. “You, Chris- fuck, I-”

You shatter before you could even finish your sentence. It’s intense, your entire body shaking, pleasure ripping through you harder than it ever has, your hands clinging to him, your mouth falling open in a silent scream.

Chris groans as you tighten around him with such power, his movements growing sloppy and desperate. And then he’s there too, his hips stuttering, his body tensing before he lets go, burying himself deep, moaning your name way too loudly as he spills inside you.

Chris collapses beside you, breath still ragged, body still warm and sticky from everything you just did. His arm immediately wraps around your waist, pulling you into him, like he physically can’t be apart from you yet. His nose nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his lips pressing a lazy, open-mouthed kiss to your damp skin.

For a long moment, neither of you speak, just basking in the quiet, in the aftermath, in the absolute mess you’ve made of each other.

Then Chris shifts slightly, adjusting his body when he suddenly feels it.

His lips twitch, his fingers gripping your thigh as he slowly drags them up, grazing over the sticky mess between your legs.

“Baby,” he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement.

You hum sleepily against his chest, barely registering the shift in his tone. “Hmm?”

Chris grins, tilting his head slightly to glance down at you, his fingertips brushing against the inside of your thigh again, feeling the both of your cum still leaking out of you.

“You’re dripping,” he murmurs, his tone smug as hell, his fingers teasing as he lightly traces over the mess he left inside you.

Your eyes snap open, a gasp catching in your throat as you immediately squeeze your legs together, heat flooding your cheeks.

“Chris!” you shove at his chest, your voice shrill with embarrassment, but he’s grinning now, the tiredness in his eyes replaced with something cocky, something full of pure male satisfaction.

“Shit,” he mutters, dragging his fingers up your thigh again, spreading the wetness slightly just to watch you squirm. “That’s so fucking hot.”

Your face burns, and you slap at his arm, kicking at the sheets. “Chris, get something to clean it before I kill you!”

Chris just laughs, looking absolutely pleased with himself, shaking his head as he presses a slow, teasing kiss to your forehead.

“Relax, mama,” he murmurs, but he’s already moving, slipping out of bed, stretching his arms above his head before sauntering off to the bathroom completely naked, because of course he is.

You bury your face in your hands, groaning as you hear him rummaging through the cabinets. “I hate you so much.”

Chris’s laugh echoes from the bathroom. “You love me.”

You roll your eyes, still burning with embarrassment, but when he returns with a warm washcloth, his expression softens. He kneels on the bed beside you, gently running the cloth over your thighs, taking his time, making sure he’s thorough.

His fingers brush over your skin, slow and warm, and suddenly, you’re not embarrassed anymore. Suddenly, it’s just Chris. Your golden boy, your love, the boy who takes care of you even when he’s teasing the hell out of you.

When he’s done, he tosses the washcloth into the laundry bin, slipping back into bed, pulling you against his chest once more.

“Better?” he murmurs, pressing a lazy kiss to your hair.

You sigh, melting into his warmth. “Better.”

Chris chuckles. “Good. ‘Cause I’m still gonna remind you of this in the morning.”

Before you could reply, Chris inhales a panicked breath and mutters, “Shit, I’m gonna need to buy you like seven Plan B’s tomorrow.”

You snort, laughter bubbling past your lips as you roll onto your side, draping an arm over his chest. “Seven? You planning on going another few rounds in your sleep?”

Chris grins, brushing his fingers up and down your spine. “I mean, if you’re up for it…”

You swat at his chest, making him chuckle, but then your grin turns wicked, teasing. “Your mom is definitely gonna be disappointed that we didn’t use the condoms she bought for you.”

Chris groans, covering his face with his hands. “Jesus Christ, don’t remind me.”

You giggle, propping yourself up on one elbow. “She literally walked in on us once, Chris. She knows you’re not a virgin.”

Chris peeks at you from between his fingers, giving you a deadpan look. “Yeah, and I still can’t look her in the eye.”

You smirk, resting your chin on his chest. “I think she was just trying to be supportive. Making sure her son’s being safe and all.”

Chris grumbles, shaking his head. “She left them on my bed, Y/N. With no note. Just a silent here, please stop traumatizing me moment.”

You burst into laughter, curling into his side as he groans dramatically. “Aw, baby, your mom just wants what’s best for you.”

Chris scoffs. “She probably heard all that too and is currently regretting every decision she’s ever made.”

You giggle, pressing a kiss to his collarbone before whispering, “I think she’s just proud her son has stamina.”

Chris lets out a strangled noise before flipping you onto your back, pinning you beneath him, tickling your sides until you’re screeching with laughter.

“Oh, you’re funny, huh?” he teases, grinning down at you as you squirm beneath him. “You think you’re so fucking hilarious.”

“Chris- stop!” you wheeze between laughs, kicking your legs as he keeps going.

Eventually, he relents, rolling off of you with a satisfied smirk. You’re still giggling, breathless, and Chris watches you with this soft look, like he’s completely and utterly gone for you. And you know he is.

Then he sighs, stretching his arms above his head. “Alright, c’mere, baby,” he murmurs, sitting up and reaching for the hem of the t-shirt he tossed onto the floor earlier. “Let’s get you fully cleaned up.”

You hum in contentment as he helps you sit up, grabbing another rag from his nightstand and running it gently between your thighs, collecting more of your release that spilled out. The whole time, his eyes stay locked on yours, full of something deep, something warm.

When he’s done, he grabs one of his t-shirts from his drawer that was soft, oversized, and smelling exactly like him and slips it over your head, his fingers brushing over your skin as he helps you adjust it.

“There,” he murmurs, voice low, fond. “My girl in my shirt. Fucking perfect.”

You smile, curling into his chest as he tugs the covers over both of you. His arms wrap around you tightly, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against your back.

You sigh, completely melted into him, your body still humming with the remnants of everything he’s given you tonight. His skin is warm beneath your cheek, his heartbeat steady, grounding.

Chris presses a slow, lingering kiss to your hair, his fingers continuing their soft path over your spine, tracing lazy, absentminded patterns like he never wants to stop touching you.

“You okay, baby?” he murmurs against your forehead, his voice thick with exhaustion but still full of that quiet, unwavering care.

You nod, nuzzling closer, your legs tangling with his beneath the sheets. “Mhm. Perfect.”

Chris exhales softly, tucking you even closer somehow, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he loosens his grip.

“Good,” he whispers, his lips brushing over your temple. “Gotta take care of my girl.”

Your chest tightens, warmth blooming inside you at how soft he is now, how different this moment is from the desperate, hungry way he had fucked you just minutes ago.

This is what you love about Chris.

That he’s wild and reckless and cocky, but then he’s this, too. He’s gentle, protective, utterly devoted in a way that makes you feel so unbelievably safe.

Your fingers rub absentmindedly against his chest, your eyes growing heavy, exhaustion slowly pulling you under.

Chris hums, his breath slowing, his hold on you never faltering.

“Sleep, baby,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your forehead again, soft and lingering. “I got you.”

And with that, wrapped up in his warmth, in his love, in him, you finally let sleep take you, safe in the arms of the boy who always has you and always will have you.

MASTERLIST

[esotericbluntbaby]

the consequences of radio silence

hamzahthefantastic x reader

description: after the reader sees another girl as a threat in her relationship, she distances herself from hamzah as a form of protection, not realizing that it's not as simple as going silent.

mentions: angst, past infidelity in an ex relationship, miscommunication/lack of communication, argument, she/her pronouns, sfw! (unless you guys want a part two lol)

i highly recommend listening to lover, you should come over by jeff buckley. i was listening to it while writing this lol.

---

you never realized how the language of eye contact can be louder than the words that you speak until hamzah showed you. however, the journey of getting to the point of a certain understanding was full of turmoil.

three days ago, you and your boyfriend attended a close friend's house party. though you guys didn't share your apartment on the lease, his shoes were almost always placed outside next to yours and he had his own toothbrush shared in the wooden cup you thrifted together. the apartment, though cozy and radiating with warmth, began to feel stuffy after staying home for a solid week. therefore, hamzah and you decided to put on some other clothes, specifically ones that were less worn out than the sweatpants and t-shirts you marinated in, and go out.

the party was stereotypical and naive, personified as a teenage girl smoking a cigarette and getting drunk on both the music and alcohol that consumed her. it was sweaty, combatting the body heat that your home radiated with its own personal foil of bodies almost stuck together like gummies on a hot day. laughter and house music echoed throughout the beige, poster-covered walls of the one-story house; a typical college scene was held in the eyes of hamzah and you.

your friend greeted the both of you, giving you both an intro to the festivities around you. the bar was, quite obviously, the table with all the alcohol and red solo cups stacked upon one another. somewhere in the corner was beer pong, surrounded by copy and paste frat boys being each others yes men, next to the kitchen with finger foods and party favors. with all the chaos happening in the house, you and hamzah decided to stick together.

until, you decided to use the restroom and came back to the sight of hamzah getting his arm playfully hit by another girl, both smiling and seemingly enjoying each other's presence. she was pretty: the kind of girl that people writes songs about, the kind of girl that only needs mascara and lip gloss to be pretty, the kind of girl that your ex cheated on you with. you watched from afar, memories of infidelity from your past relationship floating around your brain. you were not new to the concept of toxicity in relationships; in fact, before you met hamzah, it was all you were used to.

you convinced yourself that he would never do that to you. he is not the man who hurt you, actually, he proved that he isn't; it's why you became his girlfriend, in the first place. you know him. you don't know a lot of people, but gazing into his eyes makes everything fall into place. hamzah was the epitome of perfection in your eyes, possibly, even more. you now know why you've spent your life yearning to be loved; he was there now, not only loving you, but knowing you as well. he prides himself in his adoration for his girlfriend. there would be no reason for him to cheat.

however, you felt a rock being thrown to the walls of your heart from the veins inside when you saw her whisper in his ear, and watched him chuckle at whatever she said to him. that smile he gave her; the same smile he would give you whenever you'd say something stupid that would make him laugh. his teeth, the ones that you would compliment him for since the imperfections in it suits him, is now visible in a genuine smile for another woman.

you stared at him from afar trying to convince yourself that he wasn't like anyone else you've loved and lost; that he would never be like those who created a shell of who you once were and the ghost of complete trust in most relationships. however, with each small gesture, touch, and laughter, you began to doubt yourself.

so, you shut down as your mind became your own personal prison. you were in a state where you escaped from your body, being locked in a cage where the walls wrote the promises that were broken by other people, using your own blood to write each lie, taunting you and teasing you with false hope. each lie repeated in your head until hamzah called you over, motioning with his hand in a motion waving towards him.

"are you alright?" he asked you, putting his hand on your shoulder, enveloping you in a side hug as the woman's grin turned straight and cold.

you nodded, "yeah, i'm fine."

"i want you to meet maeve, an old friend of mine from, like, high school, i believe?"

you opened your mouth to greet her, to which she interrupts you, "actually, middle school. i go waaaay back with this guy, isn't that right hamzah?"

he nodded, smiling, "yeah, it's been how long now?"

maeve scoffs and nudges his arm again, "years. genuine years. i've missed you!"

you cough, clearly uncomfortable by the scene in front of you. yet, a part of you didn't want to seem weak for feeling so upset. guilt started to rise from your stomach, extending to your throat. how could you think that your boyfriend would cheat on you like that? but, then again, you also contradict yourself in your own head; why wouldn't he?

"are you sure you're okay?" your boyfriend asks you, a look of genuine worry in his eyes.

"yeah, i'm fine."

-

an hour passed by, an uncomfortable lack of conversation coming out of your mouth. you were always the talker as hamzah listened to you. you never realized that he would be a talker to another woman as you took the role of listener. you decided to leave them alone, going with a couple friends of yours to the basement; your heart couldn't take the painful flashbacks and concern. going back up from the basement, you hesitated on looking at them. however, he appeared behind you and hugged you from behind, resting his head on the top of your scalp. it was weird; this was the first time you didn't want to be touched by him, compared to a full two years of yearning for his fingertips interlocking with yours. finally, he said his goodbyes to those he knew at the party as you did too.

the car ride was quiet: the kind of quiet after a certain loss. you saw his gaze in the corner of your eye, glancing at you, as your eyes were trained on the dark road ahead of you. almost reading your emotion, he placed his hand on your thigh. you knew his intentions of comforting you, however, the image of maeve and him wouldn't leave your head as the movement of the car remained steady.

"what's up?"

you snapped out of your trance, confused, "hm?"

he reached a stoplight and looked at you, "you're quiet. normally, you'd be telling me about all the tea you heard of at the party and we'd be talking mad shit. something's wrong. did something happen while you were in the bathroom? i swear to god if something happened-"

"no, hamzah," your voice got quiet, "nothing happened."

the last thing you wanted to be was overbearing; maybe the lack of communication is bad, however, you couldn't help it. you shattered, once. someone dropped you and the shell of your old self shattered. you spent all this time, picking up all the pieces off of the floor and gluing yourself back together. you were not going to let him drop you and leave you for yourself to clean up as if you were the maid of your own house.

"baby, you can talk to me," the car started again.

your voice shook, "please, just drop it, i'm fine."

"but you're obviously not! you're so quiet, you haven't spoken a word besides yes and no ever since we got in the car. talk to me," he pulled up into the designated parking to your apartment and gently grabbed your face with both of his hands, forcing eye contact within the space of both of you.

you teared up, a moment of weakness breaking, "please go home. i just need space."

his eyebrows furrowed a look of confusion, hurt, sadness, anguish; genuinely any negative emotion in the book of empathy. yet, he let you go.

"please, please text me if you need something. i love you, i don't know what's going on, but i'm here. i promise you," he reassured as he kissed your forehead.

you got out of the car and quickly walked off, vanishing into the interior of your apartment complex.

--

three days have passed since the party. hamzah offered to come over to talk the day after, leaving text messages for you to read.

hamzah! <3 :)

11:45 am | baby

11:45 am | can we talk?

11:45 am | pls

11:46 am | tell me what's wrong pls

11:46 am | can i come over?

1:06 pm | i won't come over unless you give me permission. i can't force you to do anything. but pls at least send me a text if ur okay.

