#this is the third day. he's gonna be home for three months.
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luludeluluramblings · 4 months ago
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Smalltown!Neglected! Meta!Reader x Yandere!Batfam ☁️ Part Seven
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Part One ☁️ Part Two ☁️ Part Three ☁️ Part Four ☁️ Part Five ☁️ Part Six ☁️ Part Eight
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A/N: I’m not sure if I’m satisfied with this. But, I doubt I’ll ever be satisfied with this. I want Reader to come off as more Bruce like with the emotional suppression and planning. And, this was my actual first and third attempt at dialogue. I’m gonna need some practice. But, I tried.
A/N: Up next we get some yandere!Bats vs. yandere!Smalltown action. (Holy frick is that gonna be hard to write.) I’m also going to start work on the Dick Obsession now. Gotta fight the temptation to write the Vigilante!Smalltown!Reader story while this is still in the works.
Warning: Yandere Themes.
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As the coming months passed by, Reader could feel Gotham starting to wear on them. Or, they at the least Wayne manor starting to wear on them. They haven’t been given permission to leave the manor since the kidnapping. Not even to drive their truck for some unhealthy, but soul healing fast food. Of course, that doesn’t stop the other residents of the house from leaving whenever they wish. 
They see the Bat Burger wrappers in the trash the morning after another soundless night in the manor. God, how they’d love to try it one day. 
But, as time moves on something draws closer. An important date. Reader’s legal eighteenth birthday. They’re excited, by all means. But, there’s something significantly more important coming sooner. 
Reader’s Younger Brother’s Birthday was just a week before Reader’s. There had been many fond memories made while growing up with the week between the two different dates being filled with fun and excitement. (And love.) 
With such an important date coming up, and with Momma and Daddy no longer being here, Reader had plans to make it a fun week. 
They just have to convince Bruce to let them go back to Smalltown. Just for the week. They’re all too busy to spend time with Reader anyway, besides this is important to them. They’ve stayed in the manor like asked. They’re grades are good. They do their chores. They don’t ask for much. It should be perfectly reasonable to request to let them visit back home. 
But, just in case, Reader approaches Dick next time he's in the manor and is smothering them in affection before he goes to disappear into the library. 
“Can you help me convince Bruce to let me go, please, Dick?”
It’s a simple request. And, it makes Dick’s heart melt a bit. Reader’s the only one in the family to easily give into his affection and to have them finally ask him for help in such a sweet polite voice was heart melting.
Wholeheartedly, he agrees and he is rewarded. With Reader bouncing into his arms with an impressive amount of enthusiasm that he hasn’t had a chance to see previously. Probably due to always being so busy. Maybe he should make more time for Reader if they shower him with such genuine gratitude and affection like this. 
The thought lingers in his head as he makes his way towards the Batcave. A spring in his step despite the glares he receives as he makes his way down the stairs. 
The manor cameras had caught the entire thing, leaving the occupants in the cave to get a front row seat to Reader being sweet on Dick. 
He can’t stop the tiny smug smile from forming on his lips as Barbara gives him a disapproving ~~jealous~~ look. Or, the look of straight bitterness on Damian’s face. The mild satisfaction from Duke’s face being as blank as Cassandra’s. Stephanie’s forlorn expression. The way that Jason looks like he wants to shoot him with the gun he’s cleaning that makes him want to laugh with glee.. 
Tim doesn’t even look at him. Too annoyed with Dick as he sits at the Batcomputer furiously clicking and typing away on something. 
Bruce had been out at the moment for League Business. But, the entire family now has a competition forming. Whoever could convince Bruce for Reader would win. The prize being the winner possibly getting showered in Reader’s affection. And, the hope of visiting Reader’s hometown with them. The very idea of it makes some of them shudder with some particular emotions. 
The bombardment of pleading and puppy-dog eyes began almost as soon as Bruce stepped back into the cave. It was nearly comical how everyone petitioned Reader’s case. 
Hell, Bruce was nearly convinced they should all make the trip when Tim threw his bid in.
Pulling up all the research on Smalltown and how apparently harmless it was. He even managed to remotely bug Childhood Friend’s Brother’s phone just to double check. 
That’s when things spiral. 
Right at that very moment, a call comes through to the phone. It seems harmless at first. The guy talking to his boss. The two had immediately talked about Reader returning to town. As if the two knew without a doubt that they were coming back.
That sparked suspicions, but it's not what ignited the fire.
The fire came when the two started talking about Reader's time in Gotham. The whole kidnapping incident. Childhood Crush admitted that Reader tried to down play the incident to Nana. After which his boss ask a horrifying question.
"Do you and Grand Daddy need some help killing this guy? It might be a bit harder than the last one y'all killed."
The last one.
Immediately the phrase makes questions arise. But, once again things get worse.
"Nah, we'll let him live. He's from Gotham. He'll probably never come out this way. And, if he does them we'll drag him out where we drowned the last sorry son of a bitch. He was just in it for the money."
"That's right. The other guy just wanted to kill Reader to keep 'em for himself. Still..."
It was difficult to give the rest of the conversation their full attention after that.
It was like the blood had crystalized in their veins. Both cold fury and hot rage filling them till it seemed to shred their minds apart.
There was no way in heaven or hell or high water that they were possibly going to let Reader go back to that vile little town filled with monsters. As if Gotham wasn't filled with abominations of it's own designs.
Without a moment to delay Bruce Batman jumps into action, barking orders for Tim, Barbara, and Cassandra to start digging up everything imaginable on Smalltown. Every resident, every social media post or mention, every single person that has ever lived there, visited, and gone missing. "Find me the name of the bastard that nearly took my child to the grave. I want the memory of them wiped of the face of the earth as their bones rot in it."
The other's are ordered to cover his patrol and redouble their efforts to capture the remaining Gotham Rouges by any and all means necessary The Court of Owls is low priority until more is uncovered about Smalltown and what the hell happened.
Reader's usual pacing around the unoccupied halls of the manor conversing on the phone is interrupted by Bruce Batman stalking towards with a violence simmering under the surface of an obsidian mask. Easy to shatter and sharp to the touch. Before a words is even spoken the phone the lifeline is ripped from their hands and shattered under a pair of designer loafers.
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You could only stagger back as you watched his foot trample over the well used phone. You hadn't even chance to hang up the conversation you were having, when Bruce had come barreling down the extravagant hall way you roamed so often you 'd already practically memorized the brush strokes on each painting and the pattern of the wood grain on the walls. Not even the chance to put a hold on the plans you were making before it all came to an abrupt halt without your blessing.
For a moment your just baffled. Looking at the shattered phone screen with pieces of glass and plastic on the ground before looking up at the shattered facade your father Bruce wore.
His face was deathly still. Not even a twitch. It gave him an inhuman like visage that set off the same warning bells that Jason Red Hood had made you hear.
So that's where he got it from.
You can't help put think, trying to form the words to question his actions and confront him. It isn't long before he gives you the excuse explanation for his unwarranted action himself.
"You're not going." Is all he says. His voice was cold enough to burn.
It doesn't take a genius to know what he's talking about.
"If this is about me getting Dick to help convince you-"
"Dick agrees. Everyone agrees. You are not going." The interruption is rude, but the words sting. They thought that everyone else would be on board with it. Even the members of the family that didn't care for their presence should have been on board with it.
"I'm not asking for a vote. I was asking for your permission and yours alone." Another attempt.
"I am saying no. I am your father and you will listen to me about this." The totality found in his icy voice makes them finally feel that helpless. Like nothing they say will improve this situation. That continuing to smile will not solve a damn thing.
"What did I do?" The resentment that has locked up tightly inside beings to swirl. Ire churning into gales. The long withheld temper becoming a tempest. "What the hell did I do to make you treat me like this?"
"This has nothing to do with you. This is my decision on the matter. You need-" The sound of a notification going off interrupts his words, but they don't stop the ringing in you're ears. Even after Bruce abruptly dismisses himself, muttering about getting you a new phone, before moving towards the library. Again.
For once, you don't bother cleaning up the shattered pieces on the floor. Leaving them on the ornate carpet in the lavish and deserted hall. You have planning to do. Restraint is gone. Holding back is over. It's time to take things into your own hands. They want to ignore you, fine. You'll leave and you'll fucking live without them.
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Consequently, incoming weather reports start showing some unusual patterns on the news that week. Meteorologist say there's a massive possibility of a potential hurricane brewing off the coast. Everyone is on edge. (Gotham is already a disaster as is. No one wants another one on top of it.)
Reader's not to worried. They grew up with Hurricane parties. Besides the manor has it's own power grid says Alfred. Gotham's power grid is a bit more vulnerable, but luckily the Hospitals and Arkham are on different power grids. Everything should be alright. (Everything should also go according to plan.)
The next time Dick comes by, Reader is a bit short with him. Giving him a disgruntled look that breaks his heart a little and makes it melt. Try as he might he gets nothing other than their annoyance. Even when he finally admits it was Tim's fault they had been denied the chance to go home. It does make them pout even more, how cute. Even when he gifts them a newer phone. Their not stupid, the damn thing is probably bugged to high heaven. And, it's missing all their old contacts since Bruce slammed the SD card under his big bat toe.
Their clearly in a foul mood and everyone is being subjugated to the silent treatment. As their birthday, and their younger brother's birthday, draws closer and closer, a dark cloud seems to hang over them and Gotham.
In a moment born from guilt and ignorance, Bruce buys them a car as an early birthday present. A grandiose little luxury model. With all the bells and whistles. It's even in their favorite color. Not that anyone in the family asked what it was. (Tim might have had something to do with it. After all he did get them banned from traveling. Not that he feels guilty. No way in hell was he letting you go. Especially without him or the others.)
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"It seems kinda wasteful." You can't help saying it. To tired of putting on that pleasant people pleaser mask for once.
"I know it's a bit extravagant, but since everyone has their own car I thought you should have your own too." Bruce had such an eager smile on his face. Like the whole incident with the crushing your hopes and your phone never happened.
To bad you haven't forgotten nor forgiven.
"Still a waste. I'm not going to get to drive it anywhere." Vinegar coating your tongue as you look at the sleek design.
You can hear everyone around you stop cooing and praising the gift. There's no need to further elaborate your point. He gets it. The family gets it. The very earth you stand on gets it. You're not leaving this house. There's no need for the tank of gas to be filled. Or the damn thing to be charged since its some fucking electric hybrid, and probably filled to the brim with all sorts of nasty little tracking bugs.
You could have left it at that. But why not sink that needle deeper into his chest. Not a knife. Never a knife. You want your words to sting and stick. No taking the cut and letting it heal overtime. Let it be tattooed on the skin.
"Besides I already have Daddy's old truck. I don't need this." Don't those words hit like a strike to the soul. Bruce grows visibly still at them. That practiced mask going up and hiding the tells from all of them. Except Cassandra. There's no hiding things from her. They're all laid bare in front of her and she can tell everyone has somethings to say. While you have something to scream.
"You could at the very least be grateful for Father's gift" Damian spoke. He had been so well behaved to far. Keeping quite and watching with attentive green eyes. He could tell this wasn't going to go in the family's favor. He didn't necessarily blamed you for being disgruntled. But, would it kill you to give them a smile. They missed those. Hell, he missed those.
Something in you crackled, but you managed to hold you're tongue. The side-eye you gave him, however spoke enough volumes for you instead.
Astonishingly, it was Duke that set off the electric charge.
"I mean, it is a really nice car. You sure you don't want to take it for a spin?" You can here his attempt at trying to defuse the static in the are, but as fond of him as you are compared to the others, it just sets you off.
"Oh, and where to exactly?" You can't help but snort. "Down the driveway and back?"
"You're acting like a brat." Jason throwing in his two cents. Of course he would say that. And, he's rewarded with a voltaic look from you eyes and a snarl from your lips.
"I. Don't. Care." The words echo in the massive car garage. Bouncing of the walls and the other sleek fancy model cars in it. Your apathy and anger is reward with quiet.
It doesn't last long.
"Let's all just calm down." Dick steps between them, trying to play reconciler. All it serves to do is make you feel more isolated. The way he steps between you cuts you off from the rest of the group and makes it seem like he's singling you out.
"I am calm!" The words coming from your clenched jaw.
"They're the one acting like a spoiled little-"
"Jason, enough." Bruce finally steps in. That stoic look still on his face. Internally, he knows he miscalculated. He made a mistake, and it's humbling to know he can still make them at his age and with all his experience. Still, he wears the mask. He's too busy recalculating and coming up with another plan. Perhaps he was putting to much focus on the wrong thing. That didn't stop him from glaring at that classless truck in his garage.
"Of fucking course Daddy's princess gets away with acting like a brat." Jason doesn't stop though, looking directly at you. Always looking at you. Everyone is always looking at you. But never speaking these days.
"Fuck you." You whisper. Caution and hesitance thrown into the stirring winds.
"Uh-oh, looks like the princess finally snapped." That sickly green look appearing in his eyes. God, does he love this. He knew they had some fucking bite in them. Some spice. Something that made them even more delicious. That just enhanced their sweetness tenfold.
"Jason. Knock it off." Barbara murmurs after Cassandra places a hand on her shoulder. Signaling the direction this could easily head in.
"No, I don't think I will." He sneers, making an attempt to step around Dick and get in your face. It's Tim and Stephanie that try to stop him this time. Both muttering to him and trying to get him to calm down.
You can clearly see it. Their family dynamic. Clear as day. It's right in front of you for you to watch unfold while you stand on the outside looking in. Only getting stray remnants of it when they deem you worth it. You're always worth it though, silly little sugarplum. They’re just terrible at showing it, you poor poor thing. That'll change soon, don't worry. Actually, you should worry.
There's no need to stick around any longer. No fucking need at all. Your feet echoing as you leave the room filled with strangers family and cars. You're leaving. You're going home. And you're going home tonight.
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That night, the news is blaring over Gotham. A sudden hurricane off the coast is set to hit by nightfall. People are being asked to evacuate, already there is panic in the streets.
As much as they don't want to leave things unresolved, the family has no choice, but to respond. Making sure evacuations go smoothly. Keeping the mobs at bay in the stores. Checking that the Arkham inmates are both secure and safe.
It gets worse when the reports further come in. There was lightning spotted off the coast. A lightning storm predicted to hit before the hurricane. That would double the difficulties everyone in Gotham was dealing with.
Most everyone, but Reader.
With the family busy they had plenty of time to pack a few belongings and necessities for a long drive. Glowing eyes taking inventory as the electricity crackled under their skin and the distant skies. Brewing excitement in their chest as the skies filled with dark clouds. Some might think it ominous. But, for Reader it was freedom.
In Gotham that ominous feeling continued. It was as if Gotham itself knew what chaos was about to unfold. Chaos that it would have reveled in if not for the impending feeling of loss found not only in the empty streets, but in Wayne Manor.
As the wind started to wail, nightfall seemed to come earlier with how dark the clouds made the sky. Rain poured in sheets. Most of the Bats took cover, but when the lightning began to strike is when things really when to hell.