1:06 pm | i lvoe you

1:07 pm | love*

3:02 pm | please baby respond i'm worried

3:02 pm | if someone did something while you were in the bathroom, you could tell me i promise i won't do anything to them i'll be there to support you

3:06 pm | just talk to me i'm here

5:23 pm | i love you a lot

5:23 pm | i hope you know that

5:23 pm | i've been pretty bored without u

5:24 pm | martin is currently over

5:24 pm | he's ranting about mandy which is kinda horrible timing for the state we're in rn

5:24 pm | i'm thinking of u when he talks about how in love he is with her

5:24 pm | i wanna marry you one day the way that he's gonna propose to her soon

5:54 pm | me and martin are gonna get tacos

5:54 pm | so if u want some i can drop some off

5:55 pm | so js let me know

6:24 pm | i got 4 carne asada tacos martin literally got 7 wtf

6:24 pm | ok i kinda wish i got 7 this shits mad good

7:30 pm | i got u flowers

7:30 pm | and the chips u like from that one fancy ass grocery store like 40 minutes away

7:31 pm | i forced martin to drive me there to get you them since ik u like them a lot

7:31 pm | i also got u some mangos

7:31 pm | it was buy 3 get 2 free

7:42 pm | i'm still worried about you

7:42 pm | i was hoping my text messages would distract you from how ur feeling rn which is hwy i even told u abt the deal on the mangos

7:42 pm | so in case u thought i was js updating u on my day bc i stopped caring

7:42 pm | its not that

7:42 pm | in fact i dont think i could ever stop caring abt u

7:42 pm | i love u so much

9:51 pm | it's been a full day

9:51 pm | i'm sorry but i'm kind of upset at u

9:51 pm | why did u ghost me the whole day

9:51 pm | not even one text?

10:20 pm | really?

10:20 pm | still?

10:20 pm | what happened to talking things out?

10:21 pm | or do we js not do that anymore in this relationship lol

12:01 am | i didnt mean that im so sorry i didnt mean that at all that was so passive aggressive im sorry

12:01 am | im just worried about u thats all im really fucking worried

12:01 am | i just wantu to be okay

12:01 am | i want to talk to u

12:01 am | i want to hold u

12:01 am | i want to kiss u

12:01 am | i want things to be okau

12:01 am | i want u to say something insanely sarcastic and i want to roll my eyes at how stupid it was

12:01 am | i want to see u laugh

12:01 am | fuck please please just fucking text me please baby please

12:01 am | i'll do anything

2:23 am | am i burdening you

2:23 am | do you think i'm annoying you

2:23 am | i'm sorry i wasn't thinking about how all of my texts could make u feel i was just worried and i wanted u to know that i love and care abt u

2:23 am | if ur asleep rn i hope you're sleeping well

2:23 am | i cant rly sleep rn

2:24 am | i dont think i can sleep without u tbh ive been sleeping with u for how long now its been so long since i havent slept w u

4:55 am | still awake

4:55 am | i'll do anything for u to feel happy and okay again

4:55 am | i'd even eat shitty coleslaw again

4:55 am | insane amounts of it

4:55 am | only for u

your heart hurt with every customized ping of hamzah's texts. by the end of the day, you didn't know if silence was a good thing or not on your behalf. you stopped talking to protect yourself, however, seeing the boy you love the most hurt possibly even more than the reason you were distancing yourself. however, you were in too deep of this cycle of self-despair, loathing, and pity all mixed into one.

the next day, it was radio silence on both of your ends. the silence was almost deafening, being amplified by the pit you feel in both your heart and stomach. you missed him. you looked at your shared photo album of you two together, reminiscing on the memories you shared. the aquarium where you two took an edible each and got absolutely blasted underneath the underwater tunnel. the bowling alley where you joked around about getting the ick as he overexaggerated his movements. the lodge where you two made a shitty snowman and shared a hot cocoa. you scrolled all the way up to the mountaintop he took you when you guys were still friends, the city skyline visible in the background. you swiped; it was now your first kiss displayed on the screen in front of you. by now, your eyes became opened dams, water flooding out of them. you went to bed, tears staining your eyes.

on the third day, you both still didn't reach out. you were waiting for him to inevitably break up with you for not being able to talk. you felt horrible; you felt cowardly for not simply telling him how you feel and what was bothering you. you believed you were such a terrible, terrible girlfriend. until, the doorbell rang.

it was him; in front of you with puffy eyes, a black hoodie with sweatpants, and tear-stained cheeks, holding flowers and a reusable trader joes bag filled with mangoes and chips.

"can i come in?"

--

the bag sat on your dining room table, the flowers put into a blue tinted vase. the two of you sat on the couch, inches apart. you don't recall the last time you were on the cough not interlocked in some sense, like your hands or your legs or your arms. it's silent. both of you are exchanging glances, almost as if you were strangers, never daring to lock eyes at the same time. you were about to speak, until he did it for you.

"did you find someone else at the party?"

you were stunned, "what?"

he sighed, "you said nothing happened in the bathroom. i was scared someone touched you or something. but you said that nothing happened in there."

you nodded.

"are you lying to me? did you find someone else? did you.. did you cheat on me at that party?" he asked you.

suddenly, all the emotions you felt became too overwhelming.

you looked at him with a face of disbelief and stood up from the couch, "are you serious? you're asking me that?"

he sighed, standing up as well, "i'm not trying to make you angry, i promise. i'm asking because you just suddenly stopped talking and i'm so confused."

"so your first instinct was to accuse me of cheating."

his facial expression mirrored yours, "i'm sorry?" he said sarcastically, "what do you mean 'first?' my first instinct was to text you and make sure you were okay! fuck, i literally texted you so much. what did i get? nothing. i got nothing for three days. you left me for three days and you're telling me that my first instinct was to just argue with you?" he scolded.

"no, i'm saying that you think i cheated on you. that's so fucking rich, hamzah."

frustration bubbled into the conversation, "what are you even talking about?"

you went silent, avoiding eye contact.

he continues, "see! this is what i mean! you just shut down. you have to talk to me. staying absolutely quiet doesn't do shit; it just fucking worries the shit out of me and it makes everything fucking worse. just talk!"

you looked at the floor, trying to hold back tears.

"please. fucking please just tell me what's wrong. what happened? do you not trust me anymore?" he asks, still looking at you with a facial expression of frustration.

still nothing from you; you stared.

hamzah crouches down at eye level, gently grabbing your face and mimicking his actions from the car ride home from the party, "please. i'll get on my knees and beg if i have to."

you stared at him as he waited. the frustration in his face suddenly turned into patience. you knew that he knew you; you knew that he understood you. suddenly, looking into your eyes, things began to make sense once more for hamzah. he nodded, a symbol of his understanding towards you. looking into his eyes, you realized how much he's been yearning for you for the past three days. you noticed the eyebags, visibly protruding from underneath his eyes. you saw it all: the lack of sleep, the hurt you caused him, the pain that you induced. you noticed the way he looked at you in that moment; he didn't want to hurt you.

you whispered, "hamzah, i'm scared."

his voice matched the volume of yours, "i'm here, baby. sit down. tell me what's wrong."

you sat with him, still inches apart, voice still quiet, "i was scared at the party."

"why?"

you sighed shakily and stumbled upon your words, "i saw you smiling with her. you know how i've been cheated on. i tried my best to just tell myself you'd never do that. but i guess the more i saw you guys smiling and laughing and her touching your arm and whispering in your ear- everything just didn't make sense. then, the way she talked to you and basically just ignored me made me feel so weird and like i knew you would never do that to me, i know that you would never cheat, but what if you did? then what- do i just break and fall apart and pick myself up again? would it just be this cycle of me getting hurt?"

guilt, mixed with understanding and remorse was plastered onto his features.

you continued, "so, i stopped talking. i guess i just convinced myself that you would hurt me the way that my ex hurt me, as well. i thought, this way, you could hurt me the least if you were going to hurt me."

he moved closer, bringing your head into the crevice of his neck. hamzah went through the stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, and depression. this was the acceptance he was finally waiting for. he stroked your hair as you rested on his shoulder, your whole body weight moving onto his. you felt his lips on your forehead, pecking once with adoration and love laced into it. you stayed like that for about five minutes without him saying anything.

"baby, the goal is to not hurt you at all."

you moved off his shoulder and looked at him.

"i noticed her too. i didn't like the way she treated you. when you left to go with aisha and faye, i told her that you were my girlfriend. she tried to get closer to me- told me that you wouldn't have to know. y'know what i did?"

you looked at him with fear and paranoia, "what?"

"i told her to fuck off. i left her. i blocked her on instagram, too. then, i went to look for you and you were already there at the top of the stairs. i was going to tell you about what she did, but you seemed upset already so i was going to wait. then, when you started being really quiet, i thought someone did something to you in the bathroom, so maeve flirting with me was the least of my worries."

"really?"

he moved your legs onto his lap, cradling you with his arms and holding eye contact.

"y'know, you're the first girl i've ever taken seriously. i just remember our first kiss. in the parking lot on lovers point. you thought it was just a coincidence that i took you there- that it was just some random spot i knew of."

you asked, "was it not?"

"i spent two days making pros and cons lists of different places to take you. i chose this place because the day before we were going to go out, you mentioned how you wanted to see the city's skyline. then i kissed you and it was like everything i've ever gone through- every struggle, every ounce of pain, every misfortune i've been through- it was like all of it was worth it. because i'm alive and because it led me to you."

culpability entered your soul, "i'm sorry."

he grabbed you by the cheek once more and kissed you on the lips. it was soft, a whisper or an essence of all the love he's given you and all the love he's felt for you. it was a kiss opposite of desperation; he was no longer desperate because he knew he had you, and vice versa.

"you have to talk to me."

"i will, i promise. i don't know what i was thinking. i'm sorry for hurting you and i'm sorry for ghosting you."

"i'm sorry if i seemed friendly with maeve. she means absolutely jackshit to me. i genuinely do not give a fuck about her. and i'm sorry for getting angry in our texts. i didn't mean it."

"i forgive you."

he kissed you once more, this one longer than the last. your lips intertwined within each other, as well as aspects of the overall soul and body of the relationship. when he pulled away, he took a couple of seconds to just stare.

"what?" you asked him.

he pecked your cheek, "i just missed seeing you. i just wanted to take it all in."

"y'know what i missed?"

"hm?"

you smirked, "the chips from lorenzo's."

he gasped dramatically, "wow. not me? the love of your life? the best boyfriend you've ever had? your other half? i'm offended. i'm so offended, in fact, i'm mad at you."

"i mean, my very loving and caring and sweet boyfriend got them for me," you joked, "you're mad at me again? what will i do?"

he rolled his eyes before his lips met yours, "i was never mad at you. i just missed you."

"corny," you teased.

he sighs, playfully with sarcasm laced into it.

you kissed his cheek, "are we okay?"

"we're okay, baby. we always will be, i promise."

--

authors note!

hi guys wow my first fanfic on this account. this might be a little dramatic so apologies if it's a little horribly written but oh well. i hope u guys like this. also i think i opened my requests so u guys can now request things! hooray!

[dyingswanpavlova]

Stranger Danger

Part 1

Pairing: The Salesman x Reader

Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Helplessness, Manipulation

I think there are no more warnings for this chapter, but so far, I'm sure there will be Noncon in the future. I'm just saying that now already to make sure people who get triggered by that know it.

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Your father always warned you not to get into a stranger's car, but he never mentioned what you should do if you need help and the stranger seems like a good guy.

You remembered your father’s words like a mantra, safe and gentle, but no less stern.

Don’t get into stranger’s cars.

Looking back, you always assumed he saw you as rather silly or slow. He hadn’t warned your sister half as much as he had you. You were weak-willed. You were naïve. You trusted anyone, no matter how many times they fucked you over – your father knew. And yet, he couldn't help you. No one could.

He had been there to protect you most of your life. Many things you never needed to do yourself – take out the trash, build any furniture or even walk to school. He was there to do these things for you, even long after you moved out. You never saw anything weird in it, though you assumed some people might have. Yes, you were a little naïve, silly even when it came to trusting people. But why would you not? Your parents were good people and you grew up in a perfect world.

Of course you weren’t some kind of internal deadbeat. You knew how to cook and clean, you got your school finished and you got yourself a job. It wasn’t like your parents just did everything for you, but you always knew that they were there.

You had always depended on them and you weren’t shy to admit that. You loved your parents.

Your mother was the epitome of motherly love. Whatever it was about, you and your sister came first. She didn’t think about herself, up to point where it got really annoying. Whenever she got something, like a perfume set or a gift card, she’d offer it to you. You and your sister, you had to forcefully make her go and buy something for herself. It was just in her nature. Her own parents had been like that, giving everything to her and her brother, before they thought about themselves and so she simply continued with the cycle.

Your father was a little different – at least his upbringing. His parents hadn’t loved him. Not because he wouldn’t be lovable, no, he had been no more than a little boy. But his own mother was a selfish hag who cared only about herself, leaving him to live with her parents, after she left your grandfather. Your father didn’t have a relationship with him until he was over thirty. He got raised by his grandparents. They loved him, yes, but they simply weren’t his parents.

The devil – how you liked to refer to your grandmother – snuck her way back into his life, right after he got married to your mother. You’d spent most of your childhood watching her eat away at your mother’s soul, keeping her small and belittled every step of the way. So, it was safe to say, your mother was unhappy – but she never took that bitterness out on you.

Your father, surprisingly, turned out to be a good father. Great, even. It was mostly your mother’s influence, but you could the spark of a great person, hidden behind all that suppressed anger.

You and your sister got really lucky with your parents, you knew that and you appreciated it. Appreciated them. You’d spend many nights of your childhood sleeping curled up between them and they never complained. There was always space for you. You had always felt the safest that way, not only as a child, but even as a teenager.

At some point that stopped of course, but you never felt any less safe around them. You had your problems like all families, but one thing was always a priority: your safety.

So, when your father told you to never get into a stranger’s car, you believed him and you listened. It wasn’t exactly that anyone ever tried to kidnap you. You got lucky in that regard as well. But the problem was, you had no idea what exactly would happen if someone did.

Of course you weren’t an idiot and not a virgin, either. You had sex with a few people, most of them regrets. Except for one. Your ex-boyfriend. The only meaningful thing you had ever had or so you thought.

You’d fallen in love with him like people did in movies – quick and relentless.

If he had asked you to die back then, you probably would have. Just to please him. That was how much you loved him. But of course he didn’t take advantage of it, not like that. He was a good person. Your parents raised you well in that regard – you recognized good people. And when you loved, you loved. So, you loved him for years.

But at some point life got in-between you, just like work and everything else – and in the end, you were alone. The love had simply not been there anymore, not in the way you both wished it had. Looking back, you still had no idea if there had been a main reason or many small reasons. Whatever it was - you broke up and now you were alone.

At twenty-five.

Probably not that bad, right?

But to you it felt like you were thirty-five, divorced with five children to raise on your own.

How were you supposed to start anew? Meet someone new?

The thought was almost ridiculous to you. You had never really been alone, it was a foreign concept to you. There were always either your family, your friends or your boyfriend.

But maybe, you thought, maybe you needed a change.

Maybe you needed to be alone, at least for a while. Really on your own.

You needed to face the struggles you had been spared so far. Maybe, you needed to build your own wardrobe. And if it took fucking weeks. Maybe you needed space.

A new space. For yourself. On your very own.

The thought had sounded tempting back in the day, but now, as you struggled to see through the dark, getting lost on Was this even a road? Oh God, had you lost the road? you weren’t so sure anymore.

You couldn’t tell why you had picked Seoul of all places. You hated big cities. You had grown up in a small town, facing the same people every day.

Safe.