By luck or something else, the Gotham power grid was hit. Shutting down over half the city in the first moments of the storm. The downpour hadn't even soaked the concrete when it struck.
The darkness washed over the city and the family knew it was going to be a long long night.
Barbara, in Oracle mode in the Batcave, was focused on keeping everyone updated on new alerts and any looting. She didn't have a chance to glance at the manor cameras and see Reader walking through the halls with a bag on their shoulders before. Multiple strikes of lightning reverberated through the manor. They could be heard echoing all the way down in the cave.
And, they caused the power to go out.
It was only out for twenty minuets. Twenty long minuets of Barbara and Alfred trying to fix the power and get everyone back in contact with each other.
A lot can happen in twenty minutes. Like a garage door opening and closing manually. Like someone driving down the long driveway out of the security gate without being noticed. Like someone could escape without notice in those twenty minutes.
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@starsdotalk @sleepyghoster @maicenitas @box-of-kinderjoy @yandereheros @skwunkler @cl0esblogg @delias-stuff @rosecentury @lilyalone @addie-r-u-ok @space1crow @imaginarydreams @dhanyasri @rosalietodd013 @rissareader @rando2509 @h0rr0r-10ver-69 @interobanginyourmom @heyitsaloy @myanyan-me @animegoddess15 @resident-cryptid @schaarfyx
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daechwitatamic · 17 days ago
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Not So Loud || LC
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banner by @itaeewon <3
Not So Loud lee chan x afab reader || fluff smut baby angst || f2l, only one bed trope NSFW - minors DNI
Summary: You've been in love with Lee Chan for almost two years, despite his rejection seven months ago. When you're impossibly coupled up on a friendcation, you're determined not to make it everyone else's problem. Of course, you weren't expecting to have to room with him, and you certainly weren't expecting only one bed...
wc: 16.6k
warnings: language, recreational drinking, sooo much pining, baby misunderstandings, kissing, breast play, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), piv sex (no protection mentioned either way), reader on top, mentions of shower sex
request by @eoieopda:
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yes my fearless leader you may have even two crumbs of lee dino getting laid at the beach, i hope you enjoy every single second of it <3
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“This,” you sigh blissfully, “is the happiest I may ever be.”
The sun is shining. Upbeat pop music runs like an undercurrent below the sound of the highway from the stereo of your best friend’s junky, decade-old sedan. Your iced coffee - light and sweet, but not too much of either - tastes like heaven. And the best part, the part that makes this day the best even if you didn’t have iced coffee or sunshine or Ruby or happy music, is that you’re less than an hour away from the beachfront house you and your friends have rented for the next five days.
All six of you had collectively been saving up for a full year and a half to make this happen, and there were times during the wait when it seemed like it would never come together between scheduling and money and rental availability. But now you’re here, racing down the highway to keep up with the flow of traffic, the ocean beckoning you closer.
“Now, now,” Ruby, the aforementioned best friend, scolds lightly. “What about your wedding day?”
You blow a raspberry. “What wedding day?” you shoot back sourly, but then you take another sip of caffeinated, iced perfection and your mood buoys immediately. It’s gonna take a lot to keep you down, today. Still, you rationalize, “I can’t even get to a third date.”
It was true. Your last third date had been almost two years ago. Since then, everything fizzled after one or two. Embarrassing. Something only Ruby - and, by proxy, her boyfriend Mingyu - would know about you.
“Because you compare them all to Chan,” Ruby says sagely.
The beams of sunlight are glaring. The pop music grates on your nerves, too boppy and much too happy. You set your coffee in the cup holder, your hand suddenly smarting from the bite of cold.
Coincidental to the third date thing, you’ve been in love with Lee Chan for almost two years. Another embarrassing Ruby-and-thus-Mingyu-only tidbit.
“Stooo-ooppp,” you whine. “If you’re going to spend the whole time making it weird about him, I’m going to find a way back home! I will walk there, just try me!”
“Now, now,” she says again, mildly. Your dramatics are nothing new to her. “I’ll behave. But I keep telling you - it would be significantly less weird if you’d just tell him you have a thing for him.”
You narrow your eyes at her. A thing.
An every problem I’ve ever had melts away and my soul floats three feet above my body every time your smile crosses your face kind of thing. A hearing your laugh makes me laugh even if I didn’t hear the joke kind of thing. A finding your gaze across a loud room makes me feel like no one else is there but us kind of thing.
A he doesn’t feel the same way, and he never will kind of thing. He made that super clear, about seven months ago.
And it gets worse.
You’ve had a week to accept your fate on this trip - a week since she’d called to tell you that the original rental had fallen through. To tell you that the replacement place is almost better (closer to the beach! a huge deck! a private pool!) except for the number of rooms. That since the other four people attending are made up of two couples, you and Chan would have to share a room.
(“The rooms are huge,” she’d assured you. “And the third room’s got bunk-beds! I bet will Chan will let you have top bunk if you want it - he’s a nice guy.”
You didn’t say, even though it is very true, that bunk-beds are really only a selling point if you are ten years old. But there were more important arguments to make. “I know he’s a nice guy,” you’d bit out. “He’s the nicest fucking guy I’ve ever met in my life, actually!” Hence the thing.
She’d paused and then pointed out, “You’ve met Seokmin, though.”
And, yeah, maybe on paper Seokmin is nicer but looking at his smile doesn’t feel like being filled with sunshine, so the point is moot.)
Anyway. You’ve had time to accept the fact that you have to share a room with the guy you’ve been in love with for over a year and a half. You’ve had time to accept that he might hear you snore, will see that you’re messy, that you’ll have to get changed in the bathroom for the whole trip, that you’ll have to get really good at pretending not to moon over him every time he speaks.
“I think,” you tell Ruby mildly, “that telling him that I want to lick his body from top to bottom and then get married might actually make things more weird.”
“I would just like to say,” Ruby’s boyfriend Mingyu pipes up from the backseat, his voice weary and long-suffering, “that this is an incredibly uncomfortable conversation for me.”
In your defense, you’d thought he was asleep.
Ruby descends on him like a swarm of locusts. “Don’t you think she should tell him she’s in love with him?”
“I actually do,” Mingyu says, covering his eyes with his hands as if he can’t bear to see what a disaster you are. “But I would heavily advise against mentioning the licking. Or the marriage.”
“It’s hyperbole,” you defend, flapping a hand in his direction. But, yeah, noted.
Excitement bubbles in your stomach, despite the rooming situation, when Ruby flicks on her turn signal and moves to exit the highway. Already, the smell of the air through the open windows has turned salty, and the thick tree-line along the highway has given way to cloudless blue sky and the occasional palm tree. It had been almost hazy when you’d set off at the crack of dawn (Mingyu had taken the back seat so he could stretch out and sleep a little longer) but now the sunrise has burned away all of that haze and given way to a perfect morning.
It takes only minutes for Ruby to navigate through the small, coastal town and to a row of vacation homes. You lose yourself in a daydream of waking up to take coffee on a sunlit balcony, listening to waves crash in time below you. In your daydream, across the balcony someone stretches their arms above their head, a sliver of belly peeking out for only a second, then turns to give you a sleepy smile, thinly-wired glasses perched on his nose.
Someone.
You shake yourself free of the fantasy; part of you feels like Ruby can read your mind, like she’s seconds away from calling you out for placing Chan in your seaside fantasy life.
Ruby, however, is too focused on finding the house to read your mind, and she slows the car and turns into a driveway, chirping, “We’re here!”
You all start grabbing luggage to carry in; the sun feels amazing on your skin, the sea breeze cool almost to the point of chilly and so salty it makes your nose twitch. You three aren’t even done emptying your car when you’re startled by a beep-beep-beepbeep-beep from the road behind you.
“That’s Soonyoung,” Mingyu says without even turning to look.
He’s right - it is. The second car, which carries Soonyoung, his girlfriend Lara, and Chan, pulls into the driveway next to you.
Chan greets you with a wide, happy grin (that, yes, makes you feel full of sunshine, whatever) and a quick, one-armed hug as he comes around the front of the parked car. Your moronic heart lifts, stupidly hopeful - until Soonyoung does the same thing. Your heart deflates again with the reminder that they’re just like this - nice, affectionate with their friends. It doesn’t mean anything. Chan’s attention to you is just as platonic as Soonyoung’s - which is to say, entirely.
You all manage to gather the luggage from both cars, and Mingyu follows the rental app’s directions to work the keypad at the front door. You all ooh and ahh as you step inside - the place is roomy, well-lit from sliding glass doors and windows that face the ocean, and decorated with (what else?) a kitschy, nautical theme.
You kick off your flip-flops onto a mat with an anchor on it (per the theme), and follow the others further into the house.
You head straight back through the house - the living room gives way into a dining room that ends with the sliding-glass doors. In tandem with Ruby, you press your face to the glass of the door and peer outside. You’re delighted to see that the ocean is right there, beckoning you to come play. Gulls swoop and call, loud enough that you can hear their cries from inside. Further down the beach you can see colorful umbrellas and tents that other beachgoers have set up. Below the deck, you can see just a strip of the private pool.
You pull yourself away from the back door and head into the adjoining kitchen, where Lara is standing at an open cupboard, examining its contents.
“We’re going to need to do a grocery run,” she muses, looking over at you. “I think all Soonyoung packed was ramen and soju.”
“What else could we possibly need?” he jokes from down the hall, his voice echoing.
“Coffee,” you say immediately.
“Beer,” Mingyu says seriously.
“Meat? Vegetables? Stuff for breakfast? Something to drink that isn’t alcohol?” Lara suggests.
“Who invited the Capricorn?” Soonyoung (the person who invited the Capricorn) grouses.
“Without me,” she tells him seriously, though the corner of her mouth twitches, “you’d be malnourished at best, and at worst? Dead.”
“Probably true,” you say, giving her a conspiratorial nod, and then you hear Ruby call your name from upstairs. Her voice sounds strained, and a little alarm bell goes off inside your head.
“Yes?” you answer loudly, hoping your voice will carry up to her.
“Can you come up here for a minute?” she calls down to you. Yes, there is definitely an edge to her voice that you don’t like. “Now?”
“Oh jeez,” you mutter, starting to make your way towards the stairs at the front of the house. You take the stairs quickly, calling Ruby’s name as you navigate the unfamiliar house.
She and Chan are both standing in the hallway, open doors all around them. Their faces mirror each other - disbelief, anxiety.
“What?” you ask, a little breathless both from the stairs and from anticipation. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s, uh,” Ruby stammers. It’s very unlike her to lose her confidence, and the unease in your gut churns again.
“What?” you say again, and when she doesn’t answer, you turn to Chan, who looks stricken. “What is it?”
“No bunk beds,” he manages, finishing Ruby’s sentence and gesturing to the room behind him.
You’re pressing forward without making the decision to move, without answering either of them, crowding Chan’s space so you’re chest to chest, peering over his shoulder. His hands hover near your elbows, like you might overbalance and he’s ready to steady you.
The room behind him is huge - as Ruby promised - complete with an ensuite bathroom and the balcony straight out of your daydream in the car. It also, as Chan pointed out, does not have bunk-beds. Instead, one king-sized bed is centered against the far wall, flanked by wicker nightstands with lamps on each and an old-school radio alarm clock on one.
You say nothing - you just back out of Chan’s personal space and swivel, heading for the other doors. Surely that was just the wrong room - one meant for one of the couples. Surely they just didn’t look hard enough, didn’t check the other doors, didn’t find the room with two beds that you’d been promised.
You find a full bathroom, a linen closet, one door that remains locked, and - to your dismay - two identical bedrooms, neither of which hosts more than one single bed.
Realization trickles through you slowly, building up higher and higher as you check the doors a second, and then a third, time. Ruby and Chan stay frozen in place in the dimly lit hallway, watching your frantic, pointless searching.
“Oh, my God,” you say hollowly. Then, turning, you narrow your eyes. “Ruby,” you growl. “You promised. Where is my top bunk?!”
“I don’t know!” she squeaks. “The listing said four beds!”
“Call them,” you demand flatly.
Beside Ruby, Chan’s eyebrows scrunch as he frowns. He says your name quietly, holding up a hand as if to calm you. “We don’t need to move houses,” he says gently. “I’ll take a couch. It’s not a big deal.”
You feel yourself shaking your head immediately. “I will feel like shit if you spend your vacation sleeping on the couch because of me,” you tell him.
He and Ruby exchange a long look (something that you don’t like very much, but no one is asking you) and then she tentatively says, “Could we work it out later? Maybe one of the couches pulls out into a bed or something? Or do you really want me to try and get us a different rental? This is already our second one, I’m not sure there are even other options still available…” She trails off, eyes wide.
You sigh, eyeing the ceiling above you as if it has answers. “Fine,” you say, because you can’t stand the thought of being the one who’s causing problems, ever the people-pleaser. “We’ll figure it out later.”
You head back down the hall, tromping down the stairs in silence to get your luggage.
Chan tries to take one of your bags for you, but you shrug him off and he lets you. You follow him back up the stairs, to the large room you’d looked at a few minutes ago. You both stand in the middle of it, looking around. You’re unsure if you should even unpack in here if there’s a chance you’ll end up moving to the couches.
“It’ll be okay,” Chan says, and it startles you out of your thoughts so badly that you flinch.
“Mhm,” you manage, because you don’t want to lie to him by agreeing.
“Hey,” he says, a little insistently, and you look up at him. He’s looking at you openly, his expression an impossible mix of concern and optimism. It disarms you immediately, in a way nothing else ever has.
There’s something always so earnest about Chan, one of your favorite things about him, and you can’t help but believe him when he continues to speak. “It will. We can, like, take turns with the bed or something. It’s not that big of a deal. Don’t let this ruin your trip. Okay?”
You nod silently, thinking about this. He’s right - there’ll be a solution. “Okay,” you say, managing to give him a little smile. “You’re right.”
The grin he gives you is mischievous. “I usually am,” he quips - and you love that about him, too: the way he’s playfully cocky, something ironic in the way he displays it, like you’re all in on the joke and he’s happily his own punchline. He disappears into the hallway, where you hear him heading down the stairs.
You wait for the tornado of butterflies in your belly to calm back down and then you look around the room. You finally decide to just leave your bags in a pile near the dresser, and head back down to find the others.
Everyone is standing around the kitchen table, where it seems like a grocery list is being split into Things That Can versus Things That Cannot be bought at the local liquor store.
“We can take one car and handle the drinks,” Mingyu is saying as you walk up and lean your chin on Ruby’s shoulder from behind. She absently reaches up to give your head an affectionate pat as you both listen. “Then the grocery team can take the second car, and whoever is handling the rental office can just walk.”
“Rental office?” you ask. “What for?”
“Just to grab our passes for the beach,” Lara answers you. “They’re like little tags. It’s part of what we paid for.”
“The rental’s under your name,” Soonyoung reminds her, “so we should probably handle that.”
“Yah, you just want the easy task,” Mingyu complains.
Soonyoung grins, guilty as charged not at all sorry about it. He grabs for Lara’s hand and heads for the front door. “If we aren’t here when you get back, we’ll leave your passes on the table!” he calls, and then the door slams shut.
“Asshole,” Mingyu grumbles affectionately.
The four of you look at each other in the resulting quiet. Then, Ruby asks, “Anything you want to add to our list?”
You lean further around her to read her phone screen, scanning what drinks had already been requested.
“Nope,” you tell her. “I’m good with that. Does this mean I’m on the grocery team?”
Chan looks up from his phone when you ask this, waiting to hear the answer.
Ruby and Mingyu meet gazes, seeming to have a silent conversation. Then, she gives you a sheepish look, almost a grimace. “Yeah - sorry, but I kind of wanted to go with Gyu on the drinks run, if that’s okay?”
You’ve been best friends with Ruby for a long time. You know her in and out, and you know this: she’s not like this, not sweet and apologetic. If it was just you two, she’d just say what she wanted. The act is for a reason.
You blink at her, trying to figure it out. “Of course it’s okay,” you say slowly. “If you and Mingyu are handling the drink run, then I’ll handle groceries with Chan.”
Ah. That was Ruby’s game - she paired you with Chan on purpose.
Meddler. Pain in the ass. Angel. Light of your life. She contains multitudes.
His eyes drop back to his phone. “You don’t have to,” he says, not looking at you. “If you want to go with them or catch up with Lara then I can handle it by myself.”
You frown. “It’s not really a one person job,” you observe. “And I don’t mind - really.”
“So it’s decided!” Ruby says brightly, moving to rest her hand on her boyfriend’s forearm. “We should beat you back, but we’ll wait for you guys so we can help unload the car.”
“Thanks,” you say, meaning it. For everything.
Ruby and Mingyu head out, and you meander closer to Chan. You’re not alone together very often - you’re pretty much always in a group setting.
You’d met through Ruby and Mingyu, years ago. You and Ruby were a very packaged deal, and Mingyu had a crew of friends that filtered in and out of your social events like they kept a scheduled rotation. When Soonyoung had settled into a serious relationship with Lara, the two of them became pretty permanent fixtures with Ruby and Mingyu, and Chan usually went where Soonyoung did. So then you were six.
How perfectly even. How serendipitous. How nearly fated.
If only he saw it that way.
But he doesn’t, he’s made that clear. It was Lara’s fault, actually. That night is burned into your brain, an unpleasant memory custom-made to slither into your brain when you’re trying to sleep before a big day.
The six of you had been bar-hopping on a Saturday night about seven months ago. It had been cool - late autumn teasing winter, and you’d been shivering as the six of you rowdily made your way up the block to your next stop. Laughing at something Soonyoung had said, Chan had reached around your shoulders sloppily, pulling you tight against him.
“Cold?” he’d asked you, as you tried to keep walking - a challenge because of both the alcohol in your system and the alarm bells going off in your head over his hand on your arm.
“Definitely chilly,” you’d managed to reply, looking up at him sideways. His profile was sharper than you’d realized before, and it sent a wave down your core, sinking like a weight through your stomach and into your lower belly and he grinned down at you.
You never wanted him to let go. Never, for the rest of your lives.
“You two are cute,” Lara had said drunkenly, the words a little slurred, as she leaned heavily on Soonyoung. You’d flushed, a little embarrassed, but Chan’s reaction had mortified you. His eyes had widened and he’d gone so far as to retract his arm from around you as quick as lightning, moving sideways to put inches between you again.
It left you frozen, a block of ice.
“No - we’re - we’re only friends,” he had said emphatically, and Lara had apologized, her hand over her mouth. Then, Ruby had tripped on the sidewalk and ripped the knees of her jeans, and the whole incident was forgotten.
Not by you, though. Never by you. This was the moment that floated up like the ghost of Christmas past whenever Ruby urged you to confess to Chan, which was more frequent than you’d like. The rush of cold in the absence of his arm, the way he’d stuttered in his hurry to refute the misunderstanding.
Message received, Lee Chan. Loud and fucking clear.
Didn’t change a thing about how you feel, though.
Presently, you try to push this out of your head - the fact that there’s no social buffer between you, no Ruby or Soonyoung to hide behind - before it can trip you up. “What’s on the list?” you ask. He hands you his phone, lets you scroll through everything he’d typed up.
“Okay,” you say, handing it back. “I’m ready when you are.”
“Yeah,” he says, a little absently, then starts patting at his pockets, eyes scanning the tabletop. “Yeah, I’m ready. Aish, Lee Chan, where did you put the keys?”
“They’re by the door,” you offer, remembering the small table you’d all dropped them on as you came in.
He shoots you a grateful smile. “Thanks. Let’s go?”
You nod, grabbing your sunglasses from the table and following him to the driveway out front.
It’s less than ten minutes to the nearest grocery, not even enough time for three whole songs to play through the car’s stereo, half-drowned by the roar of wind and sea through the open windows. Chan grins sideways at you as he parks, running a hand through his messy hair before unbuckling and stepping out of the car. You shake yourself from your daze and hurry to follow.
“What’s the game plan?” you ask, as you step out of the summer sun and into the fluorescents and air conditioning. Your skin prickles instantly upon the change. “Divide and conquer?”
He pulls out his phone and brings the list up. “I’d rather just stick together,” he says, looking at you sideways, his voice a bit thin - like he’s nervous you’ll reject the plan. “If that’s okay?”
“Of course,” you say, shrugging easily.. “I’m just following you. I’m the assistant. You’re in charge.”
Something flashes across his face - a shooting star of an expression, gone before you’re sure you saw it - and then he’s pushing the cart into the produce section, calling over his shoulder for you to go grab some peaches.
You wind your way together through the store. Each time he stops the cart, you each dart after something else from the nearby shelves then reconvene to look at the list again, shoulders pressed together as you squint at the small font.
It thrills you each time that he doesn’t pull away, each time that he doesn’t hurry to put space between you again as he had back in November.
Don’t make it weird, you beg yourself as you load a few cases of soda into the cart. Keep it in check.
A few rows over, the cart a third of the way full, you pause at a row of sauces. You step back, scanning the labels, then drop into a crouch to read those on the bottom shelf. Chan drops beside you, his knee gently bumping yours as he reaches for one of the jars, bringing it closer to scan the label.
“This one’s my favorite,” he says, and there’s something low in his voice that makes you look over at him. Your fingers overlap his for a second as you take the jar from him, turning it over so you can see which one it is. The moment feels staticky, charged with something.
You chicken out, shuffle back on your heels so your knees no longer touch. “It is a good one,” you agree, putting it back in his hand and pressing your palms to your knees as you rise again. “Get a few - I think Ruby likes that one too.”
He nods, looking away again, dutifully reaching to grab a second jar. You move on to the next aisle in silence. You almost feel like his energy seems… disappointed. But that wouldn’t make sense at all.
Turning the corner to the first row of freezers, you feel your body react instantly to the cold and you immediately fold in around yourself, goosebumps rising up your arms.
“Oh, it’s cold,” you complain. “Let’s hurry. Please.”
Chan doesn’t respond, but you can feel his eyes sweep over you, heavy, before he starts pushing the cart past you at, yes, a quicker speed. You shiver once, violently, before you hurry after him.
When you’re done, stepping outside into the sunlight feels like being released - like leaving school on the last day before summer break, like leaving work before a vacation, like stepping outside for the first time after rain has kept you inside for days on end. You let it warm you, happy, as you help Chan load the bags into the car.
You drive the few minutes back to the house in silence. As Chan makes the last turn, you wonder out loud, “Do you think Ruby and Mingyu finished before us?”
“Definitely,” Chan says, and he’s right - as the house comes into view, you can see that the second car is already parked.
True to their word, Ruby and Mingyu greet you at the door to help carry everything in and put it away.
“Lara grabbed us a spot down on the beach,” Ruby informs you, as you both stand at the back of the car, scanning for the lighter bags. “As soon as we’re ready we can head down.”
You let out a happy sigh. “I think an afternoon at the beach will cure me.”
“Nothing will cure you,” she deadpans, then literally stops mid-stride to correct herself. “Actually, something could. And it’s here, and available, and sharing your room.”
“I hate you a lot!” you tell her brightly, pushing past her with an armful of groceries and heading into the relative dark of the house, praying Chan hadn’t overheard her bullshit.
You hurry through the rest - getting the groceries away, getting changed for the beach, throwing the things you need to bring into a tote. Downstairs, the others wait for you by the back door. Chan is wearing Mingyu’s dumb-ass sunglasses and is clearly in the middle of an old-man bit, his voice reedy and sarcastic. Ruby cackles as Mingyu shoves Chan’s shoulder playfully, reaching to get his eyewear back. You can’t help the wave of affection you feel for them, your goofy friends.
You all step out into the sand, eyes adjusting to the sun. You follow Mingyu’s shadow on the ground as he makes his way towards the spot Soonyoung and Lara saved for you. You drop your tote in the sand and help Ruby spread out a blanket, using your shoes and bags to hold down the corners. Mingyu and Chan settle a small cooler off to one side, filled to the brim with ice and drinks.
You pull your cover-up over your head and toss it in the direction of your tote bag and stretch out, closing your eyes happily and letting your body relax under the warmth of the sun, the sound of breaking waves rhythmic and soothing. You’re startled by the sound of music and open your eyes again to find Ruby setting up a bluetooth speaker near the cooler. She looks at you sheepishly and hurries to lower the volume.
“Sorry,” she giggles. “Didn’t mean it to start so loud.”
To your left, Chan is pulling his white t-shirt over his head. Your eyes widen and you look away as fast as you can, catching Ruby react exactly the same, her eyes comically large.
You both turn your backs to the boys, and she mouths at you, what the fuck?
What the fuck is right. You’re used to being around Mingyu, who has an admittedly perfect body, and even Soonyoung is shockingly cut under those baggy t-shirts and cropped hoodies he sports. Chan’s always been the little one, the most normal, the most obtainable in his regular-ness.
Something’s changed since the last time you were all swimming together. He’d always had a nice body, but this…
You close your eyes against the bright summer sun, as if you can block out the curve of his pecs, the shadowed lines hinting at abs. None of those had been there last summer.
That motherfucker. First, he rejects you, then he gets hotter? You hope he gets eaten by a shark today.
You push yourself to stand.
“Where are you going?” Ruby hisses.
“I need a beer,” you tell her flatly. “Actually, maybe ten beers.”
“I’m not holding your hair today,” she warns you flatly, and you flip her off and make your way to the cooler. It’s going to be a long day.
You manage to get a few hours of peace and sanity by laying out with Ruby and Lara, just enjoying the music and occasional chitchat. Further down the beach, the guys run around with a volleyball but no net, making their own asinine rules.
“I still say you should tell him,” Ruby grumbles, after catching you watching Chan from behind your sunglasses for the ninth time, and you shoot her a warning look. But the damage is done - Lara latches on, her eyes sharp.
“Him… Chan?” she guesses. You feel your face heat.
“I’m that obvious, huh?” you murmur reproachfully.
“I mean,” she says uncertainly, looking to Ruby as if for backup, “I think you both are? If it helps?”
“Both?” you repeat flatly. “I wish.”
She exchanges a look with Ruby again, a silent conversation that you aren’t part of.
“He’s not into me,” you say, easy, like the words don’t cut at you. The salty air hits the wounds and makes them sting. “He’s been clear about that.”
Ruby’s brow furrows; you’ve never actually articulated this in front of her before.
“He has?” she asks, her voice suddenly gentle and almost sorrowful. “You never told me-”
“You were there,” you protest, then look over at the guys to make sure they hadn’t stopped yelling and running. “You both were, actually. That night when you tore your knee open outside of Ivy and Ivory?”
“Yeah,” Lara says slowly, her eyes on you, “I remember that night. That was… kind of the first time I thought he had a thing for you? Like, I know it was a while ago, but -”
“A thing for me?” you echo, working hard to keep your voice quiet. “When you called us out he was so horrified he couldn’t even touch me - he acted like it burned him -”
“Honey, no,” she says seriously, leaning forward. She looks incredulous at your perspective.
“Bestie,” Ruby says, giving you a please believe me, your best friend, who would never lead you astray look. “He was terrified that you’d get spooked.”
You press your mostly-empty beer can to your chin, eyes narrowing. “Explain.”
“He wasn’t embarrassed at the idea of being coupled with you,” Lara whispers, her eyes on the guys, whose game has drifted only minutely closer to your blanket. “It was one of those like, shut up or you’ll scare her away moments. He wanted to kill me.”
“Literally, if he’d had a cartoon thought bubble, it would have said shhhh, not so loud!” Ruby adds. She peers at you. “Did you really take it like that this whole time? You thought it was a rejection?”
“He practically pushed me into traffic!” you hiss defensively, and both girls explode into laughter.
“That is not what happened,” Lara insists, and then heads to the cooler, leaving you, Ruby, and your very confused thoughts.
You look at her. She looks at you.
“I thought you knew,” she says finally, holding up her hands in mock innocence. “I had no idea you took it that way.”
You can’t respond - the boys return at this exact moment, Mingyu flops dramatically next to Ruby, panting heavily, sweat running down his face.
“Jagiya,” he gasps like he’s dying. “Water. Please.”
Ruby rolls her eyes, but a water bottle lands next to Mingyu’s head before she can get up. You turn towards the cooler and see Soonyoung standing with his hands on his knees, also panting, while Chan digs around for presumably another water bottle.
“You need anything out of here?” he asks you over his shoulder.
You shake your head. “Thanks, though.”
You rise, brushing errant sand from the backs of your thighs, squinting at the water. The waves are breaking evenly, and there’s room to tread further out past the breaking point. “I think I’m gonna go in,” you announce to whoever is listening.
Lara shakes her head, reaching one hand up to tug at Soonyoung, obviously wanting him to sit by her. Ruby flaps her hand at you as if to tell you go on. She’s never been a big swimmer, more of a giant unicorn floatie kind of girl.
You stop when you’re ankle-deep, letting a few waves break and rush over the tops of your feet, adjusting to the temperature. You start to wade in, the water rushing around your shins, when you hear your name called breathlessly behind you.
Chan jogs up, his hair pushed back, a thin silver chain bouncing against his collarbones. You look away before you can get caught. Ruby and Lara’s words race through your brain. Have you been wrong about him this whole time? Have you misread every signal over the last three years, viewed it through the wrong lens?
“You can’t leave me alone with them,” he complains, face twisting in exaggerated suffering.
You laugh. “Can’t stand being the fifth wheel, huh?”
He shakes his head, smiling, still trying to catch his breath from volleyball and then the jog over here.
“You coming in?” you ask him. “I was gonna go out and tread for a while.”
He nods. “You don’t mind if I join?”
You look at him appraisingly, new information starting to process inside your mind, shifting the rules you’d followed for months. The sea air makes you bold. “You?” you say. “I would never mind.”
You don’t wait to see his reaction; you step further into the water, hitting just above your knees when you reach the spot where the waves are breaking. You stumble a little as a wave hits your thighs, and Chan’s hand finds your elbow, firm but unassuming, helping you steady yourself again.