Being young, you had hated it and only ever waited to grow up and move to a big city to live the fucking life. But the older you got and the more you understood how the world worked, the less tempting it became.

A small town sounded just perfect.

It wasn’t even really safe there, it wasn’t safe anywhere being a woman. But a big city sounded even more insane.

And yet you thought, that was just the way. Maybe you needed a little excitement, just to get back on track and finally feel alive again.

Being seventeen, life had felt endless. Up to the point where it almost annoyed you. Couldn’t you ever grow up enough to make your own decisions?

But now, being twenty-five and being able to make your own decisions, you had quickly realized: making decisions sucked. Probably not for everyone, but for you it sure did. Because somehow you felt like you always made the wrong ones.

So, you needed something new. A change of color, a new perspective, anything.

You were twenty-five, for God’s sake. But you felt like you were about to die.

So, you quit your job. It wasn’t the most sane decision, probably, but you soon realized you wanted more than the boring life of a retail worker in a small town with no chance at anything new.

SNU.

That was the way.

You’d do something reckless, something entirely insane.

Psychology maybe. Or neuroscience.

You had a great interest in many things, but you never finished anything. You just…existed. You didn’t burn for anything.

Until that one day that you called a landlord in Seoul, the day you sent away your university application…

And got accepted. By both.

Your family was devastated. Seoul wasn’t the end of the world, but sure enough it was far away. Too far to see them every day.

Your mother was especially bad. She had been crying more than you could take and so had you. You had begged and assured that you would come back – you just needed to do this. For you.

Eventually, she accepted it. But you saw the pain in her eyes and it was killing you. Even your tough-as-nails sister had cried. But what stung worst?

Your father.

Your father was a good man and he sure was a good father, but that didn’t mean he was soft. Looking back you had only ever seen him be strong for you. Crying? You had only seen him cry once. When his father died. And he didn’t even cry because of that, no, he cried because he had to leave you and your family behind to go to the funeral. He was only gone for a week, but it had been bad enough. The way he sat by your bed, his eyes red and stinging, in the middle of the night. You were still a kid back then, but the look in his eyes haunted you.

When you told him you would move away, he had protested just as much, but begrudgingly accepted it. That was until the day came.

He stood before you, his hands holding onto your arms just a fraction too tight – and you saw it. His red-rimmed eyes, his concern, his pain.

He was in pain because of you. They all were.

You would never forget that sight.

And yet, you went ahead and left.

They weren’t angry. Only heartbroken. But God, would you have preferred their anger.

Of course your father arranged everything with precision. You, him and a few of his friends had taken your stuff to your new apartment. Your mother had insisted to help you clean it. So, you’d spent days scrubbing and cleaning, while your sister stood-by, shooting you playful glares as she pretended to clean your windows, until your mother scolded her.

The apartment wasn’t big, but it was enough. It was yours.

Covered in paintings you liked and a few things from home you needed to keep you grounded. Family pictures all over of course. Your mothers oven cloths. The blue mug your sister bought you when you were still little. Your father’s black, worn-out jacket. It covered you almost whole and you needed it. You needed it all, because you needed them.

It would have been a good idea if one those times you went there, you had been the one to drive. But of course your father didn’t let you, because he didn’t want to make your life any harder than it was. So, he drove – and you had no idea how to get there on your own.

It wasn’t an all too long drive, only forty-five minutes. You went early enough, by three pm, but you somehow managed to fuck everything up and get lost anyway. So bad, that of course, it got dark outside.

Your life was a tragic comedy.

 It didn’t help that your battery was at fifteen percent. The clever thing would have been to call your father. But you didn’t want to, not yet at least. You didn’t want to be such a baby. And what would you have told him anyway?

Dad, I’m too dumb to read Google Maps. Can you come and pick me up?

He would, of course. But you could already picture your sister making fun of you for the rest of your life. You knew, in the end, she wanted you to be safe as well. But you wanted to make it on your own, just this one time.

But when you heard that God-awful sound, you knew you were in trouble.

Something about the engine wasn’t right, it made these sounds sometimes. But so far it had never smelled like smoke.

The moment you smelled it, you didn’t hesitate to hit the brakes. With wide eyes, you stared at the road ahead of you. No sight of a fucking city, just darkness and you were trapped here.

The panic you felt was unlike you had ever felt before. Everything else had been peanuts, but this was real. A real problem.

Your fingers curled around the steering wheel tightly and you took a deep, shaky breath in order to calm down.

“Fucking shit.”

You reached for your phone, already in dire need of whatever help you could get. So, you did what you had to and you dialed your father’s number.

But he didn’t pick up. Not by the first try, nor the second. Your mother had lost her phone only yesterday and your sister was most likely still at work. And there you were. Trapped.

You stared down at the phone in your hand, your eyes wide and your breath stuttering in your chest.

Should you call the police? And what would you tell them?

Please track my phone, I don’t know where I am and I don’t know how to drive a manual car.

Fuck.

You flinched when you saw the light in the rearview mirror.

Fuck. Fuck.

You were in the middle of the road – if one could call this muddy puddle a road. You quickly reached for the key and turned it in order to take your car to the side, but nothing. You turned it again and still.

Dead.

“Fuck!”

You kept yanking at the key, desperate to make anything work. Your brain was clouded, it was almost as if you suddenly forgot how to start a car. You pushed every button and pedal there was, but nothing happened.

“Oh, no…”

Your grip on the wheel tightened and you looked into the mirror again. The car behind you was waiting, almost patiently. You couldn’t see the driver, but your panic was making you nauseous.

You raised a hand as if to symbolize your apology – that you were doing your best. But still nothing.

You fumbled for your phone again, calling your father countless times.

“Pleasepleaseplease- Fuck!”

Your fingers were trembling.

Oh God, this was so embarrassing.

You looked into the mirror again. No honk to be heard. Whoever there was behind you was more patient than you were, because you began to hit your phone against the wheel, as if that would help you, anyway. You tugged on your hair and released a frustrated shriek.

“Fuck!”

It was only then that you saw it. A movement in the corner of your eye. His form approached your window in the darkness, gently tapping his knuckles against it. You flinched so violently, that he immediately took a step back. His eyes widened and he held up his hands, as if surrendering.

You stared at him like a madwoman.

Fuck. It couldn’t get any more embarrassing than this, right?

You swallowed and rolled the window down the tiniest bit. You could never know.

“I’m sorry.” You croaked out. “It won’t start. I’ll be gone in a minute, I promise.”

“It’s okay.” The man’s expression softened. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He raked a hand through his dark hair and looked back at his own car, before he met your gaze again. “What happened?” He suddenly frowned. “And what’s that smell?”

You sighed deeply and slumped back against the seat. “I don’t know. I just now smelled it and it won’t start. I don’t know what to-“

You felt a lump in your throat and you quickly forced your gaze away. Of course you’d end up crying to a stranger, the one time you tried to make it on your own.

He exhaled a slow breath. “It’s okay.” He said in a soft tone. “Take your time. I’m not in a hurry.”

His voice was so gentle and reassuring that the lump passed. You took a deep breath and tried to start the car again, but still nothing. You shot him a helpless look.

His expression was a mixture of concern and mild amusement. Not in a mocking way, the situation was just so…ridiculous. You couldn’t blame him.

“I could try, if you want me to.”

You bit your lip and glanced back down at your phone. What were the facts? It was dark and he was a stranger. But what else? You were alone and trapped. So, if you didn’t want to end up here all night…

You eyed him almost imperceptibly. He was a handsome man, maybe in his late thirties or early forties. He was wearing a suit and a mild smile. He didn’t exactly look like the axe murder type.

He caught your gaze and his expression softened further.

“I could also call the car service, if you’d prefer that.”

No. He wasn’t the murderous type.

But you didn’t want to cause more fuss than necessary.

You clutched your phone in one hand and your home keys in the other. One key between each finger, just like your father showed you. Then you shook your head.

“Maybe you could get it to work.” With a soft click, you opened the door. He took a respectful step back as you got out. Once you stood you realized he was even more handsome close-up. He was also much taller than you, but he didn’t really seem like the intimidating type. You took a step back, allowing him entrance.

He slid into the driver’s seat with a gentle elegance. He adjusted a few settings, before he tried to start the engine. The motor roared, but nothing more. And that burnt smell only ever got worse.

He crinkled his nose and shook his head. “Did that ever happen before?”

You shook your head. “I don’t think so. It’s my father’s old car, so I’m not sure.”

He nodded. “Can I take a look?”

You shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He slid outside and circled the car. With a soft click he opened the bonnet. You used the moment to check him out further. He looked like a business man, probably on his way home from work. He didn’t wear a ring though. You had, at least, expected a wife. Would have made him less of a danger, right?

Maybe he was divorced.

Maybe he was a single father and his bitch wife left him and the children behind.

You decided to go with that story. That made you feel less uneasy. He was a good person, in that case. Working hard and taking care of his poor children.

Your focus quickly shifted back to the car the second you saw the smoke rise from under the hood.

“What the-“

“It’s okay.” He said immediately. “Cars don’t just explode. They only do that in movies.” He shot you a reassuring smile, though his forehead was still crinkled in a small frown. “I’m pretty sure it’s only overheated. Do you have any coolant on you?”

You stared at him with wide eyes, that one look enough to give away how helpless you were.

That made him smile, but only halfway.

“That’s okay. Maybe your father keeps it in the trunk? I’ll go take a look.”

With a soft sigh, you watched him circle the car again and open the trunk with ease.

“Oh, are you moving?” He called over as he caught sight of the last few items you were carrying from home, like a few backpacks, a computer and a plant you would, no question, end up killing anyway. But your mother insisted you took it with you.

“Yes.” You said hesitantly. “I’m moving to Seoul.”

“I am from Seoul.” He said calmly, as he rummaged through the things in order to find something helpful. “You’re quite a bit off the road here.”

His words sent an unpleasant shiver down your spine. You couldn’t stop yourself from asking. “And what are you doing here then?”

You knew how stupid it sounded, almost accusing. But you couldn’t help it. You still heard your father’s voice in your head. A quick glance down at your phone showed you that still no-one had called back.

He pulled his head back and regarded you with an understanding smile. “I work not far from here. You might even have passed by. It’s actually impossible to miss. A great, grey building complex with a stallion up front. We sell Mercedes cars.”

You thought back to it and indeed. You remembered the horse.

“That’s where you work?”

He nodded. “Unfortunately, I’m not as good at repairing cars as I am at selling them.” His smile softened and he quietly closed the trunk. “I don’t have any coolant on me either, I’m afraid. That’s my company car, not my private one. It’s mostly to show off.”

That made your own expression soften. “No, no, that’s not your…I’ll call my father.” You were already dialing again. But, fucking shit, he didn’t pick up. He always picked up his phone and today, of course, he didn’t.

He stood opposite you and looked at you curiously. “Will it take him long to get here? I wouldn’t want to leave you here alone. I can wait with you, until he arrives.”

You looked down at the phone in your hands, a soft sigh on your lips. “It might take him a while. I just moved out today and I was hoping…” You looked at him with a tilt of your head and a careful smile. “I was hoping I would make it at least a day without having to call him.”

His expression softened even more, loosening his handsome features into something you really enjoyed looking at.

“I understand.” He murmured. “Listen, I could have the car service here within a few minutes. I will gladly pay for it.”

Your eyes widened in surprise and your head snapped up. That was a really generous offer and you simply didn’t expect it. Maybe it wasn’t really necessary to keep your guard up all the time. Maybe not all people were bad. Though your father did make it sound like most of them were.

“That’s very kind, but I cannot accept that. But thank you. Really. I’ll just…” You shrugged and smiled again, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’ll just call my father. It’s not that big of a deal.”

He regarded you with a thoughtful look and you suddenly realized, he must think I’m stupid. If I want to call my father, why am I not already talking to him? Fuck, because he isn’t picking up his goddamn phone.

Before you could say anything more though, he spoke up. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but you know, I could just take you to the garage.”

When you didn’t answer at first, he shrugged. “I don’t have any coolant, but I sure do have a tow bar.”

The thought of getting this done without your families help sounded tempting, but the thought of getting in his car still made you feel uneasy. No matter how nice he was being, he was still a stranger – and you knew what those could do. You had watched enough documentaries to know everyone from Jim Jones to Richard Ramirez.

“I…”

He held up his hands again. “No pressure. As I said, I’ll gladly wait with you until your father arrives.”

You took a quick glance at your phone and bit your lip. It was almost six. Until your father arrived, it would be at least seven. And you already heard your sister’s voice in your head.

I knew you couldn’t make it on your own. Silly little thing, moving to Seoul.

She had pulled you out of trouble more than once and she had never shut up about it. Eventually, you looked up to meet his gaze again. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”

He smiled at that. Soft. Reassuring. Almost trustworthy.

“I promise you, you’re not. I’m not exactly a knight, but I wouldn’t forgive myself if I left you here like this.”

A few moments later, you finally gave in.

How bad could it possibly end? After all, he had the ghost of a wife and his poor children at home, right?

[izels-writing]

Hi, I recently discovered your page and I love it! I was wondering if you could do a “to all the boys I loved before” trope with reader and James potter? Like reader is similar to Lara Jean and James to Peter Kavinsky

of course of course!! i’m not sure if you wanted the storyline or just the character-likeness, so i did a little bit of both! tysm for the request my love!💗

also gonna make this more than one part bc I don’t wanna make it super long but I don’t wanna rush it either!!

j. potter — how forever feels ! [1/7]

Pairing: james potter x fem!hopelessromantic!reader

Summary: the stars have aligned and you and james’ futures had intertwined.

Warning: surprise kiss (not in a malicious way!), anxiety, upsetting situation, james potter is a cutie i love him, fake dating trope!!!, let me know if i miss anything!

PART ONE — PART TWO — PART THREE

for as long as you could remember, you'd been a hopeless romantic. every love story, every gesture, and every confession of love in all the romance movies you'd seen were every idea of perfect you could imagine.

except, this idea of love often came with side effect called fear of rejection. so every crush and every feeling that ever developed for someone, you'd never admit it aloud.

so you did the next best thing. you wrote it down.

for the past couple of years, each time you'd fallen completely in love with someone—you wrote them a letter. you'd fallen for them, to you, this was your way of letting them go after the fact. you wrote the letter, pouring out your heart and then some, before stuffing the addressed but never mailed letter in a shoebox and shoving it to the back of your closet.

and from then on, you'd let go of these feelings of love that plagued your every waking moment.

and despite it sounding like many—you only had three letters so far.

the first letter you'd ever wrote was to evan rosier in your first year. before teenage drama and bullshit took over and corrupted his terrible soul, the two of you had shared a class together—potions. he was kind and sweet and very good at potions, always asking to be your partner because you weren't so good at it. it was a puppy love, with him giving you small gifts and offering to help you study. had he not been enthralled by the idea of being exactly like his family, you were sure he was it.

the second letter you ever wrote was to james potter in the fourth year. you two had signed up for a valentine's day hogsmeade trip, where the prefects were to assign everyone a partner for the day—who would then go to different stores and shops, getting into the valentine's day spirit. thinking back now, it seems silly, but to fourteen yerra-old you, it was a chance at love. when you were assigned james potter, you were thrilled. he was handsome and a famous quidditch player, he seemed like the entire package. and he was. he was a complete gentleman, holding the door open for you, buying you a small bouquet of flowers at hogsmeade, offering you his coat—the works. he was pleasant to talk to too, making you laugh and finding him and his stories rather interesting. had it not been for the fact that he was infatuated with lily evans, you would like to think you'd have gone on a few more dates after that.

and now, in you sixth year, you'd written one to benjamin jones—your best friends boyfriend. you couldn't help it, when last year you'd been paired together for care of magical creatures and began to fall for him. his kind green eyes, his sweet smile, and the way you could tell him anything and everything without him judging. he was the epitome of what you wanted. he was a friend, but you were also in love with him.

granted, he hadn't been your best friends boyfriend when you had fallen for him. that came after the fact. and while it hurt, you made peace with it once you wrote your letter.

except, your sibling had made the mistake of stumbling across the wrong box to mail. and your parents made the mistake of mailing the letters. and the mistakes rolled on from there.

and now you were left dealing with the fact that the three boys you still went to school with would read your letter.

——

"they what?!" you blurted angrily.

"they mailed the letters. i didn't realize what they were until now when evan opened his! i'm sorry, y/n!" your siblings exclaimed.

you felt your entire world spin. there was no way you could continue your day, much less your life. three boys in this school now had your innermost thoughts and feelings revealed to them. thing you'd never say aloud, much less tell them.

your breathing quickened and you felt yourself feeling lightheaded. you turned to your best friend, "i'm so sorry, i wrote that letter before you two got together,"

lie.

"i know, i know, it's okay. i know your process. why don't we go back to your dorm, okay?" she replied kindly, helping you stand.

this response eased your nerves a bit, but nonetheless, the panic was still setting in. you nodded, getting up to make your way back to your dorm. you couldn't believe this right now.

as you walked, your breathing kept quickening. you began to see dark spots and hoped you'd make it back to your dorm before any of them had the thought to come up to you.

but realizing your state, your best friend took you to the courtyard for some much needed fresh air. making students were out there, enjoying their breakfast on such a beautiful day.

a beautiful day for them.

she sat you by a concrete ledge, helping you sit properly as you attempted to calm down. you tried to breathe in and out.

"i'm going to go get you some water, okay? stay here!" she said calmly, running off.

you nodded as she left, feeling your breathing slow. there's no way any of them could think to find you out here...right?

wrong.

"l/n!" a voice called out as they ran toward you. the brown-skinned, tall, muscular boy who was the subject of your second letter made his way over to you. in his hand he held the infamous letter. you swallowed thickly.

"uhm, hi," you replied timidly.

he sat next to you, taking a deep breath and likely preparing himself for what he thought was going to be a difficult conversation. "how are you? uhm, listen i wanted to talk to you about this letter you wrote me..."

you turned to james, wishing the ground could swallow you whole. "oh?"

"yeah, listen, you're a great girl—you're beautiful and funny and smart, but uh, i don't like you that way—" james said sheepishly, hoping you wouldn't get upset.

"i don't like you anymore, james, i wrote that letter two years ago. you were never supposed to see it," you blurted your confession. he sighed and smiled.

"oh great, i was afraid—"

"y/n!" a familiar voice exclaimed. your blood ran cold.

benjamin jones.

"i'm sorry," you told james suddenly as you figured out the only escape you could.

"for what?" james questioned, but he didn't have much time to elaborate because before he knew it—you kissed him. roughly, but nicely. for a weak moment, living out a fantasy he'd had at fourteen, he kissed back.

unbeknownst to him, you took a peak and noticed that benjamin and your best friend had spotted you. she chuckled and got him to walk off with her, explaining away the letter to her boyfriend. because while she may not know the letter was not before they began dating, given the contents of it, he likely did.

you pulled away as they walked off. you looked at james apologetically.

"wait.." he muttered in confusion. "you don't like me, right?"

"i'm so sorry," you replied quickly. and just like that, you stood up and ran off.

——

after a emotionally tumultuous few days, you were finally focused back on your studies. as of right now, you were in the library and attempting to take your mind off of everything while pouring your entire brain into completing your DADA essay.

but the universe had other plans for you.

"y/n?" a familiar voice called out. you looked up and felt your heart drop. you hadn't really spoken to him since...well, since you'd kissed him.

"james, hi..." you attempted a smile, but you only looked embarrassed. and to say you felt embarrassed was an understatement.

"you're a tough girl to find, l/n," he chuckled. he took a seat across from you, nodding to your assignment sprawled in front of you. "what're you doing?"

"oh, DADA essay," you said offhandedly.

"i have no idea how to ask this, so i'm just going to ask it," he prefaced, his tone sounding confused. "uh, why did you kiss me?"

you felt your face burn up. "i'm so sorry, look i really am. it's just...you're not the only person i wrote a letter to,"

"i'm not? way to make a guy feel less special," he muttered with a slight frown. "but i was your favorite letter to write, right?" he added hopefully.

"james," you warned.

"okay, okay...but that doesn't explain why you kissed me," he grinned. "did my dashing looks just fog your mind?"

"you wish," you rolled your eyes playfully. "look, i recently wrote a letter to someone who had a girlfriend, and that girlfriend is dear to me. i didn't want to make it awkward you know? so, i thought if he saw us kissing, he'd drop it. and so far, he has..."

james nodded. "makes sense, i suppose."

his mind seemed to drift off until finally, he smiled mischievously at you. you gave him a wary look.

"we can help each other," he grinned, leaning back in his chair.

"and how do you suppose we do that?" you asked carefully.

"well you don't want this guy to think you like him right? and well, i have a problem of my own.." he explained.

"which is?" you asked.

"you know lily evans?" he asked. you nodded. "well, she's dating this tosser, really. she and i had a moment back over the summer and really, i just want her to see we're right for each other..."

you nodded. "you want to make her jealous,"

"exactly! and, if you and i pretend to date, we can get rid of both of our problems!" james added happily.

"would that even work? it's so spontaneous and sudden, people have never even seen us together besides that one hogsmeade trip two years ago," you asked warily. "it's a good idea in theory, but realistically...?"

"we'll plant roots! like i'll say i'm not understanding something and you overheard and offered to tutor me! we'll spend some time here together for like a week or two and then bam, we start going out!" he explained with a grin.

you weighed out the options. eventually you'd have to talk about it with benjamin, but not if you had a boyfriend. and it'd solve james' problem too.

"fine, but we're establishing rules. like no kissing!" you explained quickly as james began to celebrate.

"no kissing? what're you? a nun? surely you've kissed someone before," he chuckled.

you remained quiet, struggling to meet his eyes. it wasn't for lack of wanting to—you just wanted your first kiss to be perfect and special.

"i want it to be special, okay?" you snapped quietly.

"okay, okay, understandable. what else?" he asked.

"we have to spend time together actually, and learn things about each other so we're not blindsided by questions. second, we can't tell anyone—what we're doing, it's so juvenile everyone would just laugh," you added. "and, we have to try to have dates together as much as we can, make it believable,"

james nodded to everything. "i agree. but i have rules too,"

you sighed. "okay, let's hear them,"

"you have to wear my quidditch jersey and attend my games, plus go to parties with me. and, you have to come with me to the quidditch end of year ball,"

the night was notorious for quidditch players sleeping with their significant others. it was meant for sixth and seventh years to attend a ball out of hogwarts, at some other school and chatting with international teams who were scouting for their next players. it was the beginning of the year and surely the ruse wouldn't last that long. which is the only reason you did this:

"okay," you nodded with a smile.

he stuck his hand out, grinning at you. you took his hand and shook it.

"so, we have a deal," he replied.

"we do, now let me finish this essay," you joked.

"yes, ma'am," he chuckled.

[idkwhatimdoinghere1655]

(4) Something Else - Lando Norris

<word count - 8614> |part 1 - Nerd|part 2 - Rumours|part 3 - So Special|

warnings: more maths, biology, bitches

That night, Lando spent his evening in his room, procrastinating. He had homework to do, but he couldn't bring himself to sit at his desk and pick up his pen. Plus, he could just do it with you tomorrow, anyway. 

The excitement that he felt as a result of getting to sit with you again, getting to spend time with you again was unlike anything else he had ever felt. It was like he was a young child on Christmas Eve, unable to wait for the next morning to roll around so that they could see what Santa had brought them. 

His whole family could see a clear shift in his mood, since they had grown so accustomed to moody, sad Lando over the past couple of days. All he wanted to do was get to school the next day just so that he could get to second break and meet you in the library - and that was something he never thought he'd say. 

Lando had also made his mind up that tomorrow, he was going to ask for your snap. Or your number. Having your number felt a lot more personal and serious than just having your Snapchat. He had a lot of people's snaps, but not many people's numbers. But he wanted yours. 

He wanted to save the conversations you'd have, he wanted to be able to call you when he got home from school and talk to you until he couldn't keep his eyes from drooping shut and then do it all again the next day until he could spend his weekends with you. 

Lando truly was the epitome of a love-sick teenage boy, pining after a girl who he wasn't even sure who wanted him back. You had to though, right? You wore his jumpers, you helped him with his work, he drove you home, hell you hugged each other. 

Meanwhile, you were happy, just not to the scale that Lando was. You were confused, to say the least. You didn't think that everything was just automatically going to blow over just because you had stuck up for yourself once, and the fact that you had was surprising to you. 

But you didn't know if you could keep on standing up for yourself, remembering how you had just broken down in front of Lando and felt like a complete idiot. It also baffled you how... understanding, he had been.

He didn't laugh, didn't tell you to get a grip, he didn't stand there awkwardly - well, he did but he had the right intentions. He had hugged you. I mean, what teenage boy hugs a girl that they're friends with when she's crying?

Despite the jokes he sometimes made, he clearly had an old head on young shoulders. The maturity that he had showed made you like him more, if you were being honest. How much you like him was obvious to you at this point.

You'd always been able to appreciate his face, but now it was more than that. You wanted to spend time with him, sit with him, just be near him. You wanted to laugh at his jokes, hear his voice, make him laugh. 

Yet there was always the fear. If you were actually together, what other rumours would people spout? How much worse would it get? Sure, you'd have Lando there by your side, and you knew he'd stick up for you, but how much more could you take? 

Was your adoration of him enough to cancel out everything people said?

Alas, the next morning, you had the courage to get on the bus instead of having to walk the freezing journey to school. Lando wasn't there, but you weren't upset by it. Max and his friends also didn't say anything, which was... weird, but you chose to ignore it. 

That and the weird feeling of dread that you had in your gut. 

Anyway, you walked into school, actually going to the canteen instead of the toilets or the lockers in fear of people talking to you. As you sat down at the table you usually did, the people that filtered in gave you weird looks. 

It almost looked remorseful, maybe something along the lines of pity? They spoke in hushed whispers around you, none of them making the effort to speak to you. You just scrolled on your phone as you sat there, your headphones in your ears. 

You could hear the faint chatterings of the other people in your year, but you were more focused on your phone. Eventually, the people in the canteen fell silent, the light buzzing of their conversations dying down as the doors opened. 

Out of curiosity, you looked up to see Lilly, strutting into the room. You knew something was amiss, but you had no clue what it was. People looked between you and her, and you were so confused as to what was going on. 

To make the atmosphere worse, Lando walked in after her a few seconds later, and you saw how come people's eyes went wide. Lando smiled at you before taking himself over to his friends, and Lilly went to her own table. 

"Mate, is it true?" Max asked Lando, and all he could do was roll his eyes. He had heard the sentence a lot of time recently, and he could only assume that he was about to hear some bullshit. But what Max said nearly made his heart stop. 

"Did you cheat on Y/N with Lilly?" 

Now that was a question that had a lot to unpack. To start off with, there was no way he could've cheated on you since you weren't together, that was the first major thing that he went through in his head. 

The second thing was that it was a stupid question; he'd never cheat on you. If you were his, he wouldn't risk losing you over something so stupid and hurtful as cheating. If you were his, he'd never have the desire to be with anyone else. If you were his, he'd be the best damn boyfriend he could've possibly been. 

Thirdly, it was already established that he wouldn't cheat to begin with, but certainly not with Lilly. God, even the sound of her name in his head made him want to throw up. He knew she had a massive crush on him, but he'd never stoop that low. 

"Who the fuck said that?" he rushed, his tone not lacking urgency. 

"I don't know where it came from, Will told me this morning," Max sheepishly said, not missing the alarm in Lando's voice. He knew his friend had been having a hard time lately - and he was a participant. But he also knew that it was going to get worse from now.

"Oh my christ," he mumbled, getting up nearly as quickly as he had sat down. Lando had spotted Will going over to the lockers earlier, and he hoped he was still there. You saw his face, the look on it. 

There was no emotion on his features other than rage, and you still didn't know what was going on. As he left, people carried on looking between you and Lilly, and you could only assume that it was something to do with her. 

"Will," Lando said, spotting the blonde boy fiddling with dials on his locker. 

"Hey Lando! What's-" he cheerily started, but he stopped when he saw Lando's face. He knew what he was asking about. "What's up, mate?" he asked, not even knowing if he wanted to find the answer out in the end.                                             

"What did you tell Max? About me 'cheating' on Y/N?" 

Will was internally cursing Max for telling Lando that he had been the one to spread the message around the friend group, and he was nothing short of terrified of Lando right now. "I just told him what Maisie told me," he quietly said. 

"And what did Maisie tell you?" Lando prompted.

"She just said that things weren't great between you and Y/N and that you apparently spent last night with Lilly..." he trailed off, and the pieces all fell into place in his head. Lilly. 

She had surely been the one to spread it around her friends, who were the gossipers of the school. He should've known it would be her, especially after how she had spoken to you and about you when he was listening. 

He wasn't going to bother going to Maisie and asking her what Lilly had said, but he knew Lilly would just spout pure and utter bullshit to him and it'd be a waste of time trying to get the truth out of her. At least Maisie would be easy to intimidate the veracities of the story out of. 

Lando needed to get to the bottom of this, preferably before first period so you wouldn't spend your lesson upset. It was naive to think that this wouldn't get back to you before that point, but he would be a lot more relieved if he could tell you what was going on before you got upset. 

"You absolute idiot, you know that Y/N and I aren't together, and you sure as hell know that I wouldn't touch that bitch with a 10 foot barge pole!" Lando spat, taking himself away from will before he did something he'd regret. 

Meanwhile, you were still in the dark about everything that was going on. Until now. "Hey... erm... I'm really sorry to hear about what Lando did. It's really shitty. Especially with Lilly. I guess we all should've seen it coming," someone came up to you and said. 