When you reach waist-deep water, you eye the spot just ahead where the waves reach their tallest point as they gather on their way to shore.
“We’re gonna have to go under that,” you tell Chan. He actually looks nervous, which makes you laugh. “Want me to hold your hand?”
The smile he sends you is both self-deprecating and relieved, like he can’t believe his answer is yes, but yes, and he’s so glad you asked.
“Come on,” you say, laughing again. You hold out your hand and he takes it, and when the next ocean swell rises before you like a mighty wall you hold your breath and tug him under. It’s an act of faith, dipping below the roaring ocean, hoping you time it right. You keep his fingers tight between yours and let your body sink.
You surface on the other side, in an area of relative calm. Beside you, Chan wipes at his face with his spare hand, which makes you realize you’re still holding the other. You release it gently, treading water easily. Chan can probably just touch sand if he stretches.
You tread together quietly for a few minutes, less than six inches apart. The sun glints off the water around you, dancing and sparkling as the water moves. You wish you could ask him about that night, years ago, confirm Lara and Ruby’s interpretation of the events. You could - you just aren’t brave enough.
You look at him, familiar and beautiful and - until today - unobtainable. What if you swam closer, what if you pressed yourself close and kissed him, right here in the ocean?
If it ruined everything, you could just let yourself drown. And if it didn’t… well, you could let yourself drown a different way, then.
You chicken out. You chat about inconsequential things instead - his upcoming trip with his family, a work project you’d recently wrapped up that you’d been talking about for months, what the plan will be for dinner when you all get tired of the sunshine.
It’s easy to talk to Chan - it always has been. He’s quick with a joke or a bit, but always open and earnest. He watches you quietly when you talk, accentuates his stories with his hands when it’s his turn. Eventually, Ruby joins you. Mingyu stands at the edge of the water, one hand shielding his eyes, watching her go.
“He’s not coming in?” you ask.
She rolls her eyes. “Doesn’t want to get his hair wet. God, the water feels great. Anyway, we’re thinking of heading in soon, to get showers and stuff before we figure out dinner?”
“Sounds good,” Chan says.
“I’ll be right in,” you say, and beneath the water you grab at Ruby’s hand. Stay.
Chan gives you both a wave goodbye and heads towards the beach. You both watch as he steps onto land, approaches Mingyu, and shakes like a dog, spraying water all over his friend. You can hear Mingyu’s shout of protest even from here, and Ruby’s maniacal laughter echoes around you.
“How’s it going?” she asks you slyly, when she’s finished laughing at her man. Like she knows the answer already.
“Nice of you to ask!” you cry. “Actually! I’m kind of having a meltdown! Because for nearly eight months I thought he’d told me unequivocally, irrevocably no, and now I am finding out that he… I don’t even know. What does it mean? That was ages ago, surely even if he felt something then…”
“Only one way to find out,” Ruby says, way too sensibly.
“That’s not helpful,” you grumble.
“It is helpful, it’s just not easy,” she says sagely. You splash a handful of water towards her head and she shrieks, swimming further away from you.
“That’s enough of you,” you tell her, and start heading in towards the sand.
Back at the blanket, the boys and Lara have mostly packed up. You pull your rolled up towel out of your tote and dry off briskly. When everyone is accounted for, you all collect your things and head back up the walkway towards the house.
You put everything away - leftover drinks in the fridge, wet towels in the washing machine, etc - and the couples disappear into their rooms, doors closing and locking up and down the hallway.
Which just leaves you and Chan.
You follow him to the end of the hall and into the large room you’ll be somehow sharing. He turns on one of the bedside lamps and stops to plug his phone in, then looks over at you.
“You wanna shower?” he asks, tossing his phone lightly onto the bed. You can only stare at him, short-circuiting, until he clarifies. “Do you want to go first?”
“Oh,” you utter, quickly trying to recover. “Yeah, if you don’t mind?”
He waves his hand graciously towards the dark bathroom, as if to say, be my guest.
Showering turns into a reprieve - a locked door between you allowing you to jumpstart your brain again as you feel the hot water remove all the hidden bits of sand clinging to your legs and back.
While Chan takes his turn after you, you escape outside with a cold soda from the fridge. The beach beyond your rental’s deck is still pretty busy, but the crowd has thinned a bit since you all packed up. The sun descends behind the house, which means the sunrise tomorrow morning will come over the beach.
Mingyu seems to be preparing the grill, and Ruby bustles around, bringing out ingredients and setting them close to the grill. On one of the cushioned benches, Lara drapes her legs over Soonyoung’s legs and talks with him quietly, both of them giggling.
Since it seems like your help isn’t needed anywhere - you’ll help set the table when the food is almost ready, as is your usual job as a non-cook - you sit with your cold drink and watch the waves break, lost in thought.
Lara and Ruby seemed so sure that you’d misread Chan that autumn night. There’s a small part of you that’s still doubtful, but at the end of the day you do trust their judgement. So, assuming they’re right, Chan had been interested in you. That was over six months ago, though. It doesn’t mean anything now except that… well… if he was interested in you once, there’s a possibility he could be again. Or still.
Your move, it seems, is to figure out if that’s the case. Chan hasn’t done anything recently to indicate that he’s disinterested, but he also hasn’t done anything to indicate that he is. He - like you - has played it very safe. It isn’t until now that you’ve questioned if it’s because he actually sees you platonically, or if he thinks that’s what you want.
One of you is going to have to push the boundary, to test the waters.
When Chan emerges from the house, freshly showered and hair falling over his forehead nearly to his eyes, you look up from where you’re sitting and watch him thoughtfully. He pauses at the grill to ask Mingyu something, then passes by the mess of limbs that is Soonyoung and Lara, then drops onto the seat next to you.
“Mingyu says it’ll be another twenty minutes or so until everything’s done,” he informs you.
“Guess I should get the plates and stuff,” you sigh, leaning forward to set your drink on the table.
“I can help you,” he offers, and follows you inside, where you both open cabinets and drawers in the unfamiliar kitchen until you find everything you need.
He heads outside ahead of you, his hands loaded with utensils and condiments, and you pause, watching his dark silhouette against the evening sunlight. Your heart tumbles, and you jerk back into motion, following him into the light.
You all stay on the back deck until well after sunset. As the sky sinks into deeper and deeper blues, you rise and plug in the string of lights that weave through the beams above the deck, casting everyone in a nearly-orange glow. Mingyu sets up the tabletop fire pit, but you end up chilly anyway as night takes hold.
You shiver once, and you notice Chan looking sideways at you.
“Cold?” he asks, and the wave of deja vu you get is almost dizzying.
You shake your head instinctively, more against the memory than actually answering the question. “I’m fine,” you say, even though you do have goosebumps rising along your arms.
He gets up anyway, heading into the unlit house without a word. You rise a beat later and head across the deck.
Ruby calls your name like a question, and in answer you point at the cooler tucked behind the grill, where you’d all stashed beer and water bottles. She gives a quick “ah” of understanding.
“You need one?” you ask her, as you shuffle behind the grill and pull on the cooler’s lid.
“I’ll take a beer,” Mingyu answers for her, and you dig through the bottles and cans until you find his preferred brand, reaching to pass it to him over Soonyoung’s head. Then you turn back and look at your options, trying to decide if you want a can of spiked seltzer or if you want to go inside and mix something a little harder.
While you’re deciding, the glass door to your left slides open, and Chan steps quietly back onto the deck. He’s in a baby blue hoodie that he hadn’t been wearing before, and he carries a bundle of dark material in his hands.
“Here,” he says quietly, holding it out to you. “It felt weird to dig through your luggage, so I grabbed one of mine.”
You take his offering silently, fighting a tiny smile. “Thanks,” you say, equally quiet, like you’ve both agreed you want to keep this moment between you, not call the attention of the others. You shake the dark hoodie out and pull it over your head, slipping your arms into the sleeves and fixing the hood so it’s not inside-out. The hem falls almost past your shorts, and the sleeves reach past your fingers.
Chan bends to grab a beer from the cooler, then heads back to where he was sitting before. You reach for your own drink, settling on a seltzer after all, and when you turn to head back to your spot you can’t help but notice him watching you through the flickering fire pit, something unreadable on his face.
“You good?” you ask him as you settle back into your spot.
“Yeah,” he says, but there’s something tight in his voice that makes the goosebumps rise on your arms again despite the new layer of warmth you’re wearing. That smells like him. You tug on the edges of the sleeves to pull the shoulders tighter and curl up on your chair, tucking your legs into the baggy material and locking back into the conversation.
The night moves slowly, the constellations rotating centimeter by centimeter above you, everything made comfortably fuzzy by the drinks and the firelight. Sometime before midnight, Ruby suggests a walk along the beach.
You go in bare feet, the cool wood of the deck stairs giving way to sand as soft as silk. Mingyu and Ruby take the lead, the rest of you trailing behind. At some point - long after the house disappears from view - Lara stops, pointing up at the moon - a sliver above the undulating sea.
The four of you stop and look for a minute. Down the beach, you can hear Ruby and Mingyu but they’re out of sight in the dark.
“We should probably catch up with them,” you say, looking in the direction of their disembodied voices.
“I think we’re gonna head back to the house, actually,” Lara says, looking up at Soonyoung to gauge if he agrees. “We’ll leave the back door unlocked for you all?”
They say their goodbyes and head back hand in hand, leaving you alone with Chan and that sliver of moon. For a minute, the night seems to expand around you, growing bigger and bigger and leaving the two of you so small within it. Chan looks at you silently, as if he’s waiting for something, one side of his mouth quirked into an almost-smile that makes your stomach swim with the desire to cause a real smile, to push that little almost into something fully-formed.
Then, Ruby calls your names loudly from further up the beach, and the spell is broken.
“Guess we better catch up,” Chan says wryly. You both turn and start walking in silence, nearly shoulder to shoulder. As you walk, the back of your hand brushes the back of his just once, and your entire body prickles at the contact. You almost shift away, give him a little more space, but something urges you to hold the line. You want to see what he will do.
You keep walking, close enough that you can hear him breathing, hear the sand slide each time he takes a step. The back of his hands brushes yours again, warm. He doesn’t react, so neither do you.
You carry on, knuckles occasionally bumping his, until you find Ruby and Mingyu. They’re standing watching the moon, Mingyu wrapped around Ruby’s back like a giant, love-sick koala.
“Where’re Soonyoung and Lara?” Ruby asks, when she notices you.
“They headed back,” you say, stopping a few feet away.
“We should, too,” Ruby muses, eyes on the moon. “But it’s so pretty here.”
“It is,” Chan murmurs from beside you and you glance sideways at him, trying to read him. He’s staring out at the dark sea, the stars flickering in and out above it, giving you his profile. Ruby’s eyes flick to you, one eyebrow quirked. You look away, not wanting to get caught in this silent conversation, but you can feel the heat on your face, the smile tugging at your mouth.
The house is dark when you all return, and you let yourselves back in quietly, just in case Soonyoung and Lara are actually sleeping. You bid Ruby and Mingyu goodnight in whispers and head to the end of the hall. Chan closes the door and you flick on the bedside lamp, casting a low yellow light through the room.
Wordlessly, Chan begins to rummage through his suitcase, transferring items to a small pile - a pair of loose shorts, a toothbrush, his phone charger. It occurs to you, suddenly, that he’s gathering what he needs to leave - to go sleep on a couch.
“Chan,” you say. You don’t even know what you want to say next. You just know you don’t want him to go, don’t want him to sleep on a couch, don’t want to be here alone.
He pauses, turning to look at you over his shoulder.
What do you want to say? Stay? You balk, suddenly chicken again.
“I can take the couch tonight,” you say instead. He shakes his head, but you press on. “We can switch tomorrow.”
“Nope,” he says easily.
“Chan,” you say again. He keeps rummaging, his back to you.
“Chan,” you repeat, insistent. He turns fully, still crouching, and raises his eyebrows as if to say, yes?
“Do you want to just stay here?” you ask, trying to keep your voice from shaking. It feels like a moment of great enormity.
He shakes his head, and the rejection stings enough that you feel your breath catch.
But then he says, “No, I’m not letting you sleep on a couch. I’m trying to be a gentleman - quit fighting me.”
You realize, slowly, that he misunderstood what you were offering.
“No,” you say. “I meant… like… no one on the couch.”
He stares at you blankly, his hands open like he forgot he was searching for something.
Embarrassment licks up the back of your neck like flames. “The bed isn’t that small,” you say, a little defensive. “We could just, like, stay on our own sides.”
The blank look on his face slowly transforms. His brows come together, his mouth tucking into a rare frown. He opens his mouth like he’s going to ask something, but nothing comes out. His eyes flick to the bed and then back to you.
“I don’t…” he says, and the heat of embarrassment heightens. He clears his throat and tries again, “I don’t want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable,” he says slowly.
“I wouldn’t suggest it if I wasn’t okay with it,” you point out.
He nods slowly, then pushes himself to stand. “Are you extremely sure?” he asks, peering at you. “This isn’t a High Noon decision, is it?”
You laugh, the tension dissipating a little. “No,” you assure him. “I just… feel bad putting you on a couch… and I don’t particularly want to sleep on a couch either… and I think we can… not make it weird?”
“We can,” he says, like a promise.
You second-guess your decision the whole time you get ready for bed - as you brush your teeth, as you change into pajamas, as you settle into the side of the bed by the balcony and plug in your phone. You’re nervous you won’t be able to keep it not weird - nervous that you won’t be able to keep your hands to yourself, that the magnetic pull to touch him will be too strong.
But when Chan climbs into the other side of the bed and clicks off the light, illuminated only by his phone screen, his warmth seeping into the blankets around you, it isn’t your hands that inch towards him. It’s your words. They claw their way out, desperate to reach across the six inches of darkness.
Chan, I’m actually really into you.
What really happened that night, when we were walking from bar to bar?
I’m in love with you, probably. I think.
Are you interested in me? At all?
You fight them all back, hold them all in. You don’t relax until Chan’s clicked his phone off and placed it on the nightstand, whispered goodnight to you, until you hear his breathing deepen. Just in case. Just in case the words get out the second you unclench - you need him to be asleep first so you can be sure he won’t hear them. You fall asleep with your face buried in the crook of your elbow, one last line of defense.
You wake up with your face buried in the crook of Chan’s neck instead of your own arm. You realize it instantly, body freezing like you’re about to get caught stealing, your whole body tight with panic. Like if you don’t move, you won’t wake him, and he won’t know that you cuddled him in your sleep.
Mortifying.
He’s mostly on his back but sort of tilted towards you, and you have one arm over his ribs, your nose pressed into the juncture of his shoulder. But, you realize as you stay frozen, his arms are around you. This was a mutual cuddle. Your legs are touching, too, one of your shins between his.
You try to breathe as shallowly as possible, fight the urge to stretch or roll or scoot away. You don’t want to alert him, pop this bubble, make the moment end. Chan is holding you as the sun rises over the ocean outside. It feels like another daydream, too good to be true. You never want it to end. You wish it was more real than this.