It was one of the usually shy girls, so it was surprising to see her come and talk to you out of the blue. "What are you talking about?" you asked, and her mouth dropped.

"You don't know what he did?" she asked, suddenly feeling like this was the single worst idea she had had in at least the last five years. 

"What did he do?" you replied, thinking that Lando had done or said something that was instantly going to ruin the reconciliation that you had both made yesterday. You really hoped that it wasn't something he had done, because you didn't think you could handle that volume of feelings again. 

"With... Lilly... you know... cheated..." she mumbled, avoiding your eyes and looking at the freshly buffed canteen floor. 

"Lando can't cheat if we were never together to begin with," you coldly said, your voice betraying no emotion. For some reason, the word 'cheated' sent a pang of hurt through your body, but you couldn't quite decipher why. 

Maybe it was just the mere idea of Lando cheating on you that sent your heart into a spiral, but there was certainly something about it that hurt. And with Lilly? Ha, that was funny. As if he'd do that... or would he?

Oh here came the doubt, the questioning, the lack of reasoning. Lando would never cheat on you. Never. He was not that kind of guy, and you couldn't even see him thinking of it, let alone actually doing it. But you weren't even together so it didn't matter.

"Oh... I... erm... sorry..." she trailed off, scurrying away from you before you had chance to say anything else. Now you knew why everyone was giving you looks and whispering about you. They all believed that you and Lando were together from the first set of rumours, and now it seemed perfectly plausible that he had cheated on you. Just great. 

In the interim, Lando skulked down the hall, before spotting Maisie just before she reached the canteen. "Maisie!" he called out, jogging up to catch her. The girl's face absolutely fell when she saw Lando, and she was clearly of the knowledge that she was in some deep shit.

"Look, I only know what Lilly told me, OK?" she said, and he could have laughed at how scared she was. 

"Which was...?"

"That things between you and Y/N were rocky, to say the least. Apparently she was too boring, too square for you. So you called Lilly and... you know." Maisie explained. The implication in her words wasn't lost on Lando, and he could feel the hot sears of fury building up in his stomach and spreading through his veins. 

"And you believed it? You really fucking believed a word that she said? Are you seriously that naive?" he grovelled through gritted teeth, really trying not to lose his temper with the cowardly girl in front of him.

Maisie was scared. Terrified, even. "She's my friend... I..." she stuttered, unable to meet his eyes. 

"Well she shouldn't be, get better friends. She is nothing but a lying, manipulative, awful person that you'll be better off getting rid of sooner rather than later," he told Maisie, leaving her awestruck at what he had said. 

Now all Lando had to do was find the single thing that had caused him the most distress as of recent: Lilly.

He had seen her in the canteen, and he assumed that she'd still be there. Pushing past Maisie, he stormed into the room, and you knew he knew. You had instantly jumped to the conclusion that Lilly had been the one to spread the rumours, and now it seemed that Lando was trying to resolve the issue. 

"Lilly what the fuck are you playing at?" he sneered, leaning over the table and towering over her. The smirk on her face looked proud of what she'd done, and it pissed him off even more than he already was, if that was possible.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw you watching him. He knew you knew, and he was going to go to every length that he could to make sure that you weren't upset by this, by her. "Not my fault she was too vanilla for you," she laughed, her friends grinning along. 

"Too vanilla? Are you out of your fucking mind? I'd rather be dead than touch you!" Lando near on yelled, people averting their eyes to him as his voice raised slightly. 

"Not what you were saying last night..." she chided in a sing song tone, and Lando was about 2 seconds away from losing his cool. 

"Well then let me make it quite clear. I would never ever want to be anywhere near you, got it? Now stop making shit up that everyone knows isn't true just because no one actually likes you. Y/N doesn't, your friends don't, no one around here does, and I sure as hell don't," he ranted, and Lilly's confidence faltered. 

He could see the slight expression of jealousy on her face, since she knew deep down that her efforts of being with Lando were proving futile. There was also some semblance of hurt there, since it was never nice to be verbally berated by the boy you had a crush on. 

"And what makes her so special, eh? Her drab personality? The fact that she's a complete suck up? Her lack of friends? Or is it just because she's clever?" she spat back, her tone not lacking that familiar snark that she was famous for. 

"She's a hell of a lot more than you'll ever be. If I hear one more lie come from your mouth, your life around here will be hell," Lando finished, moving across the canteen to go and sit with his friends: who had all been watching the ordeal from afar. 

He hadn't noticed, but pretty much everyone in the year was watching the argument. Even you, sitting at your table by the wall, were dumbfounded. As Lando sat down, you could see how he was trying to seem all cool, calm and collected like he normally was.

But, you could see the faint inklings of his anger still lingering on the surface, and you were sure they'd be there for the rest of the day. You were pissed off too, but you couldn't help but feel a small smidgen of upset too.

You didn't want to be upset, not by Lilly, never by Lilly. Yet you were. That sad feeling that you'd had over the past couple of days was creeping back in, as much as you were willing it to go away so that you could carry on as if this had never happened. 

Cutting through the light chatter, the bell rang out that signalled that you should go to first period. You spent your hour in history not really concentrating on the details of the Cuban Missile Crisis, more on what Lilly had said.

Something about the words ran deeper than they ought to have, and it was like an itch you couldn't quite scratch. "Y/N, who was it that met with Anatoly Dobrynin to secretly resolve the crisis?" your teacher interrupted, pushing you momentarily off the path that your mind was taking you down.

"Erm..." you stuttered, and something that resembled concern flashed in your teacher's eyes. You were normally so on the ball, always switched on and tuned into lessons. But, he wouldn't hold it against you that you were zoned out once.

He had never ever seen you not paying attention, so he'd let it slide. Just before he said the answer, it popped into your head. You seemed to remember reading about it in your textbook once, but it might not have been right. "Robert Kennedy?" you said, and a soft smile found its way onto his face. 

"Yes, well done," he nodded, and you were off the hook for now. You could go back to your little daydreams about everything that had gone on in the morning. Or day-mares. You weren't quite sure. 

First break and second period went by, and you remembered that you said you'd help Lando with his biology. The anxiety that you used to feel about seeing Lando was crawling through you, feeling almost like a hand wrapped around your neck.

You were at the library first, as usual. You didn't have biology today, but you had brought your text book just so you could fill in any of the gaps in your own knowledge before attempting to teach Lando any of it. 

You weren't actually sure what about anatomy he was wanting to learn or if that was just a joke, but you thought it would be better to be prepared. The chair in front of you was pulled out, and Lando sat down with a big grin on his face. 

He was trying to be normal, but he was scrutinising your every move to see if you were OK. "Hey," he smiled, rummaging through his bag to get out his crumpled work book and biology textbook. "So, tell me about that cycle thing," he said, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms, ready to listen to you. 

"The menstrual cycle?" you pressed, since there were many cycles he could have been referring to. Plus, it was funny to see the flush of red on his cheeks and the way the tips of his ears turned pink when he was embarrassed.

Lando may have been a mature boy when it came to your emotions, but he was just like the rest of them when it came to talking about slightly awkward topics like periods. "Erm... yeah. That one." he confirmed. 

"OK, so, what you need to know about are the 4 hormones. You've got LH, oestrogen, progesterone and FSH. FSH causes the maturing of the egg in the ovary, LH triggers ovulation, which is the release of the egg into the uterus. Oestrogen repairs and thickens the uterus lining, and progesterone maintains the uterus lining." you explained, and Lando tried to be an active listener by nodding his head as you spoke. 

"Sure, yeah, I can remember that," he nodded. "You'll probably have to explain it a few times to me, but I can remember that. It isn't so hard," he reassured, but it sounded like he was telling himself more than he was telling you. 

"So from that, try some practice questions, and then we can fill in any gaps after, yeah?" you said, taking his textbook and flicking through the pages until you found the practice questions at the end of the chapter on the menstrual cycle. 

"Yes ma'am," he jokingly saluted, picking up his pen and looking after the questions. "Do you have some paper?" he asked, clearly not having brought any. You just rolled your eyes at him, ripping a sheet out of your notebook for him. "Thanks, you're the best," he winked at you, his eyes moving down to the paper on the table before he could spot you blushing. 

God was he charming. As Lando distracted himself with getting on with the practice questions, you figured you might as well finish your physics homework that you had been given in second period. It wouldn't take you long if you concentrated. 

But it was hindered by that small feeling of anxiety again. Anxiety of being here with Lando. Lilly's words echoed in your head again, and the stab of pain didn't become any less stinging as you thought about it.  

'Her drab personality?' You knew you weren't the most egregiously outgoing person in the world, or the most funny, but you didn't think you were drab, per se. Maybe just reserved. The people that had put the time in to get to know you seemed to find you funny.

Well, Lando seemed to find you funny. That had to count for something, right? You didn't have to be overly loud or obnoxious just to have a personality, but you were in high school, so maybe you did. 

'The fact that she's a complete suck up?' You wouldn't say you were exactly a suck up, you just liked doing well in your lessons, it was as simple as that. You didn't like getting told off, so you did your work, and you did it well. 

The praise brought you a nice little ding of satisfaction, and you didn't really see much reason to act out or not do your work. You had your moments where you had forgotten things, but your teachers were lenient since you were always so diligent. 

'Her lack of friends?' Now that was just inaccurate. You had friends, most of them were people you just so happened to sit next to in your lessons and you hung out on occasion. You didn't hang out with them in school since you liked to knuckle down and get your work done during the day so you could limit the amount you did at home. 

You went out on the weekends, whether it be for lunch or to do some activity that one of them had picked. There was just the illusion that you didn't have any friends, but you didn't expect Lilly to be so observant. 

'Or is it just because she's clever?' The more you thought about it, the more you thought that being smart was the only thing you had going for you. It was easy to look past everything that made you you when you were always getting the best grades. 

A lot of people seemed to omit the detail of your name when referring to you, simply calling you the 'smart one'. It had never bothered you before, so why did it now? Surely though, Lando didn't just like you because you were smart?

Most of the time, you weren't being academic when you spent time together, so there had to be more to it than that. As you got in your own head, your self-confidence was dwindling. Was all of that really what people thought of you?

That you were drab, friendless, a kiss ass, just the smart one? Maybe they had and you had just never noticed. All anyone ever saw you as was clever. The little lonely thing who just studied instead of having a worthy social life. 

That you were destined for solitude with nothing but your textbooks and scientific journals teeming with knowledge. It wasn't how you wanted yourself to be seen, not in the slightest. For a moment, you considered having a full on glow up, complete with the leather pants and hairspray - just like Sandy in Grease.

But that would be a little too much, so you decided against the idea. At least you didn't have long before you could leave that place and never look back. School had never been about the people to you, not until now, anyway. 

Lando noticed that you weren't doing anything, your pen was just hovering over your sheet and it had been for a few minutes now. He didn't know whether you were brainstorming or thinking, but by the look on your face, whatever you were thinking wasn't pleasant.

"Hey..." he softly mumbled, reaching out hand to place on your arm from across the table. He gently shook you, snapping you out of your thoughts. You just looked at him for a moment, your brain taking you back to where you were. 

Right. Studying. Biology. Physics. With Lando.

"You stuck?" you asked, leaning over to glance at the practice questions he had been scribbling down onto the paper. 

"No, you just seem a bit spaced out. You doing OK?" he asked, concern written all over his face. He had a feeling he knew what was going on, and he was nearly 100% sure that he was right. 

"Yeah, I'm good, just tired," you lied through your teeth, and Lando knew it was complete and utter bullshit. His expression hardened, not liking that you were lying to him. He hated it when you lied to him.

"Hey, c'mon, don't do that. Talk to me," he urged, his hand still remaining on your arm as he squeezed it. You stayed silent, not wanting him to take the mick out of you for thinking the way you were. But Lando wasn't having it. "Please? You're clearly upset about something. You can tell me." he pressed. 

"I just... nevermind. It's stupid," you dismissed, picking your pen back up to actually make an attempt on your physics homework. 

"No, we're not doing that. If you don't tell me, then I can't make it better," he carried on pushing. Lando just wanted you to open up to him, to make you see that he could trust you. He wanted to fix your problems for you.

"I... do you think I'm drab?" you asked, and he was taken aback. He took a few seconds, thinking over your question. He hated that you even had to ask him that in the first place. 

"No, course I don't, you're so much more-"

"OK so do you think I'm a suck up? Do you think I have no friends? Is the only good thing about me my brain?" you rambled, and his face softened. He was right. It was exactly what he thought it would be: Lilly's words had gotten to you. 

"No, no. Listen to me," he said, but you were still looking down at the paper and fiddling with the top of your pen. "Can you look at me?" he asked. His mum always got him to look at her when he was upset and she was trying to be reassuring, so he figured he'd try the same approach as her.

"Y/N. Look at me." he said more firmly. The sternness in his tone wasn't like anything you had heard from him, and you didn't know what else to do apart from listen to him and do as he said. You tilted your head up to meet his eyes, the softness hiding behind the hard exterior. 

"You are none of that. Don't let Lilly think any less of yourself. You're not drab, you're a joy to be around. You're not a suckup, you're a hard worker. You have friends, you've got me. And there is so much more to you that just your brain. Sure, it's an incredible thing that I admire about you, but there's more to you than just that."

Now you really didn't know what to say. Somehow, Lando had just said exactly what you needed to hear. Yet it didn't make the insecurity go away, not fully. "But do you think other people think that? Or is Lilly just saying what everyone thinks...?" you nearly whispered. 

"You don't need to care about anyone's opinion. Not everyone else's, not mine, and certainly not Lilly's. The only opinion you should care about is yours," he told you, and that was another moment where Lando showed that he was wise beyond his years. 

"OK," you agreed, and Lando finally removed his hand from your arm. He seemed settled by your agreement, but he knew he hadn't fully convinced you. He'd keep an eye on you and be ready to swoop in and quash any more of that lingered self deprecating doubt. 

"Now, do your physics. We can't have our number one scholar falling behind, can we?" he chuckled, trying to bring some light to the situation. 

"As if you could catch up, Norris," you laughed, finally starting the questions that you had to do. You had them done in ten minutes, and finally the bell went for the end of second break. You and Lando packed up your stuff, ready to head to your next lesson. 

"Hey, can we meet back here for the second half of lunch? I've got some maths I need help on," he asked, and you couldn't say no to him.

"Sure, I'll be here all lunch so just come up whenever," you told him, and he ran out to the language block for French so that he wasn't late. You just had English downstairs, so it was a short walk for you. 

Exactly as he said, Lando trudged back up to the library halfway through lunch. "My French teacher is an absolute bitch. She kept me behind for ten minutes because apparently the way I say 'jouer' isn't French enough for her. We went through pronunciation for ages and said I need to work on it," he scoffed, plopping down in front of you and earning a glare from the librarian. 

"So are we doing French or maths today?" you chuckled, thinking he'd want to do French after his little outburst. 