Slowly, you relax, one limb at a time, letting your muscles unclench and inhaling deeply. His skin, warm against your cheek, smells good - still a bit salty from the ocean, even after showering. But it’s only moments later that he stirs, his arms tightening around you and then loosening again as he makes a satisfied, low noise in his throat.
Then he goes still. You freeze back up, watching him for a reaction.
His mouth moves first, quirking sideways, and then he cracks one eye and peers down at you. A laugh bubbles from him and the cuddle is disintegrating around you as he shifts himself backwards and up on his elbows, still chuckling.
“Sorry,” he’s laughing, “sorry. I didn’t - that - I did not expect to do that in my sleep.”
You can’t help your own sheepish smile in return. “Me either, but it was actually comfy,” you admit. Now disentangled, you feel kind of cold and a little sad. But he’s acting like it was a funny goof, your bodies clinging to each other the second your brains turned off, so you’ll go along with the joke.
He rolls over and rummages on his nightstand, returning with his phone in hand and pushing thin-framed glasses up his nose. You look away, heart clenching. You love him in those; combined with the bedhead and his smell in your nose and the warmth of his skin not yet evaporated from yours and the feeling of his arms around you… it’s all a lot.
“I’m gonna… get dressed,” you say, reaching for your own phone. Chan hums a response and you vanish into the bathroom, brushing your teeth and getting ready as slowly as possible. When you come out, the bedroom is blessedly empty. You close your eyes and exhale. It’s going to be a long day.
When you finally head down to the kitchen, Lara and Chan are chatting easily at the table, steaming mugs in their hands. He’s still in those damn cute glasses.
“Good morning!” Lara greets you brightly. “There’s coffee!”
“God bless you,” you tell her seriously. You open a cabinet in search of a mug, but you’re faced with only plates and glassware instead. Chan appears at the cabinet next to you, reaching up and offering you a white mug with a cartoon seagull on it.
“Thanks,” you say, feeling weirdly shy considering you just woke up pressed against him. Once you fix the coffee how you like it, you take the seat next to Lara at the table. “Everyone else still asleep?” you ask.
“Soonyoung is, but I have to go wake him up in a minute,” Lara says, clicking on her phone screen to check the time. “We have a snorkeling thing at ten.”
“Ruby and Mingyu are out already,” Chan tells you. “Sunrise yoga. She texted us.”
“God,” you say, horrified. “Mingyu’s gonna hate that.” You realize at the mention of her text that you’ve left your phone upstairs.
Chan laughs. “Right?”
Lara rises, presumably to go wake up her boyfriend. “Her text said they’d be out until around four,” she tells you as she moves back into the kitchen to rinse out her mug. “I think they’ll beat us back, but not by much. Maybe we can go grab dinner when everyone’s back?”
“Sure,” you say, shooting a look at Chan to see if he has any opinions on this plan. He shrugs - no opinions to be found. You’ve always loved the way he could just go with the flow, happy to be along for the adventure.
You and Chan are still sitting at the table, coffees dwindling, when Lara pulls a bleary-eyed Soonyoung through the front door with a shouted goodbye, the sound of the car’s engine reaching you from outside. You look at each other, left alone together.
Again.
He gives you a flat, unamused look that he definitely picked up from Seungkwan or Vernon. “Are they doing this on purpose?” he asks, and a jolt goes through you. He’s said it. It’s like a curtain being pulled, shedding sunlight on something that had been shadowbound until now.
“Doing what?” you say, even though you know. “Leaving us by ourselves? Probably. Ruby likes to fuck with me.”
Chan laughs, and you’re filled with shaky relief that the moment isn’t weird. You both knew what this was, apparently, and facing it has put you on the same team against it.
“I thought it was to fuck with me,” he admits, still smiling.
“Two birds with one stone,” you muse. “For the sake of efficiency.”
But you wonder… why would it be fucking with him if he wasn’t interested in you? Is he admitting something?
“Well,” Chan says, stretching his arms above his head, fingers linked, “by all means, you can do your own thing today. You don’t have to babysit me. But it’s supposed to storm later, so I was thinking I’d use the pool a bit this morning while we still can, and then maybe go into town for lunch.”
You consider this. “That’s very pragmatic of you,” you observe lightly.
“That’s one of the first words I’d pick to describe myself,” he tries to deadpan, but the smile is too quick, telling on himself.
You let him get changed first, and when you make your way out back to the pool he’s already in the water up to his waist. You toss a towel onto one of the chaises.
“How’s the water?” you ask him, as you move to sit on the edge, preparing to let your legs dangle.
“It’s great,” he tells you, smiling easily, like he’s happy - happy you’re here, happy to be here with you.
You wonder if that’s the case, as you slowly lower your legs in, the water coming to lap a few inches below your knees.
“Feels cold,” you tell him. It doesn’t, really - way warmer than the ocean you played in yesterday, but you want to tease him a little.
Suddenly, his hands are on your ankles, holding you firmly. His hands are on your ankles.
“You should get in quickly,” he tells you, trying - again - to pretend to be serious, despite the smile he can’t combat. “Like ripping off a band-aid.”
“Lee Chan,” you warn, but a giggle rises up in you. “Don’t you dare. I will get in when I am good and ready!”
“I’m just trying to help,” he says, pretending to be hurt. His fingers are still pressing against your skin, your brain impossibly aware of the exact spot his thumb presses, as if there’s a beacon illuminating the place.
He gives your legs a playful tug, too lightly to actually move you. You squeal anyway, reaching down to splash water towards him. “Chan!”
He releases your ankles, taking a step back to avoid the splash, laughing. “Be careful,” he warns. “If it’s war you want -” He holds his hand like a knife above the water, ready to retaliate the splash.
“Oh my God, you menace. I’m getting in!” you cry, gripping the lip of the pool and sliding in, staying on your tippy-toes as your body adjusts to the temperature.
“Come on,” he goads, backing away from you, bobbing towards the shallow end. “You have to go under or it doesn’t count.”
“You’re a menace,” you repeat firmly, and he laughs, enjoying that his teasing has worked you up.
You eye the expanse of water between you - you’re at opposite ends of the pool now. “Do you think I could make it across in one go?” you ask.
He raises an eyebrow. “Like, underwater? I don’t know - how’s your lung capacity?”
You laugh. “Maybe not good enough,” you admit wryly. “But I’ll try.”
You take a deep breath of salty sea air, only minorly marred by chlorine, and slip down below the surface. You let the bottoms of your feet find the flat cement wall of the pool, and you give a hearty push. It’s hard without being able to see how much farther you have to go, but you hate getting chlorine in your eyes, so you kick and pull blindly until your lungs start to burn. When your natural buoyancy pulls you upward, you don’t fight it.
Your hands find something warm and solid before you surface. Surprise causes you to rear your head, fucking with your balance, and your feet find the floor of the pool. You stand up unsteadily, blinking water out of your eyes.
Chan comes into focus, his expression tight, and you realize that your hands had found his stomach, centimeters above his belly button.
“Sorry,” you say quickly, pulling away.
It’s like ever since last night, you can’t stop touching, your bodies fighting to come together even as you both dig in your heels and try to stop it.
“No worries,” he says just as quickly. You try to cover the moment by wiping water out of your face, but you feel warm all over, the cool water useless against your heated skin as you try to push away how his muscled stomach had felt under your fingertips.
You spend a good hour just floating and splashing around. Sometimes you chat and sometimes you lapse into comfortable silence. At one point you hear him singing lightly under his breath, his voice surprisingly clear but frustratingly quiet.
Eventually, your stomach growls. “I’m starting to get hungry,” you tell him. “You up for lunch in town, maybe? I’d just need to shower super quick first.”
“Sounds great,” he says easily, and you both head for the single runged ladder at the deep end. Chan climbs up first, standing by the ladder, dripping onto the concrete. You grip the metal handles firmly and find the bottom rung with one foot, pushing heavily to hoist yourself up.
And Chan helps you up - his fingers finding the dip of your waist and guiding you until you’re steadily on the pool deck, something protective in the touch.
Your entire body thrums, electric, cells vibrating. You hurry to your towel and wrap yourself up, hiding your face in the material - pretending you’re just chasing droplets away from your eyes, but actually smothering the urge to scream, if you’re going to touch me then get over here and do it properly!
“Did you know there’s a hot tub under the deck? Was that mentioned in the listing?” Chan asks, and you uncover your face.
“Huh?”
He’s pointing, and then you see that he’s right - tucked beneath the deck is a decently-sized jacuzzi, the lid on and straps fastened shut.
“Oh,” you say breathlessly. “Well, I know what I’m doing after dinner.”
Chan laughs, and you head inside, careful not to drip a trail of pool water through the house.
The rest of the morning passes pleasantly and without any touching; you shower and get changed and go on foot into the small beach town. You find a cute open-air cafe and order lunch, the iced coffee absolutely divine under the warm summer sun. The company’s not bad either.
After you’ve paid and left, Chan pauses on the sidewalk and gives you a mischievous smile. “Up for a little adventure?” he asks.
You frown. “What level of adventure?” you ask cautiously. “Like, on a scale of jumping out of a plane being ten to laying on my towel in the sand being one, what are we talking here?”
He laughs. “Like a three,” he assures you. “We just have a bit of a walk - maybe twenty minutes?”
The walk is pleasant - you don’t even get too warm, as there’s a constant breeze off the ocean and clouds pass overhead, pitching you momentarily into shade between longer bouts of sunshine. When you turn a bend and see the lighthouse rise against the sky in the distance, you actually gasp.
“Can we go up?” you ask, delighted.
“That’s the plan,” he tells you, and for once you can read his face perfectly - he’s pleased that he’s surprised you, pleased to have made you happy. Something warm simmers under your skin, affection and happiness and something else.
It takes forever to reach the top. You have to stop and rest more than once, your calves burning and protesting the many stairs. A few families pass you on their way down, one mother telling you cheerfully that you’re almost to the top. This motivates you to continue, and you press on until you reach the final landing and step through the metal doorway.
The view is absolutely worth it. The beach and the ocean stretch out before you, the town in the distance behind you. Alone at the top, you feel like you’re in your own little world, surrounded by sunlight and the calls of gulls, just you and Chan.
You stand, holding the railing, watching the waves undulate far below you for a long time. “Chan,” you say, and then falter. You don’t know what you were going to say. Some part of you thinks maybe you’d been about to confess, or to finally ask him something to shed light on his feelings.
When he looks at you, expectant, you say only, “Thanks for bringing me here.”
And maybe you did confess something, because he reaches over and squeezes your hand, just once.
And then, he looks over your shoulder and utters, “Uh oh.”
You spin, following his gaze, and echo, “Uh oh.”
Dark grey clouds gather to the west. You remember him saying it was supposed to storm later; it looks like rain will be rolling in soon, ushering in the storms behind it.
“We’d better head down,” he says regretfully, and you follow him back inside.
You make it down and outside before the rain comes, but the sunshine of the morning has gone and left gloomy grey in its wake.
“You think we can make it back to the house?” you ask breathlessly.
Chan checks the time on his phone, already walking brisky back towards the direction of town and your rental. “Maybe,” he says, but he sounds doubtful. “We’ve gotta be quick, though.”
You barely even make it into town; you aren’t even back at the cafe where you’d had lunch before the sky opens. It happens exactly like that - one second it’s not raining, the next second you’re drenched, hair plastered to your face, shirt sticking to your back, spluttering breaths through your mouth like you’re being sprayed with a hose.
You let out a cry of surprise, and then Chan is grabbing your hand and tugging, pulling you off of the sidewalk and into a nearby doorway. You don’t even manage to see what the doorway belongs to - Chan is already pulling it open, his hand still in yours as he leads you inside.
It’s dark, and it takes your eyes a minute to adjust as you wipe rain away from your eyes and shake droplets off of your arms. Beside you, Chan is doing the same, running a hand through his soaked hair and huffing out a noise of disbelief.
“That,” you say, “was bonkers.”
You seem to be in a dimly-lit dive bar, the kind that only locals go to. It’s pretty empty, since it’s early afternoon on a weekday, so when Chan raises a soggy, questioning eyebrow at you, you shrug and follow him towards the bar. Why not?
You take a seat wearily, and pull out your phone.
“We’ve got almost an hour until everyone is supposed to be back,” you inform him.
“In that case,” he says, and when the bartender meanders over, he orders you a row of shots to share.
You clink shot glasses for the first one, but after that you turn it into a game.
Chan narrows his eyes at you, mock-thoughtful. “What would you do if you woke up and your hands and feet had switched places?”
After answering (use my toes to order an Uber to the hospital), you volley with, “What would you do if aliens invaded tomorrow?”
Back and forth the game goes, punctuated by shot glasses being emptied and returned to the bar. What would you do if you woke up married in Vegas? … What would you do if you woke up one day and could only speak in rhyme? … What would you do if you were suddenly allergic to your favorite food? … What would you do if you were forced to join the circus?
You’re both laughing deliriously. Chan is wiping under his eyes in mirth, and you’ve hunched over so far that you find yourself with your hands on his knees, using him to stay upright on your barstool. Your surroundings have faded into colors and muted sounds with the alcohol in your system. All you can focus on is Chan, warm and solid under your palms, his eyes on you, the sound of his laugh cutting straight through the fog.
Then his next one isn’t so funny. “What would you do if you found out you only had a day to live?” he asks, and despite the seriousness, one last chuckle rumbles through his chest, like an aftershock.
Tell you. Tell you the truth.
You swallow. You take your hands off of his knees - you’re not sure he even noticed them there - and flex your fingers. And then, filter demolished by both alcohol and the sheer amount of time it’s been keeping you in check, you break.
Instead of answering, you fire back your own. “What would you do if I came onto you right now?”
Chan blinks at you, eyes as wide as you’ve ever seen them. He blinks twice more, and then his mouth opens. Your heart pounds.
“I’d - I - I guess, I’d probably kiss you,” he says, voice suddenly hushed, as if he’s a little unsure if he’s supposed to be honest or if the game is still a string of jokes.
You stare back. The two of you are frozen, both a bit wide-eyed, like neither of you is sure how you ended up like this.
Then, you breathe, “Okay, then do it.”
He nods immediately, breath coming sharply, and shifts closer on his seat. You feel like you’re holding your breath, waiting. Tentatively, he reaches up, brushes your jaw with his thumb.
Beside you, your phone blares to life on the bar. You both jump, startled out of the moment.
“Ruby,” you tell him hollowly. His hand still hovers near your face, but he nods, pulling it away. You feel like you can barely breathe as you slide your thumb to take the call.
“Hey,” you say into the phone, your eyes on Chan.
“Hey,” Ruby says, “where are you guys? Our thing ended early because of the rain so we’re back at the house.”
“Oh,” you say, trying hard to focus on her voice in her ear and not what just almost happened. “We’re in town. At… a bar? We came in to get out of the rain.”
“Perfect,” Ruby says. Across from you, Chan is rubbing his hands down the tops of his thighs, like they’re sweaty. You wonder if he’s nervous. “We’ll get changed and come get you guys in the car, and then we can go grab dinner together.”
You agree and hang up, then repeat the plan to Chan, who nods. He looks how you feel - a bit shell-shocked, a bit uncertain.
“We need to sober up,” you say. “Or, at least, I do.”
“No, me too,” he says, shaking his head. He sighs, and he might as well have said, goddamn Ruby. You hear it all. Then he seems to give himself a shake, orders you each a water, and asks to close his tab.
“They’re just up the street,” you tell him when Ruby’s text rolls in a bit later.
He nods, uncharacteristically quiet. You wish you could peek inside his brain and see what’s going on in there.
“Hey,” you say, and his eyes snap to you, that open look you know so well on his face. Your voice softens, and you resist the urge to reach out and touch his hand when you continue. “Here’s what I don’t want to happen - I don’t want Ruby to sniff out that something’s going on and interrogate me before we can… talk, ourselves. So let’s pull it together, and get through dinner, and then we can…”
We can what? Pick up where we left off?
He nods anyway, even though you’d left the thought unfinished. “You’re right,” he says.
And, somehow, you do. You both pull it together, rush through the pouring rain from the bar to the open car door. You smile and tease and laugh through dinner, like nothing had happened at all.
You feel relieved, in the back of Ruby’s car, as you all make your way back to the house. You did it - you got through dinner unscathed. Now you can go inside, and have some privacy, and talk and maybe figure out -
“Did you guys know the rental has a hot tub?” Chan asks, and you turn to look at him, baffled.
“It has a what?” Ruby gasps.
“Yep,” he says cheerfully, like he hasn’t just shattered your dream of getting a moment to yourselves. “It’s under the deck. Which means - hey! - it’s covered! We could totally go in, we wouldn’t even be in the rain.”
“That sounds great, actually,” Lara muses.
You say nothing, but when he catches you looking sideways at him, Chan sends you a wink, quick as lightning. You feel your face go puzzled, and he smiles and looks away, giving you no answers.
You’re somehow the first one to get changed and outside; it’s still pouring rain and you cover your head with your towel as you make your way down the steps and under the deck where some drips make it through, but you’re mostly out of the rain. A quick sweep of the area with your phone’s flashlight shows that there’s a string of the same lights down here as above on the deck, and you hurry to plug them in. Now that you can see, it’s actually kind of cute under here.
You unsnap the first strap for the lid, and jump when a pair of hands reaches next to you for the second one. You hadn’t heard Chan approach, but you silently accept his help as you push the lid up and off. You watch him out of the corners of your eyes to see if he’s going to say anything, address it at all. When it seems like he’s not, you turn to climb up the little set of steps, resigned.
His hand closes around your wrist, stilling you. He gives the tiniest of tugs and you relent, turning around. He gives you another tiny tug - you could resist if you wanted to, but you don’t, you don’t, you don’t. You let the tug pull you closer and look up at him, waiting. He kisses you quickly, firmly, close-mouthed for now but sure, his hands forming loose loops around each of your wrists as if he might want to tug you into place again.
The sliding glass door above you slides open and you step away, heart racing.
“Later,” he says quietly, and then you don’t get another second alone, Mingyu and Soonyoung’s voices bouncing through the space as they clamber down the deck stairs.
You climb into the warm water and choose a spot. Chan follows and sits a few solid feet away from you. You try not to look guilty when the other guys round the corner.
“Brought you a beer,” Mingyu says, reaching the extra can towards you.
“You are a legend,” you tell him gratefully.
Chan frowns, and for a crazed second you think maybe he’s jealous that Mingyu did something nice for you, but then he whines, “You didn’t bring me one? Hyung.”
“Calm your ass down,” Mingyu says, climbing into the water and finding a seat. You’re instantly more crowded, just from the sheer amount of space his long legs take up. “Soonyoung has yours.”
You snicker a little, and Chan gives you a light kick under the water. Above you, you hear the door slide open again, and a minute later Ruby and Lara appear beneath the deck, sheltered from the rain by Ruby’s towel.
“Oh,” Ruby says, surprised. “It’s not bad under here!”
“It’s cute, right?” you agree. “Still getting a few raindrops, though.”
“Eh, we’re in water anyway,” Soonyoung says easily, reaching up a hand to help steady Lara as she climbs in.
It’s crowded, and Chan’s two-feet-away doesn’t last. Instead, you’re crowded together, just inches apart. Ruby leans over the edge and turns on the jets, the top of the water creating a frothy layer.
“This is nice,” Lara says happily, closing her eyes and leaning against her boyfriend’s shoulder.
“It is,” you murmur, sipping at your beer. Under the cover of the jets’ bubbles, something touches your hand. Someone’s hand touches your hand. Chan’s hand touches your hand.
Your heart lurches. You beg your face to behave and give nothing away. And ever so slowly, you turn your hand over.
He doesn’t look at you, keeps his eyes on Soonyoung, who’s telling a story animatedly on the other side of the jacuzzi. But his fingers lace between yours, and his thumb brushes along the back of your hand, slow and tantalizing.
You’ve never been so undone by hand holding in your life.
You try to breathe. You sip casually at your beer and interject into the conversation when you can. You laugh at the jokes and look at whoever is speaking. You have no idea what the conversation is about. You hold onto Chan’s slender fingers like he’s a lifeline, like if you let go he’ll slip away, again and for good.
Later, he’d said, and his voice echoes in your head as you pray for later to be now. And finally, blessedly, Lara finally yawns, loud, and starts making moves to get out and head in. Which means so does Soonyoung. Then Mingyu lifts a hand from the water and examines his fingers, complaining, “I’m all pruny.” Chan gives your hand a squeeze and lets you go, reaching for his beer nonchalantly, watching Ruby and Mingyu carefully. You know you’re both waiting, impatiently, for them to leave you alone.
Leave, you silently beg, still trying to appear as casual as possible. Leaaaaave.
“You staying a little?” Ruby asks you, pausing halfway out of the hot tub.
“Yeah,” you say, trying to force your voice to stay casual. “I slept pretty late this morning - I’m not really tired yet.”
“Not all of us got up for sunrise yoga,” Chan says dryly, and Mingyu laughs, reaching for Ruby’s hand, clearly wanting to get inside.
“Okay, then,” Ruby says, her eyes still on you. “See you in the morning then.”
“Bye,” you tell her, and you have to fight the giggle out of your voice. You can’t help it - you feel giddy, nearly bouncing with excitement. You and Chan have been skirting the brink of something all day and you’re finally standing on the cusp of it, toes curled over the edge, ready to dive.
The second you hear the sliding door above you close, Chan’s hand is on your wrist again, pulling much more insistently than he had earlier in the day. Surprised, you let him tug you onto his lap, settling with your thighs bracketing his own, his hands wasting no time in finding your hips and pulling you more firmly against him.
His mouth is on yours, as insistent as his touch. You answer him readily, nearly sighing into his mouth as you get something you’ve wanted for years. You skate your hands up his chest and bring your arms around the back of his neck. He tips his head back a little, his hands sliding up your back, and the change in angle makes you sigh again.
“Thought they’d never leave,” he mutters against your jaw, and you let out a quick huff of a laugh before your breath leaves you entirely as his teeth nip a line down your neck, tongue and lips soothing behind each quick sting.
You chase his mouth, wanting him back, and he groans quietly when he realizes - like you wanting to continue kissing is just as good as actually kissing. But nothing is as good as the kissing, not if anyone asks you, nothing is as good as his tongue against yours, his teeth gentle on your lips, his hands clutching at your back and your arms and your hips like he can’t pick a favorite.
His hands roaming your body ignite you. You become only aware of their migration as they map the width of your shoulders, survey the dip of your waist, skate over your ass, then repeat the expedition. Your fingers have found his hair, curled up and held tight. He takes your hips in his hands and shifts you on his lap, causing you to tug slightly, and his exhale holds just the slightest hint of a whimper. You almost unravel, right there.
The shifted position also makes it absolutely unignorable that Chan is hard beneath you, and you can’t - don’t even try to - stop yourself from pressing yourself closer, your hips rolling almost involuntarily as soon as you feel him. Chan gasps at the sudden friction, his eyes squeezing shut for a second, like he’s already going under. Then his hands - frozen on your hips while his brain rebooted - come back to life, slipping up your ribs to cup both of your breasts over your bathing suit, giving one slow knead to both in tandem. You moan, low, unable to stop it, and he responds almost instantly, letting out an audibly shuddering breath.
He surges upwards to kiss you again, one thumb still rubbing circles against your hardening nipple, the other hand trailing back down your side and gripping your waist, holding you in place. You continue to move against him, his mouth hot against yours, the water bubbling around you and surrounding you in mist.
Chan’s nimble fingers leave your chest and work their way down between your bodies, pausing at the edge of your bathing suit bottoms. He looks up at you, pupils blown, panting out controlled little breaths like he’s fighting to keep himself in check.
Eyes unwavering on yours, watching your reactions closely, he slips his fingers between your legs, pressing the material against you, sliding down your slit and back deftly. His cock kicks beneath you when you whine. His gaze on you feels charged, almost like a challenge.
And then you’re blinded by a flash, followed almost instantly by an alarming crack of thunder.
“Fuck,” Chan hisses, twisting to peer out towards the ocean, his hands finding your hips again as if by instinct. “The storm.”
“Guess we have to head in,” you say, and it comes out wispy and breathless. Your legs feel like jelly and he’s barely even started.
“Yeah,” he says, the single syllable tight. He adjusts himself as you vacate the water, the rain beyond the safety of the deck seeming to redouble its efforts. You both hurry to turn the jets off and replace the cover, then stand at the edge of the dry space, looking out at the raging rain.
As hot and heavy as things were only a minute ago, you feel oddly still now, staring out at the storm. Chan places your towel over your shoulders.
“Thanks,” you say quietly, looking sideways at him.
“Ready?” he asks you, and you think he means ready to brave the storm. But your heart is answering another question - are you ready to continue, ready to move forward with him, ready to give life to something that has remained only a daydream in your mind?
“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly.
He slips his hand into yours. “I’ve got you,” he promises.
You move quickly but carefully through the rain, eyes on your feet as you take the slippery wooden stairs up the deck and towards the house. Chan doesn’t let go of your hand until you’re inside, sliding the door shut behind you. The house is dark and quiet, lit only by a single light above the kitchen sink. You both stand near the door and try to dry off, but your towels got soaked by the rain and don’t do much good.
“Come on,” Chan whispers. “There are fresh towels upstairs.”
You follow him through the house, up the stairs and down the darkened hallway. Chan pauses at the linen closet, pulling out two fluffy towels. You lead him into your shared room, closing and locking the door behind you as he clicks on one of the lamps.
Chan comes back into your space quietly, wraps you both in his towel, the spare forgotten on top of your dresser. You’re pressed tight together, warm in his arms. He presses his lips to the top of your head, leaving them resting there, just holding you. The moment is soft, heavy, a stark contrast to the lightning physicality of what happened outside. Something about the intimacy of it makes you feel hesitant.
“You okay?” he asks, pulling away a little to look at you.
“Yeah,” you breathe back. Your heart is racing. But it’s Chan. It’s Chan with his arms around you, and Chan who was kissing you and touching you, and - it all feels like something you aren’t allowed to have. “Just… maybe we shouldn’t?”
“We don’t have to,” he says immediately, shifting backwards and loosening his arms around you, giving you the option of pulling away if you want it. “We can do whatever you’re comfortable with. If you want to just go to bed… or if you want me to take the couch tonight, I can -”
“No,” you say quickly, because that’s the opposite of what you want. “No, it’s just… Chan…”
He seems to hear your uncertainty in your voice, his face softening and his arms pulling you back in. “What is it?” he asks quietly, and you slip your arms around his middle, giving in.
“I think I want this a lot more than you do,” you whisper, glad you don’t have to look at him while you say it.
He laughs, and you step back, looking at him quizzically. You’d been afraid of his reaction - of making him uncomfortable, of pushing the line too far. You hadn’t expected laughter.
“I don’t think that’s possible,” he tells you, and you just stare at him, not comprehending. He reaches up, fingers still clutching a corner of the towel wrapped loosely around his back, and brushes a thumb along your jaw. You feel your face warm, but you wait him out. He adds, “I want this… a ridiculous amount. I’ve wondered for a long time if we could… be more.”
He says it like a confession. He says it like he’s embarrassed about it.
“Well,” you say, a fire - a hope - coming back to life behind your ribcage, “maybe we should find out.”
And there it is, that smile that makes the whole world melt away.
The towel drops to the floor, forgotten, and his fingers are at the back of your neck, tugging on the knot that ties your bathing suit top in place. When the material falls away he makes a satisfied noise in his throat as he moves to kiss you again, walking you back towards the bed.
You’d both been eager, but when the mattress hits the backs of your thighs Chan lays you back slowly, almost reverently. He kisses you sweetly, tracing your jaw again, and then lets out another little laugh.
“What?” you breathe, smiling despite being clueless. “What’s funny?”
“Nothing. It’s not,” he says, but he’s still smiling, eyes tracing over your face and body. “It’s just… hard to believe this is real. That it’s you.”
Your breath leaves you. It’s exactly how you’ve felt.
“I know what you mean,” you whisper, and you kiss him again. This time he doesn’t hesitate when his hand slips between your legs, brushing right past your bathing suit and pushing the pads of his fingers into the wet mess he finds there. You shudder an exhale into his waiting mouth as he presses one finger and then a second deep into you, his eyes on you as you arch into the touch.
You let your eyes drift close as he pumps them slowly, and outside the room there’s another flash of lightning chased by the crack of thunder. For a little, there’s only the sound of rain beating against the windows as Chan works little whimpers and half moans out of you.
He switches his angle, something snagging behind your navel, everything beginning to tighten. You gasp his name, and you’re answered by his too-familiar huff of a laugh again.
“What?” you demand through your own smile.
“You say my name like that again and I’m gonna bust,” he tells you seriously. Then he brings his attention back to where his fingers disappear inside you, and his gaze sharpens. “These are in my way,” he murmurs, pulling out of you and reaching for your bathing suit, which had been pushed to the side.
“Yours too, then,” you object playfully, lifting your hips for him as he slides the damp material down your legs. He smiles at you indulgently and shuffles backwards on the back, standing long enough to tug at his swim trunks, letting them drop unceremoniously before crawling back up to you, pressing his mouth to yours and cupping your jaw with one hand, like he’d missed you in the seconds he’d been gone.
“Chan,” you whisper, because you need more of him, because this isn’t enough.
He slides lower down your body, his chest brushing against yours, his lips mapping a path down your sternum, down your belly, pausing near your navel. He looks up at you, all glinty-eyed, that million-dollar smile going slightly sideways, a little mischievous.
“Can I? Please say yes,” he says in a rush, pushing his nose into your lower belly and caressing your inner thighs with his thumbs.
You lean up on your elbows so you can look at him better. Your heart hasn’t stopped racing for a minute. He’s going to give you a cardiac event. “If you want to,” you tell him.