"I would rather die than have to think of 'qu'est ce il y a dans ta ville' again," he mocked, purposely avoiding trying to pronounce the words right. "We're doing maths. And we're doing polynomial division. Because further maths is kicking my arse at the moment,"

"Sure, sure, OK. Get your book out," you told him, going into your bag to get your own maths book out. You had it last period, so you thankfully had all your stuff to hand.

"You know, I'd be much better at maths if I could sit with you again..." he said, hoping you'd catch onto what he was asking. It was true - his maths was a hell of a lot better when he had you to help him and guide him through it. 

"Are you asking if you can come back to your old place?"

"Yes. Yes I am." he confirmed. 

"Then yeah, I think you're good to move back to your old place," you confirmed, and the smile on his face was adorable. If you were being honest with yourself, you were also missing him in maths. The seat next to you had been left vacant, and you quite liked it that way.

But, having Lando there would've been a hell of a lot better than sitting by yourself. You enjoyed teaching him and it brought you a lot of satisfaction. It was nice to have that sense of fulfillment when you had shared your knowledge to someone, especially when it was Lando. 

 "So what is it about polynomial division that you don't get?" you asked, taking his book from him and looking at the half-done sums on the page.

"I get the first bit about putting x into x cubed, but from there? Nah," he told you, and you could see what he meant. He had gotten past step one, but had completely faltered on the rest of the maths.

"So now you want to times out your x squared by the -4 after the x and put that under there," you told him, pointing to the spot on the page where he needed to put in the multiplied terms and numbers. 

You talked Lando through the rest of the steps and went over a few more with him, before letting him go through a few himself. "Are you OK? You know, after earlier and everything. I don't want you thinking like that about yourself,"

"Oh, yeah, it was just a short thing. I was being silly," you shook your head, and Lando seemed to believe you. 

"Good. And... what do I do from this bit? Minus the 3?"

"No, plus. If you try to minus a minus, it turns into a plus, yeah?" you reiterated, and he instantly remembered the small maths fact. He just smiled at you, and you couldn't quite decipher what the look in his eyes was. It looked like some form of wonder, but you decided that that was just wishful thinking on your part. 

"You're something else, you know that?" he quietly said, and you wouldn't have caught it if you weren't in the near silence of the library. 

"Hm?" you asked, wanting to make sure you had heard what you thought you had heard. 

"Oh, nothing," he blushed, pretending like he was doing his maths while you sat there. Lando mentally scolded himself for the slip up, annoyed that he had let it leave his lips. It was a freudian slip, yes, but he wasn't going to admit that. 

He wanted to tell you again, and he wanted to tell you over and over and over again until you believed it, but he didn't want to push it too far. You had only just gotten back to normal, and he didn't want to ruin it just as quickly as he had gotten it back. 

You both worked in silence until you needed to go to your 4th lesson of the day, yours being Spanish and Lando's being chemistry. "Can I walk you there?" he asked, not caring if he was late for chemistry, he hated the lesson anyway.

"Sure," you agreed, packing up your stuff and walking by his side. Lando wanted to be able to reach out, intertwine his fingers with yours and feel the warmth of your hand. But again, that'd be too much far too soon. 

People gave you dubious glances as you walked through the corridors, and the people going into your class thought it was weird when Lando just stood outside with you when they knew he wasn't in their class. "Have a good lesson, yeah? I'll see you in maths," he smiled, leaning against the wall next to the classroom door. 

"Yeah, enjoy chemistry," you smiled at him, walking in and taking your seat. After spending all that time with Lando, you forgot one teeny weeny detail. You sat with Lilly in Spanish. Great. And the realisation kicked in when she took her seat next to you. 

Dread settled in the pit of your stomach, even if she didn't say anything for the first half of the lesson. The two of you didn't have any reason to talk, so you were perfectly happy with ignoring her existence and getting your lesson out of the way. 

Yet of course, you had to do partner work. The task was simple, it was just testing each other on vocab. One of you would give the English word, and the other would give the Spanish word back. But, it wasn't like you could get out of it or ask to move places, since that would be way too obvious. She didn't initiate the conversation, so you had to be the bigger person and start it.

"Do you want me to ask first or do you want to?" you asked, and she looked at you as if you had just thrown up on her. The disgust on her face was obvious, since she made no attempt to hide it. If anything, she was playing up to make you feel worse. 

"You can ask," she said, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms. You looked at the vocabulary that you had written down in your book, scanning through the different words.

"OK... what is the plot?" you asked, and she sighed.

"Don't know." Oh. So that was how this was going to go. OK, yeah, sure, you got the idea. 

"El argumento. What is the scene?" 

"Don't know." she said, looking bored as ever. She looked like she wanted to say something, but for whatever reason, she was holding her tongue. That wasn't like Lilly, not at all, so you were slightly surprised. 

"It's really easy, come on," you huffed, feeling quite frustrated that she was being so stubborn and pig headed. But it was Lilly, what else were you expecting? 

"Look, Y/N, if it wasn't already obvious, I don't like you, and I'm certainly not going to sit here and play classmates with you, OK?" she said in the way an adult would scold a child. 

"Good, because if it wasn't already obvious, I don't like you either. But I'm not going to sit here and be a bitch about it, OK?" you replied with the same tone, and you spotted the spark that ignited in her eyes. 

Did you slightly regret snapping back? Yes. But was it a little fun? Hell yeah. 

"Ha, please. I'm not a bitch, you're just delusional," she scoffed, rolling her eyes at you. Delusional? How had that come out of your previous sentence? Clearly noticing the confusion on your face, she spoke again. 

"Did you see that little show that Lando put on this morning? He's a good actor, isn't he? Mind you, it is quite pathetic that you believed it." she said, and you dropped your book down onto the table. 

"You and I both know that that is absolute-" 

"He just uses you, you know that? Ever since you've been 'friends', haven't you noticed that his grades in pretty much everything have gone up? He didn't mean a word of it," she spat, and it was like she had read your mind and brought back up the rest of your insecurities. 

She had triggered them earlier, and now she was doing it again. "Not so mouthy now, are we?" she grinned, clearly satisfied with your facial expression. 

You felt the familiar trepidation of seeing Lando next period coming back to the fore, and all you could muster was a simple, "And this is why nobody likes you."

"Lando seems to," she said after hearing your quip, but you both knew it was bullshit. At least that wasn't true. Or was it? You didn't know what was true in regards to you and Lando anymore. 

Did he really just use you to get his grades up? Was that all this was?

Spanish was over after a little while, but you went straight to your maths classroom so that you wouldn't have to see Lando during break. Your teacher wasn't there, so you just sat in your seat to think about things. 

She walked in after some time, you couldn't say how much time you had been sat there, but there were likely only a few minutes left until break was over.  "Y/N? What's wrong? Did something happen with Lando again?" she asked, seeing the look on your face. 

"Not with Lando. Well, not Lando directly, anyway." you mumbled, and she knelt down in front of your desk. 

"You can tell me," she said. Lando had said the exact same thing to you earlier in the day, but it didn't have the same effect coming from her. 

"It's fine, I've got it covered," you said, and she decided not to press the issue further. It wasn't long before the bell went and people started filtering in. Surprisingly, Lando was one of the first to walk in and came to his seat next to you. 

"Lando, to the back," your teacher said, and he instantly knew something was wrong. 

"Miss, it's fine, really," you reassured her, and Lando briskly took his seat beside you. He could tell the energy around you was off, and he was hell bent on getting to the bottom of it. 

Meanwhile, Lilly's words were storming through your head like a runaway freight train. 'He just uses you'. It had been a fear you had held for a while, albeit one that you had convinced yourself of being irrational.

Surely, there was no way he'd do that, right? There was no way he would hug you, drive you home, walk you to class, spend his free time on projects for you if he was just using you. People weren't overly nice to people they were exploiting. 

Or maybe he was just doing it to butter you up, keep you sweet for him. Keep his grades higher. Maybe he had figured out that his niceties got him favours from you, all of which involved help on his school work. 

Maybe he was what you initially thought he was when you first talked to him on that broken down bus. A character. A special version of Lando Norris, crafted just for you. The edition of him that would get him what he wanted in the most efficient manner. 

Maybe, just maybe, Lilly was right. Lando was the star actor, the leading role, the puppet master. And you were simply the one on the strings, dancing to whatever sick tune he played.  

While you were thinking, Lando let some of the lesson go by until you were set off to work on some questions. "What's wrong?" he asked straight up, turning his body so that he was facing you more. When you didn't answer him, he nudged your leg with his knee under the table. "Come on, I know something's wrong. Is it about earlier?"

'No, I've just come to the conclusion that you might be using me' was what you thought, but you still couldn't deduce whether it was just Lilly and your mind wreaking havoc on you, or if it was the uncovered truth.

"Tell me what's going on in that pretty head of yours," he said, hoping to get some form of a smile from the compliment. He would take anything at this point. However, you gave him nothing. You kept your eyes trained on your paper, your pen mindlessly scribbling. 

"Was it Lilly?" he asked, and he saw the slight change in your expression. Well at least he knew something about what was going on with you. Even just the mention of it triggered the familiar, hot prickle of tears at the backs of your eyes. 

Lando spotted you welling up, and he knew he'd hit a sore spot. "Hey, no, I'm sorry for pushing, I'll stop, it's OK," he rambled, feeling panicked at the prospect of you crying. He had seen it a few times, and it was a few times too many. 

He also didn't want you to feel embarrassed by crying in the middle of class, especially not because of him. "You're OK, I'm sorry, it's OK," he tried to soothe as you tried to fight the tears back. 

Lando wished he could just hug you like he had before, since that seemed to take the pain away for a little bit. At least then, he wouldn't feel so useless and like he was just sitting by and watching you get upset. 

All he wanted was to hold you in his arms, make sure that no one else could ever hurt you again. But even then, it probably wouldn't be enough. "It's nothing," was all you could muster out, and something in Lando snapped. 

He was so frustrated, he didn't know what to do with himself. He tried to tear his eyes away from you, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He wanted to look at your pretty face all day. But, he left you alone, returning to his maths. 

Lando couldn't focus though, and time seemed to move unbelievably slowly while he was waiting for the lesson to end so that he could talk to you in a less public space. The bell had rung after an agonising half an hour, but you were too quick for him to catch as you practically ran out of the classroom. 

He couldn't spot you as you walked through the corridors, since the hoards of people leaving their lessons obstructed his view. Darting out of school, he saw the bus waiting, and he was meant to be catching it, but he didn't care about that right now. 

On the other side of the road, he saw you walking down the pavement with your headphones stuffed in your ears. He had to jog across the road as he was nearly ran over by a van, but that was the least of his worries right now. 

"Y/N!" he called out after you, but you clearly hadn't heard him over your music. That wasn't going to going to deter him, however, as he continued to jog down the pavement and started walking next to you. "Y/N, talk to me," he said, slightly huffing as he finally got to slow down.

"Hm? Oh," you mumbled as you heard him beside you, not knowing what to say. You didn't want to push him away, but you didn't want to be like this anymore. 

"C'mon, tell me, I'm here, there's no one around, it's just you and me," he tried to convince you. Stopping and turning to look a him, he saw the tears welling up in your eyes again, and he still didn't know what to do. 

"You can't just be my friend again, then suddenly stop talking to me and not even tell me why," he ranted, his frustration seeping through his words. 

"Look, I don't think we should be friends, Lando." you said, and he felt like his heart had stopped beating in his chest. 

What the hell had triggered this? Why were you thinking like this? And why wouldn't you tell him what was going on? He hoped that this was just some spur of the moment thing, that you were just upset and acting on impulses.

God, he couldn't take this again. Not again, he wouldn't let you walk away from him again. He wouldn't lose you again. He had lost you once and it had been the worst few days of his recent memory, and he wasn't going to let you slip away that easily.

"No, no, don't do that. Don't do this to me, don't be stupid," he scoffed, waiting for you to crack a smile and tell him you were kidding and that you were just a bit on edge from something or another. The smile never came. 

"Why? Why the fuck are you coming to this conclusion?" he continued, but the tears just started to silently fall down your cheeks. 

"Me being associated with you just brings us both unwanted stress and upset. Your friends take the piss out of you, everyone seems to take the piss out of me and I can't do it Lando. You're brilliant but I just can't do this anymore," you sobbed, trying to walk away from him. 

"No, no, you can't say that and not tell me what someone said to you," he pressed, grabbing your wrist and tugging you back so that you couldn't walk away from him. "I know it was Lilly, but you've gotta tell me what she said to you."

"She... nothing," you stuttered, and Lando's patience was wearing very damn thin. 

"No, don't try pull that bullshit with me, I will not have it. You're going to give me one good fucking reason right now or I will lose it with you," he said through gritted teeth.

"She said that you don't actually want to be my friend and that you just use me to get better grades and it got me thinking and-"

"And what?" he cut you off, "You really believe a word that slimy bitch says? Sure, you helping me with my work is great, I won't deny that, but I spend time with you for you. And you wanna know why? Because I think you're amazing. You're funny, pretty and a hell of a lot smarter than anyone should be." he carried on, and he realised by your facial expression that he may have said more than he was meant to, but he didn't care at this point.

"You... huh?" you said, the words replaying over in your head.  Was he meant to say that or was he still just trying to keep you attached to him?

"I said I think you're amazing and you're more to me than just a tutor. You're my friend. Dare I say one of my favourites because you never take the piss out of me, you're always nice to me, and being around you makes me happy. And you're too smart to believe a word she says." he reaffirmed.

Your eyes searched his face for any trace of dishonesty, any hint of a lie. Yet, it they found nothing. Not a speck of chicanery in sight. He kept saying all this stuff, and it was supposed to be exactly what you needed to hear. Then why wasn't it?

"Were you and Lilly ever anything?" you asked, the question slipping past your lips before you could even find it in yourself to stop it. You didn't even know why you cared - well, you did. The stallion of jealousy was rearing its ugly head, and there was no way that you could suppress it.

You liked him, you liked him a lot. And, even if he had only had something fleeting with Lilly, it still would have upset you. 

"No." he sharply and quickly answered. "Why the fuck would I ever-" he started, before cutting himself off with a sigh. Getting annoyed at you wasn't the best approach, even if you were making it damn impossible not to. "No. No I never and will never have anything with her." he said. 

"But still, people are still awful to me and to you," you whispered, trying to hold back even more tears. 

"That doesn't matter, not to me. I don't give a shit what people think, I just give a shit about you." he pleaded, hoping and praying that you weren't going to turn around and leave him.

Despite the clear sincerity in his voice, you couldn't bring yourself to believe him. As much as you desperately wanted to believe him, you couldn't. You needed to believe him, but you couldn't. 

The worst part was was that you knew the notion was completely absurd, but you believed it anyway. "Please don't do this..." he whispered, moving his hands to hold you at the top of your arms. God, he didn't want you to go. Not again. 

"I'm sorry, Lando..." you mumbled, shrugging away from his grip and pushing your headphones back into your ears. With every step you took, it felt like another stab to his already broken heart. 