He laughs again, so quiet. “You have no idea,” he says, shaking his head, and then he’s attaching his mouth to you and your arms give out. You eye the ceiling, a strangled moan working up your throat as Chan’s tongue delves into your heat. You squirm, trying to push him deeper. He loops his arms under your legs and then reaches over, his hands pulling you tighter against his chin, both of you working to the same goal.
You hadn’t spent a lot of time imagining how Chan might eat pussy, but you’re surprised that he dives right into fucking you on his tongue, determined and rhythmic. You’d have pegged him for the type to go slow, draw it out, tease and taste and work you up little by little. Instead he grunts in satisfaction, pulls on you hard enough that you wonder if he’ll leave little bruises from his fingertips, and spears his tongue in and out of your hole with abandon, his nose bumping your clit every few thrusts.
You’re a whimpering mess, fighting the urge to roll your hips into his face, one hand slapped over your face to muffle the sound. He shifts, lips working their way up to your desperately pulsating clit, and you feel your whole body seize with the change of sensation, a long, low groan emanating from your chest. He suctions his lips around your clit and sucks gently, then a little less gently, and your feet scrabble against the sheets, trying to find purchase.
His fingers enter you again, his spit and your wetness giving them the perfect slide, and it’s exactly the extra stimulation you need. He only has to pump his wrist twice, that delicious suction steady around your clit, before you’re grasping desperately at him - one hand sliding into his hair and the other finding his wrist and holding tight, which doesn’t stop him at all from pistoning his fingers into that spot on your front wall that has you unraveling faster than you ever have before.
“Fuck, fuck, Chan -” you gasp. Your eyes squeeze shut and your grip on him might actually be painful, a belly-deep ahhhhh ripped from you as the onslaught of sensation sends conscious thought spinning away.
“Shhh,” he soothes, fingers slowly but continuing to work you through it. You whimper, gasp for a breath, the room coming back into view. “Not so loud, baby.”
“God, Chan,” you groan, releasing your hold on him, flexing your fingers.
He grins at you, lightning quick, then kisses the inside of your thigh. “That’s my girl.”
You peer at him, boneless. “You up for more?”
He pushes himself up on his elbows, the triumph not completely melted from his face yet. “I’m up for whatever you want,” he promises. “You’re calling the shots here.”
“Excellent,” you joke. You reach towards him, barely stop yourself from making grabby hands. “Come fuck me.”
He damn near scrambles to obey. He comes up to kiss you, deep and heady, and you hook one of your legs behind him, pulling him closer. The head of his cock slides along your slit and you tilt, trying to get him where you want him.
You look up at him, feeling like he hung the stars, and whisper his name. His answer is a bite of a kiss as he pushes himself into you, stopping only when his hips are flush with yours.
“Shit, you feel so good,” he breathes, eyes closed for a second, as he holds himself over you.
“Please move,” you beg, needing more.
“God,” he groans. “Okay. Okay. I got you.”
And he does. Chan fucks like he moves - quick and precise, each motion purposeful. His eyes have narrowed with focus, brows slightly furrowed with exertion as his hips snap. He slides one hand under you to help lift you, the angle changing just slightly.
“Yeah,” you breathe, desperation lacing your voice. “There.”
The drag of him is delicious, and so is the feeling of his body under your hands, and so is the sound of his ragged breath mixed with occasional gasps and groans. It’s the fact that it’s Chan driving you even higher.
A crack of thunder sounds directly overhead, and Chan takes the moment to roll you over, laying back and letting you straddle his lap without even slipping from inside you. You whine as the new position drives him deeper than he’d been before, your hands splayed over his pecs. He’s breathing rapidly now, struggling to keep his eyes open as he continues to fuck you from below.
“I-I’m - so -” he pants, “close. Really close, baby.”
You lean down to kiss him, his arms coming up around your shoulders to pull you chest to chest until his strokes grow sloppy and his hands tighten on you. You kiss along his jaw sweetly until he releases you with a sigh. He kisses you once more before he pulls out, and then again when he returns from the bathroom with a damp cloth.
“I might need to actually shower,” you muse.
“Yeah, okay,” he says easily, nodding. “Maybe I’ll go after you. I smell like chlorine.”
You shrug. “Might as well just join me. If you want.”
He grins. He follows you into the bathroom, waits with you while the water heats up. And then he fucks you again, against the cool tiles of the shower wall.
Later, back in bed, you face each other through the dark.
“I should have said earlier,” you whisper. “But I’ve liked you for a long time, too.”
His smile makes you feel full of sunshine, even when it’s shy, even when he’s asking what you want to do about it. Especially when he’s asking you, "What are you doing next Saturday?"
Tonight, the decision to cuddle is made while you’re awake. When you wake up in the morning, sunlight streaming through the windows, Chan wastes no time in reaching between your legs, finding you ready, and rolling over top of you, pushing between your thighs before he even has his eyes all the way open.
When you both emerge from your bedroom, stomachs growling and with the beginnings of a caffeine headache, your friends are all sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded with the evidence of a breakfast come and gone. They begin a slow clap, eventually lauding you in a mostly sarcastic but still loving round of applause. 
“It’s about time,” Mingyu grouses. “You two have been circling each other forever.”
“Shh,” you tell him, as Chan slips his arm over your shoulders with a grin. “Not so loud.”
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thank you for reading!!! <3
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jamminvroomvroom · 8 months ago
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congrats on 5k queen! you’re writing is so brilliant beyond belief and you deserve all the love and support this site has to offer. can i request lando+angsty smut (the best combo)…prompts along the lines of “i don’t think im ever going to love anyone the way i love you”//“i don’t think i want to love anyone else”
how did it end?
ln x famous fem!reader
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in which it ends, until…
i love this fic with my whole heart. thank u sm for this request, anon, and for being so absolutely for gorgeous and kind <3 kicking off the 5k celebration with a big, sad, sexy bang! lemme know what you think, hugs n kisses
songs to set the mood: how did it end? by taylor swift
warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, angst angst angst, fluff, happy ending! exes to lovers, just. a lot going on. sad!lando, sad!everyone, so many feels, r is a big deal model, alcohol consumption, mentions of smoking
4.1k words
one gasp, and then…
“how did it end?” the woman strokes your arm, soothing, tentative.
you don’t know her all that well, she’s signed to the same agency as you, you see her in the halls sometimes and sit next to her in makeup chairs.
you stare blankly at her, registering. news travels fast apparently.
you smile, small, fake, tilting your head to the side. you mumble something about different schedules, timezones, right person, wrong time. she watches your face intently, with sympathy. you want to throttle her. she’s being kind and you despise her for it right now.
“i won’t tell anyone.” she affirms, her fingers still smoothing over the skin of your arm.
yes you will, you think. all of her friends, the rest of the building will know exactly what you’ve told her by the time you get to your meeting. you don’t begrudge her, though, that’s the nature of the industry.
“well, it was good to see you.” you nod, even go in for a quick hug, and then you speed away, beelining for the elevator. the ride is short, your managers office somewhere on the third floor and you shuffle down the corridor, ready to be informed of what your life will look like for the next three months.
fittings, shoots, paris trip.
mhm.
swimwear season, charlotte tilbury, meeting with the vogue journalist.
cool.
week off, few days in london, monaco grand prix.
no.
“what? no.” you splutter. out of habit, you reach for a necklace, frown when you realise it’s no longer there.
“what do you mean, no?” she narrows her eyes at you.
“i can’t go to the race. no.”
“girl, i love you, but did i ask?”
“you know i can’t-“
“you won’t have to see him.” she reasons.
“but what if i do? he’s obviously gonna be there, and the events before and after- no. no.”
“lando norris is not gonna be the end of you.”
you stifle a laugh, one that sounds more like a strangled cry.
what if he already was?
-
look who we ran into at the shops,
walking in circles like he was lost
lando stares at the shampoo.
specifically, the one you use. used. he can’t be too sure anymore, he supposes.
he’d popped out for a loaf of bread, about an hour ago. he didn’t want to acknowledge how long he’d been staring at the women’s toiletries section.
you seemed to live on, everywhere. lando could see you in his apartment, the passenger seat of his car, the back of the garage. even the fucking supermarket wasn’t safe. you were very much alive, moving on with life, and yet you haunted him like he’d killed you himself.
perhaps he had, in a way.
the basket grazes the outside of his leg.
that’s the shower gel he’d buy for you, the one you only used when you stayed with him in monaco.
there’s the tampons you asked him to buy, crying back at home on your- his bed.
oh, and there’s the shampoo that you made him buy, the one that you told him made his curls feel extra fluffy when he was between your legs-
“lando?” a voice calls, drawing lando out of the mist.
“oh, alex. hey.” lando croaks. he hasn’t noticed the lump in his throat until now. he clears his throat, running a hand through his hair.
“what you doing, mate?” alex asks, eyebrows furrowed. he scans lando’s face, puffy eyes, watery.
“shopping.”
“for women’s shampoo?”
“no, no, just… looking.” lando stutters.
“when was the last time you slept?” alex’s voice is laced with concern, apprehensive. he doesn’t know what to say to his heartbroken friend.
lando smiles weakly.
“i’ve been sleeping.”
alex sighs.
“okay, when was the last time you slept properly, then?”
lando’s shoulders visibly sag.
“about a month ago.”
-
we hereby conduct this post-mortem
“we can’t do this anymore.”
the words fall from your lips in a whisper, but they reach him like you’ve screamed them at him. he sits opposite you, in the arm chair, so far away, only a metre or so.
“i know.” lando breathes shakily.
“i don’t want this but…”
“yeah.”
it’s been such a good year. you’re in love. it’s not enough. there’s too much distance, too many outsider opinions, too much longing for someone who’s on the other side of the world.
he’ll be in london. you’ll be in brazil.
he’ll be in australia. you’ll be in amsterdam.
it’s too much.
“i love you, though.” you remind him meekly.
“don’t know how to not love you.” he sniffles.
your heart shatters, the pieces flying over the room, spilling across the floor. they mix with the splinters of his, painting the room red. all you feel is blue.
you cry in his arms when he takes you to bed, his own tears spilling over your collar bone when he buries his head in your neck, licks over the marks he’s left there. to remember me by, he’d muttered dryly.
when you’re both finished, he lays there for a moment, still on top of you. damp with sweat and tears, the taste of one another still lingering on your tongues.
“how is it possible that i miss you already?” he pants, lips grazing just below your ear.
“i get it, lan. i’ve been missing you for a while.”
you’re gone when he wakes up.
and so, a touch that was my birthright became foreign
-
come one, come all
it’s happening again
the empathetic hunger descends
there are about six cameras pointed at you when he asks the dreaded question.
you’re in new york, sat on a talk show hosts sofa, lit by stage lights and his inquisitive eyes. two hundred people sit in the audience, on the edge of their seats waiting for you to spill your secrets.
“so, what happened there, with lando?”
you plaster on the fakest smile to date, crossing your legs anxiously.
“we’re both just so busy, you know? he’s doing amazing things in f1 and i’m all over the place with work.”
“we love both of you over here, it was sad to hear.” he sympathises, adjusting his tie and leaning back in his chair. his fingers drum over the wood of his desk, waiting for more.
vultures. everyone is a vulture.
“and we still have a lot of love for each other. he’s a wonderful person.”
there are tears in your eyes and bile rising rapidly in your throat when you shake hands with the crew, the host, and retreat to your dressing room. you stumble into the en-suite and throw up. then, you fall onto the sofa and cry. you fix your makeup at godspeed and reply to the text from your team, inviting you to drinks at some rooftop bar, promising to meet them there. you punctuate the text with one too many exclamation marks, feigning excitement.
“we still have a lot of love for each other.”
translation: i can’t understand: how did it end?
-
lando watches your interview. of course he does. he watches everything that you do, watches the way you set the world on fire.
he can’t help himself where you’re concerned, like an addict craving the next hit. you look so pretty on tv, glowing. you look fine.
god, why do you look fine?
he hates himself for hating just how fine you look. he is not fine.
“he’s a wonderful person.”
your words ring in his ears. they anger him, because if he’s oh-so-wonderful, why aren’t you here? why isn’t he there with you, waiting backstage? why can’t you just hate him? why can’t he just hate you? maybe you will, if he shows you just how not wonderful he can be.
he gets drunk that night. forces max to hit the clubs with him. sticks his tongue down a pliant woman’s throat. doesn’t ask her name. let’s her invite him back to her place. it has to be her place, he can’t fuck someone else in your bed, the one you used to share. he leaves minutes after he’s pulled out. he’s sure she’s lovely, too good for him and his bitter fucking heart. he feels utterly disgusting.
lando goes home, scrubs his skin red, and then does it again. he doesn’t go to sleep, watches from his balcony as the sun begins to rise over the sea. he hikes to the highest point he can reach in monaco, where it’s quiet and there’s no one to judge him, or worse, sympathise with him.
he stands at the edge of the cliff. screams once, twice. he sits on a rock, and lets himself cry.
the deflation of our dreaming
leaving me bereft and reeling
my beloved ghost and me
sitting in a tree
d-y-i-n-g
-
your stylist is plying you with options.
you can wear the denim with the cream OR you could do the red and white? or we can go full glam! or! or! or! we could-
you drown her out. you don’t give a fuck. not a single one.
what you wear to the monaco grand prix is quite literally the least of the your problems. your biggest problem, of course, is that you have to go to the fucking thing.
visibility is important, get people talking! the words of your manager ring in your ears until you have a dull migraine brewing behind your ears.
you leave the fitting not entirely sure what you’re wearing, but your stylist will be sending the clothes over so you can pack.
when you land in all too familiar nice, there are cameras. when you get to the hotel in monaco, you and lando are already trending on twitter. well, at least he knows you’re coming. when you’re getting your makeup done before your first event, you get a text.
i’ll try and keep my distance.
try.
try is such an interesting word. the fact that he has to try to stay away makes your belly flutter with embarrassing, self loathing butterflies. don’t try too hard, you want to respond. you don’t.
should’ve told you i’d be here you shoot back.
you think i didn’t already know?
of course he knew. he’d probably asked god knows how many brands to invite you. you try and feign an illness but your team drag you kicking and screaming to the event.
-
there are no two ways about it: you’re drunk, on a tuesday night, somewhere in the principality. a few cocktails with a jewellery brand turned into a night on the town, bar hopping with people you hardly knew and barely recognised.
you’re shaking your ass in jimmy’z, pretending to have fun when you see him.
lando stands at the bar, watching you, jaw tensed, eyes solemn. you exit the club faster that his car down a back straight, stumbling into the smoking area. you bum a cigarette from a guy who tries really hard to convince you that he’s the son of a british lord, and sink into the corner, ignoring the people recording you.
depressed model shame smokes outside monaco club because she is fucking pathetic, the headlines will read.
“thought you quit that shit.” his voice washes over your body like you’ve been set on fire, smooth tone, ambiguous accent making you ache.
“i did but then i got forced to come to monaco, so.” you shrug.
“forced?”
“‘m here for work.” you sigh.
“i guess i am too.” he mumbles. you raise an eyebrow.
“you live here, lan.” you tease. lan rolls off of your tongue too sweetly.
“doesn’t feel like it anymore.”
how can it, without you? he wants to scream at you. he can’t, you don’t deserve it.