Lando closed his eyes, unable to watch you walk away from him. "I thought you were the smartest person I knew, but it turns out you're the fucking dumbest," he called out after you, his voice cracking on the words. 

It was mean, sure, but he didn't care. What he did care about wa the fact that the only girl he had ever had real feelings for was walking away from him, and there was seemingly nothing he could do to bring you back. Nothing. 

A/N - Already 5k into the next part of this, and I'm sorry, I know it felt like it was just getting better. Alas, we're getting there. And happy birthday Lando! He may piss me off to no end, but damn do I love writing about him 💖

tag list: @cheriladycl01 @ln4swiftie @mariedeyes223 @ironmaiden1313 @daemyraforever56

|masterlist|the full series|

[lilhughesy]

°•*⁀➷ YOU & ETHAN — umich hockey au thoughts

it was good when it started

warnings! angst

a/n: guys i am so sorry for this one... i am an ethan edwards girly through and through and writing this got me emotional ok- @isaadore here you go queen, the original version of this

- you and ethan were the first to meet before you met the rest of the umich hockey boys snd you made friends with the rest of the umich boys through him

- and you could never thank him enough for introducing you to your now best friends

- it was a random party you stumbled upon, it was filled with drunk teenagers who were just starting their college years

- there were bodies everywhere, it reeked of sweat and alcohol with the twinge of weed floating through the air

- but it really didn't take long for you to notice ethan

- he was tall and had broad shoulders with his fluffy brown hair and he seemed to also notice you at the party

- he was charming and his bright contiguous smile drew you straight to him at you first party during frosh week

- the two of you met in the middle, instantly introducing yourselves

"hi i'm y/n"

"what a pretty name for a pretty girl, i'm ethan but my friends call me eddie"

"it suits you"

"you think?"

"mhm"

- he knew from the start that there was something magnetic about you

- something about the way you carried yourself, or how your hair flowed, or maybe the sparkle in your eyes whenever you smiles had him drawn to you

- and honestly you stole his heart immediately

- he would never explicitly say that he believed in love at first sight, but boy were you ever something else

- he felt something physically churn within him the more he stood next to you, something like the butterflies erupting in his stomach and his heart doing somersaults like how they describe in cheesy romance comedy movies

- ethan craved your attention and your validation, constantly looking over to you to see if you were smiling or laughing at whatever he had said

- it was like it electrified him in the best way possible when he saw that you were giggling at whatever he had said or the small tilt of your head towards him had his heart racing

- he was the epitome of a golden retriever boy, his laugh automatically caused a smile to form on your face, he was polite and quick to help you get a refill on your drink, he was kind and respectful with his hand placement to make sure you never felt uncomfortable, and ethan never seemed to not have a smile on his face

- the two of you kicked it off immediately, conversations came with ease as the two of you settled against a wall at the party; choosing each other's companies rather than mingling with other freshmen at the same party

- he was sipping on his cheap frat beer and you were sipping on a twisted, but the drinks didn't matter when all he was focused on was making you laugh

- ethan didn't tell you right away that he was on the hockey team, mainly because he wanted to see if you wanted to talk to him just based off of his personality and not because he was a hockey player (which is something he was used to experiencing)

- you seemed be enjoying talking to him, considering how your hand rested on his forearm and how you didn't shrug off his arm that wrapped around your shoulders as he guided you through the crowd

- and honestly, you would never say it either but his touched engraved into your soul, maybe it was the softness of his fingertips on your skin or maybe it was the way he looked at you like nothing else mattered

- he helped you get another drink and kept you company throughout the night, with gentle whispers into your ear for only you to hear

- it wasn't until luke came up to ethan, where you quickly found out that the two were on the university of michigan hockey team

- it made sense, considering the athletic build of both of them with their muscular arms and broad shoulders

- but that didn’t impact the way you saw them

- however, things did change when your eyes landed on luke hughes

- his tall frame towered over you and the way his black tshirt seemed to hug him in all the right spots (especially around his biceps)

- his curly hair was also a bonus, because who doesn’t love curls peaking out from the edges of his hat

- his crooked little smile he offered you when he noticed that you were talking to ethan just prior to him showing up

- and ethan noticed the way his teammate’s eyes lit up when he saw you

- and how an unconscious smile formed on luke’s face as he introduced himself to you, a gentle hand on your arm

- along with the faint and barely noticeable blush painted across your cheeks as luke leaned down to hear you better over the loud music

- ethan saw the way that the two of you were being pulled towards one another into your own little world as if nothing else around you mattered in that moment

- and how he was standing on the outside of it to observe

- watching as what could’ve been slip away from his fingers right in front of him

- ethan dismissed himself with a lame excuse, something about needing another drink — leaving you alone with luke

- which was the last time he saw you that night, since luke and you seemed to have spent the rest of the night together

- and he had to listen to luke continuously talk about you aimlessly like you were his new found fascination

- when all he wanted to do was go back to that night at the party and keep your attention the entire night, because maybe he would be in luke's current position now

- but ethan knew that he knew better and that his internal conflict was selfish

- because how could he feel this way when his newfound best friend was so happy and completely enamoured by you

- and why would ethan want to be the one to ruin that for the both of you

- so, since then, ethan learned a new tool in life which was to suppress his building emotions and feelings

- he learned how to ignore his desire to be the one you spent your free time with

- and to fight against the magnetic pull that drew himself towards you

- because at the end of the day, you chose luke... you so clearly chose luke, even if you didn't even realize that you did

- and sometimes ethan knew that he looked like a kicked puppy, even the other guys could tell, but you never saw it with the rose coloured glasses you wore whenever you were around luke

- you couldn't have known how your silent and unconscious friend zoning towards ethan felt like a dagger to his heart, and every time you treated him like he was nothing more than another one of the umich hockey boys was you twisted the knife

- and ethan could not let himself be a second choice

- although on somedays he thought about even settling for second

- and with typical ethan edwards fashion, ethan would never blame you for that, not even for a second did he ever think about blaming you for choosing luke

- or even luke for being the one you chose

- he just was angry at himself but was now just letting himself live with this internal self anger

- he accepted that he was going to be the shoulder you cried on occasionally or be on the receiving end of your endless tiktok shares

- or how he was always going to be two seats away from you in class, since you always saved the ones next to you for luke and mackie

- he knew that he could never have you and that you would always just be a little bit out of reach and he just had to live with that and be okay with that reality

- which he slowly was learning to live with

[sematarygirls]

how did swan!reader and rafe meet?

🦢 ⊹ᡣ𐭩₊⋆ ─── swan!reader and rafe's first meeting

   once again, rafe had somehow found himself roped into attending some business dinner party with his father and rose that he had no interest or care for. he had much better things to do on a saturday night than plastering on a charming, fake smile and standing around socializing with people twice his age, but this was a fact that didn't seem to matter to his father, who had told him that he was to be dressed sharply with his hair tamed by six o'clock on the dot.

reluctantly, he had obliged, dressing up in a white button-down and black dress pants before carefully styling his hair, so he would look every bit the respectable, young, future-businessman that his father expected him to be.

the ride to the party was filled with yes dad's and nodding in agreement to being on his best behavior as his father reminded him for the millionth time that he had a reputation to uphold, which meant his children were to be the epitome of perfect to ensure his spotless reputation stayed just that.

rafe had expected the dreadfully awful music and the awkward introductions and small talk with people he couldn't care less about. he expected the lack of booze strong enough to get him drunk enough that he could at least semi-enjoy the boring social affairs. he even expected the lingering glances from middle-aged women who had been dragged to this lifeless event by their equally lifeless husbands. what he hadn't expected, however, was you.

when he first laid his eyes on you, he had found himself wondering how he'd ever missed you in the first place. you were laughing courteously at a joke that a balding man, probably in his fifties or sixties, had appeared very proud of. your smile seemed to light up the entire room, breathing life into the party that had otherwise been soulless and unpleasant.

your poise and grace was evident simply by the way you carried yourself, smiling sincerely at everyone that met your eye while also keeping yourself engaged in the surely dull conversation you were having with the older man.

he found himself oddly drawn to you, captivated by not just your beauty but the way you seemed to shift the atmosphere in the room simply by existing. he knew he needed to speak to you, and more than that, he needed to have you. it took just feasting his eyes upon you for him to begin to crave the feel of your delicate skin under his rough hands and your earnest and warm eyes on his own.

before he could stop himself, his legs were moving in long, purposeful strides toward you, uncaring that interrupting your conversation would be considered rude and unbecoming.

"can i steal away a moment with the lady?" the words fell from his lips smoothly, a confident smile tugging at his lips as he observed your eyes shift to him and widen ever-so-slightly in surprise. his eyes trailed down the expanse of your neck, lingering on your pearls for a moment as he imagined littering your perfect skin with bright red hickies that would have you blushing and whining about what your poor parents would think if they saw.

"we were actually in the middle-" you began to object, but the man across from you swiftly cut you off.

"of course, mr. cameron," he nodded, recognizing rafe as ward's son. no one wanted to mess with the wealthiest and most powerful man in kildare, and that usually extended to his children.

a frown tugged at your lips as you watched the man scurry off to find someone else to bother. of course, you knew rafe cameron. he had quite the reputation around the island as a party boy and total manwhore of epic proportions. you didn't typically listen to the rumors about people that danced from ear to ear of gossipy teenagers and housewives with no better ways to spend their time alike, but you had made an exception for him.

"problem, sweetheart?" he taunted, his gentlemanly attitude dropped and replaced with his usual arrogant and entitled demeanor—the very same one that usually had women falling at his feet.

you simply raised an eyebrow at him, clearly less than amused at his behavior. "it's rude to interrupt people's private conversations," you ignored the pet named he'd condescendingly assigned you.

he crossed his arms, leaning back against the doorway as he studied you for a moment. he had noticed it when he first approached—that slight pull downward on your lips the moment you laid eyes on him—and it was ever-present now that you two were engaged in a conversation of your own. "you don't like me, do you?" he pondered aloud. "now, i wonder why that would be," he grinned wolfishly, not deterred by the fact one bit.

"well, you haven't exactly wooed me with your charm thus far," you retorted, crossing your own arms.

"hm," he hummed, his head lifting and falling subtly in a small nod as his eyes darted to the way your crossed arms in defiance pushed your tits together—a fact you didn't seem to realize as you stared him down. The look you were giving him wasn't exactly a glare, but you weren't regarding him with the warmth and adoration he had hoped to see when he swooped in to save you either. this, of course, only made him want you more.

"so, was there something you needed, or do you just enjoy asserting your dominance over people?" you asked, pulling his gaze back up to your face, specifically the way your glossed lips pulled into a tight line. he wondered what you tasted like, what every part of you tasted like.

"little bit of both," he shrugged, grinning widely with a wry amusement that had you fighting back an eyeroll—you already knew your mother would throw a fit if she saw your defensive stance and annoyance written on your face, especially since your conduct was directed at a cameron of all people. "lighten up, princess," he laughed. "i just wanted to talk."

"you talk a lot for someone who rarely says anything of substance," your snippy response tumbled from your lips quicker than you could contain it, making you straighten up as you tried to retain some semblance of poise.

"ouch, you wound me," rafe quips, clutching his chest in faux hurt. "you always throw insults at people you don't even know?"

"no, just you," you shrugged, looking around to make sure your parents weren't around to see how their well-mannered daughter seemed to lose her sense in the presence of kildare's golden boy.

"oh, so i'm special then?" he smiled, pleased by your response, which only seemed to fuel his already-texas-sized ego.

"sure, keep telling yourself that," you replied dryly, rolling your eyes at his smug grin.

he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the fact that he was getting under your skin, which only made your irritation grow. "i'm rafe cameron," he held out his hand.

you eyed his hand, not moving to shake it. you slowly trailed your gaze to his face, quirking an eyebrow. "i'm aware," you informed him, your tone cool and unimpressed, much less interested.

"well," he prompted, dropping his hand after a beat and shoving it into his pocket. "don't i get a name?"

"you haven't earned it," you countered quickly, a smile tugging at your lips now that you had an upper hand—the advantage of mystery.

"now, that's not fair," he rolled his eyes. he couldn't quite decide whether this little game was irritating him or amusing him, which only seemed to add to the thrill.

"whoever said life was fair, mr. cameron?" his name rolled off your tongue in a way that had him twitching in his pants. being called mr. cameron was only ever a formality—one that at times made him feel superior, and at others, he was indifferent to—but the way you said it seemed to change it's meaning entirely. "now if you'll excuse me," you said, your eye catching a friend from across the room.

she was giving you a wide-eyed look, her gaze darting. between you and the infamous kook king rafe cameron. you internally groaned, knowing you'd be bombarded by questions the moment you stepped within earshot.

as you turned to leave, rafe's hand immediately shot out and grabbed your bicep, stopping you. "i'm not done talking to you," he said, his tone lowering with a vaguely threatening timbre.

"yes, you are," you said firmly, pulling your arm from his grasp. if you were fazed by his slight demeanor shift, you didnt show it. "goodbye, rafe," you bid farewell before continuing your journey to your friend, who immediately grabbed your arm and pulled you close, giggling something into your ear when you reached her.

rafe watched your every move like a hawk throughout the rest of the night, waiting for the opportunity to get you alone somewhere, but, to his dismay, it never came.

at the end of the party, his father ushered him out to the car, talking his ear off about potential clients and business partners, but he had completely tuned him out, his mind instead filled with nothing but you. you may have been playing hard to get now, but he was destined to make you his, and rafe cameron always got what he wanted.

[butchhamlet]

do you have any good shakespeare retelling book recs?

what a beautiful time to ask this, says guy who has left this ask collecting cobwebs in his inbox for months! because guess who has two thumbs and just finished queen goneril by erin shields! WHAT a fucking play, holy SHIT, this is some of the best characterization of the lear sisters that i've ever read and the exploration of womanhood as filtered through class + race + shitty families + political maneuvering is so so so good. also the things shields does with the og playtext... chef's fucking KISS

anyway, recency bias aside, i've been meaning to make a post about my favorite shakespeare retellings for a while, and i think i never actually did it because i wanted to make a lear retelling ranking list and then i never read some of the ones on my TBR. so whatever. the learlist will happen someday. here are my favorites in general. (here is my goodreads shelf for the retellings i've read, good and bad, and here is the shelf for the ones i have yet to read.)

in no particular order:

a thousand acres by jane smiley: outsold. epitome of what makes an effective retelling--a book that clearly has something to say about and to the original text, but that also isn't afraid to diverge, to exclude here and zoom in there. ungraciously, this is "lear on a farm" and it starts a little slow, but holy fucking shit, i can't do justice in a paragraph to the way this book unraveled me. one of the best books of all time mayhaps. also, introduced the edmund character by describing his ass. 10/10

the last true poets of the sea by julia drake: i don't read that much YA anymore but jesus fucking christ. books tailored for me specifically. twelfth night retelling about siblings + mental illness + being bisexual + love triangles that actually make sense (emotions are confusing!) instead of being contrived + beautiful description + excellent dialogue + THE MENTAL ILLNESS. books that made me start crying in zoom class in 2020

rosencrantz and guildenstern are dead by tom stoppard: kind of a cop-out answer because we all know this one. but that does not detract from how good it is. this is one of those plays, at least for me, that makes me think, "ohhhhhh, THIS is what theater can do. this is using its medium to the absolute utmost." it is so clever and it makes me want to cry. i think about "i don't know. it's the same sky" more often than i can say

american moor by keith hamilton cobb: not exactly a retelling, but a one-man play about a Black man auditioning for the lead role in Othello, tangling as he does with his relationship with shakespeare's work and cultural dominance. suuuuuch a good fucking play even beyond the analysis of othello (which is excellent); the language is so fucking incredible. everyone who likes shakespeare should read this.

teenage dick by mike lew: modern teenage richard iii; this one's more reimagining than retelling, because it diverges pretty sharply from the plot of richard iii, but god, it's so fucking fun. and upsetting! really upsetting also.

foul is fair by hannah capin: i will be so real. i read this in high school and some of the YA books i've revisited since did not hold up for me. so idk if i can tell you this is "good" with my full chest. but the pitch is "lady macbeth gets sexually assaulted at a party and decides to fucking kill the boys who did it" and i stayed up until like 1am to finish it because it was such a vicious gleaming wild ride

the stars undying by emery robin: does this count? hard to say, because it's just as much a retelling of roman history than shakespeare's antony and cleopatra (honestly, more, since it focuses on the era where caesar and cleopatra were lovers, which is before shakespeare's play). but i'm counting it anyway because it's bisexual space opera cleopatra and it's the best book i've read so far in 2024 and it's making me crazy and i'm writing a thesis on it < genuinely

peerless by jihae park: macbeth, but college applications, featuring asian macbeths (they're twin sisters >:3) who think their classmate has taken their place in their dream school because of affirmative action/DEI. this play is absolutely VICIOUS. it's macbeth x heathers. think it mirrors macbeth in faltering a little in its final stretch, but it still fucks hard

the wednesday wars by gary d. schmidt: okay, not a retelling; this is about a preteen boy in the 60s. but it's one of the best most genuine and heartwarming books i've ever read and it manages to be hilarious while also foregoing cheap slapstick punching-low humor for a hell of a lot of warmth and passion. and the main character interacts with shakespeare a lot as a running theme so i can justify putting it on this list. #evangelizing

of course, i would be remiss not to mention that @suits-of-woe / @mjulianwrites has written the best take on Two Gentlemen of Verona to ever exist, and i mean that quite seriously. unfortunately it hasn't been published yet so we'll all just have to prayer-circle about it. i would also be remiss not to take the opportunity to. uh. coughs. do a bit of casual self-promo. if you 1. have ocd 2. have gender or 3. think about malvolio a lot. boy do i have the novella for you

will definitely add to this when i read more retellings; feel free to drop recs in the tags/replies/reblogs/my askbox!

[littlechick1]

Inside the Yeager Empire : Power, Scandal, and Legacy

Art by @sweetpie-ina

The Yeagers are no ordinary family. With roots planted deep in both aristocracy and ambition, the House of Yeager has long been a prominent name in Paradis society. Behind the name is a tangled web of brilliance, controversy, and a generational divide that continues to both fascinate and unsettle the public.

At the helm of the family is Dr. Grisha Yeager, a towering figure in the world of medicine and public service. Formerly a renowned university professor, Grisha now serves as the Minister of Health while also overseeing an expansive medical empire that includes the Yeager Medical Instruments Company, a prestigious private university for medical sciences, and the state-of-the-art Yeager Memorial Hospital.

Grisha's personal life has been just as eventful as his professional career. His first marriage to Dina Fritz, a woman of old money and noble lineage, created headlines not only for the union of intellect and royalty but also for its eventual unraveling. Together, they had one child—Zeke Yeager.

Zeke Yeager, the eldest son, inherited his father's intellect and his mother's quiet poise. A gifted physician and avid reader, Zeke is the golden boy of the Yeager lineage. He’s often seen as the epitome of responsibility—polished, eloquent, and disciplined. Despite a somewhat distant relationship with his father, Zeke has maintained a respectable public image. His hobby, baseball, is both a leisure and a symbol of his methodical, calculated nature.

After divorcing Dina, Grisha married Carla—a woman once employed as a household servant. Her transformation from commoner to aristocrat made waves across elite social circles. Her kindness and grace won over many, but whispers of envy and derision followed her for years. Nevertheless, Carla Yeager has come to define elegance on her own terms, leading charity galas, arts foundations, and women’s health initiatives. She remains a favorite among the press and socialites alike.

The second son of Grisha, and only child of Carla, Eren Yeager is the family's most polarizing figure. Brilliant yet rebellious, Eren was the talk of the town in his teenage years—not for his academic prowess (which he had in spades), but for his penchant for mischief. He was infamously labeled the "failed experiment" of the Yeager Empire after rumors of underground street racing, school suspensions, and even an alleged shooting incident that left a friend in a coma.

But Eren's story didn’t end there, Now approaching his 30s, Eren has evolved into a mechanical savant. His unparalleled skills in engineering, particularly in aviation mechanics, have made him indispensable in the aeronautical field. He has launched his own tech firm and collaborates with international defense and aerospace industries, proving that genius comes in many forms—even those dismissed too soon.

Despite their accomplishments, the Yeagers are no strangers to scandal. The whispered tales of favoritism between siblings, Carla's past as a servant, and the turbulent rivalry between Eren and Zeke have kept tabloids busy for years. Perhaps the most shocking was the alleged shooting incident during Eren’s youth, a claim that was quickly buried yet never forgotten. Some insiders speculate that the scandal was silenced to preserve the family's reputation.

Yet what fascinates the public most is the question of legacy. Who will inherit the Yeager name—not just its wealth, but its influence? Will it be Zeke, the picture of control and intelligence? Or Eren, the once-rebellious son who forged his own empire? the Yeager sons chart separate paths in drastically different worlds, one thing remains clear: the Yeager Empire is more than a family—it is an institution, for better or worse.

Stay tuned. The saga is far from over.

---

[pinkerthings]

the significance of mileven simply not understanding each other (pt 1):

(others have brought this up before but I think it’s a bit overlooked imo)

There are numerous times throughout Stranger Things where Mileven is shown to not be on the same wavelength, and the Duffers like to make it quite apparent to the general audience.

Starting with the obvious scenes:

“BLANK makes you crazy”

El is literally staring at Mike like she has NO idea what he’s trying to say.

Shes STILL confused even after he tells her it’s something old people tell each other:

Like girl…. i KNOW you were watching them soap operas and old timey romances during that year in Hopper’s cabin. You really expect us to believe you have no clue what he’s trying to say?

This scene was written like this on purpose for two reasons: comedic effect and diving deeper into mileven.

Back to not ever being on the same wavelength:

I talked in this post here about Mike being okay with El standing up to bullies in the past when it came to Mike or Will, but Mike suddenly not understanding when it comes down to El defending herself against Angela, showcasing the idea that they are definitely not in agreeance over what happened at Rink-O-Mania.

The Duffers like to purposefully write Mileven out of step with one another.

It seems as though every season has something negative in store for the couple, and not in a fun, slow-burn agonizing romance type of way, but in the frustrating “why can’t they just work it out” kind of way.

Season 1 obviously has El “dying” and leaving Mike for a year, but on a smaller note also has Mike trying to explain to her that if she moved into his house, Nancy would be like her sister, but he would not be like her brother. She does not understand this, and has her classic confused face on.

Season 2 has her being gone and coming back to see Mike with Max, and even though nothing happened between the two of them, El was still cold to Max when they first met, showing even if El is incapable of knowing what the word “love” is, she still somehow knows what jealousy is.

Season 2 also brings us an interesting scene with Erica and Lucas, where the dialogue just seems….really off and random.

Lucas catches Erica playing with his He-Man action figure and gets mad, taking it from her. To which she says, “Hey! They’re in love!”

Lucas responds with:

The scene is extremely random and the dialogue is just weird to me, the only explanation it being a metaphor for something in the show, and the only viable explanation is Mileven.

Season 3 has the entire “boyfriends lie” side plot, resulting in El dumping Mike for lying to him about his grandmother after Hopper’s talk with him. Their relationship the entirety of season 3 is the epitome of immature pettiness caused by jealous and hormonal teenagers who don’t understand what being in a real relationship entails--

We get El and Max spying on the boys:

Eleven is a mystery to Mike, he pretty much says it himself.

Their whole relationship is based on immaturity, and the audience knows that. The audience can see that the two of are clearly immature and don’t have what it takes to be in a real, committed relationship. That’s the point. Their relationship in season three is almost entirely to move the plot around in whatever way the Duffer’s want, and to showcase the idea that their relationship in screen is nearly always shown in either a comedic, pre-teen immature light, or a jealous, misunderstood, and petty light. There is almost no stable relationship between the two of them in season 3. It’s either too clingy or too toxic or full of lies or immature, blah blah blah. The only scenes of them either not making out or fighting is the last scene of them together right before the Byers move, and that’s a whole scene in itself to unpack!

Season 4 is where things get a little chaotic, as if things weren’t chaotic enough.

There are so many miscommunications and misunderstandings with Mileven this season, but the big ones include:

El feeling like Mike thinks of her as a monster-

and Mike looking at her like she just spoke badly about his favorite Star Wars movie-

Directly after that we have Mike saying El is being "ridiculous" because she's upset that he won't tell her he loves her, and him calling her a superhero, the complete opposite of what she wants to hear in that moment, but Mike doesn't understand that, because who wouldn't want to be called a superhero? (his way of thinking)

Later on we get Mike recounting this to Will, saying, "and if I would have said that thing..." etc.

Mike can't even say that he loves El to other people, and we're expected to believe it's still true?

We also get this:

another misunderstanding on Mileven's part. El thinks Mike doesn't love her (at this point, does he?) so she finishes her letter the same way he has: From, El.

Next we have Will and Mike's conversation on top of the car:

"I think it's just scary to open up like that, to say how you really feel, especially to people you care about the most, because...what if they don't like the truth?"

I've said it before and I'll say it again,

why would El NOT like the truth if the truth is that Mike loves her?

Mike nods at Will's words and looks away, seemingly lost in thought. Why would he agree with Will---that it's hard for him to open up to El because she might not like the truth---if the truth is exactly what she wants to hear?

It literally makes no sense.

We also get the Byler van scene, where Mike compares her to a superhero yet again, something she clearly does not like (I don't have a vid but here's the official script, where he says the same thing):

Also El being Superman and him being Lois Lane in the analogy....okay.

Next we have him calling her a superhero YET AGAIN ! during his monologue:

Like girl if I was El I would just give up at this point. This is the last thing she wants to hear. She doesn't want to be a superhero all the time, she just wants to be a person ! a girlfriend ! a friend ! a daughter ! yet Mike is making it seem like the main reason he loves her is because she's a superhero, which she hates.

And lastly we have:

"Did she...talk to you at all?"

"Not much, I mean...a little bit."

Let me get this straight......you finally confess your love to your longtime girlfriend in the midst of her fighting a literal monster & monster from her past while she is being strangled and held captive all while she's also trying to save her friend from death, and she doesn't say anything to you for TWO days after?

Ladies...the Mileven break up is writing itself, really.

And that is a thread on how the Duffers intentionally write Mileven to be on different wavelengths with each other every single season without fail to showcase how incompatible they really are.

They are setting this relationship up to where you want more for both parties; El deserves to be loved the way she wants to be loved, and Mike deserves to be loved the way he needs to be loved (if u know what i mean)

In part 2 I will discuss the importance of byler understanding each other, juxtaposed to mileven hehe bye !

part 2 analyzing Mike & Will here !

[american-delirium]

What do you think the Evans think of body hair in women?

You know sometimes like in my case we are left natural because of the winter cold

˖ ֹ੭୧ the evan's and body hair ⊹ ࣪

ft. tate langdonㆍkit walkerㆍkyle spencerㆍjames patrick marchㆍkai andersonㆍpeter maximoffㆍcooper day

⸝⸝ ⟢ TATE LANGDON

he wouldn't really care about pubic hair in specific, he'd probably prefer if you trimmed it regular, but he doesn't really care about it being completely clean, he's not dumb he knows hats hard to maintain, however he is a teenage boy and would probably prefer you to have minimal hair on your torso and legs, but he doesn't really mind too much

⸝⸝ ⟢ KIT WALKER

kit wants you to have whatever makes you feel the most beautiful and confident, if you're happy, he's happy, a little hair never hurt anyone, basically perfect husband vibes, he wants you to be happy, but if he really, really had to choose, he'd say neatly trimmed pubic hair and everywhere else he really, really doesn't care

⸝⸝ ⟢ KYLE SPENCER

kyle wouldn't voice his opinions at all, similarly to kit, he wants you to feel beautiful and confident, but he would probably try and gently let you know if it was getting a little bit wild, he'd prefer mostly clean shaven, but again, a little hair never hurt anyone and he'd get used to it pretty quickly, and if you felt beautiful then that's all that matters

⸝⸝ ⟢ JAMES PATRICK MARCH

james, our beloved old fashioned man, he'd want you to be clean shaven, he wouldn't be rude about it, but if he felt that you were getting a little too hairy for his liking, he'd 'gift' you with a shaving kit, actually, he'd probably offer to do it for you so he can gets it how he likes it

⸝⸝ ⟢ KAI ANDERSON

while i'd love to say kai would not care, he would. he'd be loud and proud about it too, he'd expect you to shave pretty much daily, even if you insist it doesn't need doing, he think women aren't supposed to have hair anywhere but on their eye lashes, browns and on their scalp, anywhere else is a big old nope, he'd probably want you to wax as well, to really give it that baby-soft feel

⸝⸝ ⟢ PETER MAXIMOFF

this man could not give one less of a shit about your body hair, he doesn't bother with his own, why shouldn't he expect you to shave, so weather you can plait it or if it's as smooth as a baby's bottom, he doesn't give one singular fuck, he'd go down on you any day of the week, hair or no hair

⸝⸝ ⟢ COOPER DAY

he is the epitome of a clueless virgin, most porn stars are clean shaven so he'd probably actually be a bit surprised to find out that women grow actual body hair, he'd likely be a bit uncomfortable with it for a while before he got used to it, and then he wouldn't mind, unfortunately bad habits die hard, he'd internally prefer you to be clean shaven, but he doesn't mind the hair and would never voice his opinion

notes. massive tmi here so feel free to not read this lmao, anywho, guess who's buying a pregnancy test tomorrow, yours truly, i doubt i'm pregnant considering i haven't slept with anyone in a hot minute but unfortunately my brain won't shut up about it so to the pharmacist i go 😔

TAGS. @anxiousgrungynympho