“how are you?”
you want to touch him.
“shit.”
he needs a taste.
“yeah.”
you put your cigarette out. it tastes like shit, half smoked.
you stand there, stare at each other.
take me home, you want to beg.
come home, he clenches his fists, trying not to grab you and remind you how you’ll always be his, right here, up against the side of the club.
“good luck, if i don’t see you.” you whisper. you linger, praying that he’ll beg you to stay so that you can crumble into his arms, without having to make the first move.
lando ponders his options. his head and his heart wage a war.
logic wins, unfortunately.
“thank you.”
you take that as your queue to get the fuck out of there, and disappear into the night.
-
it’s raining on sunday. the dreary weather seems to perfectly sum up what has been the worst week of your life.
you’ve seen your ex boyfriend more times than you can count, ended up with about four hangovers as a result, and with a pounding head, you have to sit in the paddock club and wait for the sound of engines to split your head in half. it was your own doing, so you’d suck it up, recognising that you were a disgustingly privileged bitch, and there are people who would sell their kidneys to do what you’re complaining about.
you never complain, not usually. but your heart hurts and your body hearts and your mind hurts and it’s just not fair. lando is gorgeous, and you miss him so badly, and your shoes are digging in. who the fuck thinks it’s a good idea to wear heels to an f1 race?
you see him before the race, mouth good luck from afar. he winks. it’s something you used to do before every race. old habits die screaming.
the rain falls harder, the track slick. you say a prayer and take your seat.
“norris has this in the bag, he’s bloody good in the wet.” you hear some old guy say behind you. you are cursed with the knowledge of just how good in the wet he is, and you end up flushed.
he wins. his second one in three races. you pray that no one notices the way you weep. everyone notices.
you make a mistake and rush for the podium, your pass giving you access. he graces the top step and you sob, grinning like a fool, soaked through with rain. the anthem plays, the champagne pops. he finds your eyes in the crowd. your hair falls, stringy and curled, mascara smudged. you are the most breathtaking sight. he stands still, washed with an onslaught of champagne, watching you like he’s scared to take his eyes off of you. his boyish grin and hopeful eyes render you weak - you’re there for him, after all - and he can’t help but bask in that little fact.
dangerous territory. you break, and disappear.
-
say it once again with feeling…
the photographers barely get a second to snap a picture of the top three, because lando is gone. he takes the stairs two at a time, descending from the podium and throwing his pirelli cap and a shaky apology at his pr rep. the adrenaline spike makes his blood rush; he needs to find you and stop you and tell you that he will never be able to stop loving you.
the exit is the natural assumption, and he nearly slips a thousand times as he sprints through the paddock. the ground is wet, but he figures that if his car made it, so can he. the gates are in sight, and so are you, your clothes sticking to your shivering frame.
he calls your name, thunderously travelling towards you, his voice hitting your ears like a sonic boom. you freeze, turn slowly until your facing him. the rain splashes around you, not letting up.
you’re within his reach, and he pulls you in, hugging you tight. you melt into him, clinging like he’s a life force. he inhales you, your scent that he’s missed so horrifically. you crumble, and so does he, pieced back together as one.
“i can’t do this, i can’t.” he kisses the words into the cold skin of your neck.
“no, neither can i.” you choke wetly with emotion.
“miss you too much. it’s too hard, it’s stupid, it’s-“
“wrong. it’s wrong. ‘m sorry.” your breath fans his face, breathing life into him, life that he’d lost four months ago.
he grabs your shoulders, lowering so that his eyes are level with yours. his curls fall over his eyes, sodden from the rain.
“i don’t think, no, i know: i’m never gonna love anyone the way i love you.” lando speaks slow, convincing. your chest is tight.
“i don’t want to love anyone else.” you croak, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe.
“come back to me.” he mutters, pleading.
“don’t think i ever left.” you breathe, hushed.
your lips slot over his easily, it’s like breathing. the kiss is messy, helpless, and he engulfs you whole, his body wrapping around yours like a blanket. you latch onto his race-suit, drawing him in, and then you both seem to remember where you are.
lando norris caught kissing ex like horny teenager in monaco paddock!
you pull away with breathless chuckle. the air is fresh, and you feel alive. he steals another peck.
“wait for me at home. i’ll be quick.” his hand finds you ass, just for a second and you scold him playfully.
home.
yeah, home.
“don’t make me wait.” you grin.
his brain short circuits.
“do you still have your key?” he splutters, refocusing.
you scoff. “never took it off the chain.”
-
you pace the apartment, taking in the space. it hasn’t changed, but it’s messier, a visual representation of lando since you left. the pit of your belly swirls with anxiety, anticipation. he’ll be back soon, and he’ll kiss you, make love to you, remind you that you’re home and that it’d be stupid to leave again.
you’re still damp from the rain, shedding layers until you’re left in your vest and jeans, ridiculous heels kicked off by the door, your jacket airing over the back of a chair.
he hasn’t taken down the pictures of you together. he hasn’t moved your ugly collection of magnets from the fridge. he hasn’t changed the blinds that you chose, but he didn’t really like. your candles sit on the bookshelf half burned, the teddy he’d won you at a fair sits neatly on the sofa. the L pendant and it’s chain is strewn over the coffee table, right where you left it the morning after it ended. your breathing is heavy.
the front door opens behind you.
you don’t move, your eyes still fixed on the silver chain, overwhelmed by how empty your neck feels all of the sudden. he comes up behind you, his head resting on your shoulder, arms finding home around your waist. you often used to find yourselves in this exact position; while you brushed your teeth, made coffee. the room is deathly silent, breathing and the distant buzz of post race festivities the only thing you can hear. lando follows your gaze.
“kept it. knew that one day, you’d come back for it.”
“i came back for you.”
“and that necklace will stay with you when i can’t be there.”
you nod. he kisses your neck.
“missed you so bad.” you gasp. he licks your skin, bites down softly.
you spin in his arms, his hands pawing at your hips and everything blurs when he kisses you.
-
shaky fingers work over zippers, buttons, clasps, and then you’re both bare. you sink into the mattress that you missed so much, his body moulded with yours when you both tumble into the sheets. this is messy and frantic, utterly lovestruck. the lightning strike of his touch has you keening, sweating beneath him already.
“missed you. missed this.”
“do something, lan.” you cry, quiet against his shoulder.
“missed my perfect girl.” he grunts, lips working your chest while his fingers leave a trail of goosebumps over your inner thigh.
“please.” you sigh when his fingers dip between your folds, sliding over your wet flesh. his lip catches between his teeth, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of you.
he thumbs at your clit, stroking over you in slow, firm swipes, and then he’s sinking a digit into you, slow and steady. your toes curl, tears pricking your eyes at the intrusion, but you don’t have much of a chance to adjust, a second finger joining the first. he fucks you full, the stretch of just two fingers making you whine, one hand threading into the sheets while the other slams over your mouth. you want to hide, the pleasure rendering you a mess across the pale grey linen.
“no, let me look at you.” lando rasps, spare hand tugging at your wrist. you whine, writhing when he curls his fingers. “why are you hiding?”
you can’t hold back the choked cry that sounds from the back of your throat, his palm bumping your clit as he grinds his fingers deep.
“gone shy on me, baby? where’s my good girl gone?” lando coos, moving so that he’s leaning over you. the angle change sends your legs flying, kicking out at the sweet torture. “‘s because you haven’t been fucked right in so long, hm? can’t remember how to behave?” he’s smirking down at you, scanning the changing lines of your face.
“need it, need-“ you stutter, the words dying on your tongue.
“words, pretty girl, words.” lando encourages, false sympathy dripping from his tongue.
“need to cum, want you to make me…” you trail off.
“was that so hard?” he tuts, and everything speeds up.
the sound of him working you so sweetly makes you shake, your thighs clenching tight around his hand. the wet squelch hits your ears and you blush, cheeks coloured deep with embarrassment, awe, desperation.
your mouth drops open, screaming silently when it hits, your thighs slick. you drip down his wrist, his hand covered in your release.
“there’s my girl.” lando sighs, diving down to kiss you hard.
you can feel the damp press of his fingers as they dig into your thighs and you squirm beneath him, finding your way into his mouth.
“fuck me.” you slur, teeth knocking with his. he swallows you whole, groaning into your mouth.
“not so shy now, hm? been dreaming of hearing you beg for it.” lando shudders, shifting between your legs.
you can feel the press of him, thick against your cunt and you wiggle your hips, pushing to meet him halfway. the stretch burns deliciously, and you grab at his shoulders, dragging him in.
“fuck, baby.” he breathes, sinking into you slowly. “feel like heaven.” disbelief coats his voice, like he can’t reconcile that this is real; you’re back here, his, in the bed you were always supposed to share.
“it’s so good. feel so good for me, lan.” you whisper, lacing your fingers through his hair.
“love you so much.” he kisses you like he means it, rocking into you with purpose.
“can’t believe i lived without this.”
“can’t believe you’re all mine.”
the release builds, every thrust reminding you of what you could have lost for good. there was no lack of love, in fact you were starting to wonder if you had loved each other too much before.
“never losing you again. can’t live without you. my beautiful girl.”
your tummy grows tight, and he finds your clit when he feels you clamp down on him. he pulls you through the pleasure, guides you to your orgasm and you blindly follow him. you’d follow him anywhere, you decide.
you tell him you love him when you let go, spilling all around him, warm. he’s panting, kisses your forehead gently. he rolls off of you, and you feel the slow drip instantly, but you curl into his side and he wraps around you.
home.
“promise me something.” he whispers. you feel the way he shakily inhales.
“hm?”
“don’t leave again. you belong here, too. with me.”
your eyes are watery.
“i’m staying. ‘m yours.”
“about that…”
lando springs from the bed, naked, disappearing from the room. you watch, confused, cold all of the sudden.
you can hear his footsteps padding through the hallway, and then he’s back, his figure in the hallway. he runs, jumps, lands gracelessly next to you. endeared, you laugh softly.
“sit up.”
you do, leaning up to sit next to him. his fingers skim your shoulder, pushing your hair out of the way. cool metal dances over your skin.
“back where it belongs.” lando smiles at you, eyes wide and stunning.
you toy with the L. something heals in your chest, right around where your heart is.
“the sweetest boy.” you shake your head in disbelief, grin up at him like a fool.
“bath?”
“you know me so well, noz.”
come one, come all
it’s happening again
-
oh, my heart. there is something deeply wrong with me
-
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itneverendshere · 3 months ago
Note
thinking of how rafe wouldn’t want you to work while pregnant
that man would be so stressed, since day one!! and bartender!reader would noooot give him a break, still covering bartending shifts even tho she was the manager bc she simply enjoyed doing it every once in a while. and he's like ?????? will you sit your ass down PLEASE. but you're not listening, if there's ONE thing the pregnancy hormones gave you was extra attitude. somethin' along these lines:
rafe could feel his jaw clenching as he watched you across the room, rolling your eyes for the third time in the past five minutes. you were doing it on purpose now, deliberately ignoring him while standing behind the bar, mixing drinks like you weren’t six months pregnant.
the bartender had called in sick, and you, the manager, jumped in and covered for him. rafe crossed his arms, leaning against the counter, and tried not to look too annoyed, but fuck if it wasn’t hard.
you still had that spark in you, that independence that drew him in from the start, but now? now it just made him worry.
worry like he never thought he could.
“you’re really gonna give me a heart attack, y’know that?” he called out, his voice carrying over the chatter around the country club.
most people were too busy with their drinks and golf gossip to notice you two bickering, but anyone paying attention could see that familiar dynamic. you doing whatever you damn well pleased, him trying to keep his cool, which he never really could when it came to you putting yourself at risk.
you glanced at him over your shoulder, hands moving like second nature as you garnished a drink. “’m fine, baby” you told him, voice just as breezy as ever, like the huge bump pressing against your shirt was nothing more than an accessory. “it’s just a couple hours.”
there was that old habit of yours—acting like everything was fine when you clearly weren’t. or maybe you were, but that wasn’t the point.
the point was, you shouldn’t have to be there.
“you say that, but i know you’re gonna be hurting later,” he muttered, pushing off the counter and walking around to your side of the bar.
his hand landed gently on your waist, thumb brushing the small of your back like he always did when he wanted to get you to stop for just a second.
“c’mon, baby. just take a break, you don’t need to be on your feet like this.”
it wasn’t that you didn’t want help—you’d worked through that over the past couple years—but that stubborn streak was still there.
“’m not some porcelain doll,” you reminded him, rolling your eyes again, “’m not gonna drop dead because i’m pregnant.”
he felt his stomach drop when those words left your mouth. "jesus christ, woman," he muttered, his eyes widening in exasperation. "don’t say that shit.”
“alright, my bad,” you gave in, “didn’t mean it like that.”
rafe sighed, his hand still resting on you. he hated when you talked like that, like you had to remind him how capable you were. of course he knew. 
"promise me you're taking a leave starting tomorrow," he practically begged you despite attempting to sound firm, but that undertone of worry had been his constant companion ever since you'd found out you were pregnant. 
"next week," you sang back, not even looking up from the drink you were finishing. 
you were still in work mode, determined to keep things running smoothly despite the fact you should’ve been at home, resting.
"tomorrow," he insisted, leaning in closer, his voice softening but no less serious.
you turned to face him, eyes narrowing. "next week, or you’re not getting sex for the next three months. now get outta my bar.”
rafe blinked, his jaw going slack as he stared at you, completely blindsided. 
“what—"
“go on,” you gestured toward the other side of the counter with a flick of your hand, “out.”
his mouth opened and closed a couple of times, like a fish. he was processing, but slowly.
"but… baby," he whined, his voice dipping into a tone that could only be described as kicked puppy. “just—wanna make sure you’re okay. that you’re safe, and you’re not overdoing it. you can’t kick me out, i need to be around you.”
you gave him that look, the one that told him he was pushing his luck. "rafe, i swear to god—”
he let out a long, dramatic sigh, but started to back off, lifting his hands in surrender.
"alright, alright, ‘m going," he grunted, dragging his feet toward the exit like a kid being told to go to bed. but before he did go, he turned back one more time, his eyes pleading. "i’ll be outside if you need me."
"of course you will," you muttered, shaking your head with a half-smile. you knew he wasn’t going far, probably just far enough to hover and peek through the windows, pretending to give you space but unable to help himself.
"i love you, stop spiraling," you called out after him.
he paused, turning back to look at you, his expression softening.  
“love you too.”
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prael · 4 months ago
Text
Not Quite Home
Kinktember Day 15: Stand & Carry
Kepler Youngeun x male reader smut
words: 1,495 Kinktember Masterlist
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She is everything you're not. Everything you hate. How can someone refuse to have a place to call home?
All this about being a free spirit and experiencing everything that the world has to offer all sounds well and good but how is a tree supposed to grow if it has no roots? But Youngeun insists that is exactly what she is after, the constant thrill, the constant novelty, the rush and urgency. In every interaction, she seems to have been in search of the next big adventure.
And you think you do her a disservice by not understanding.
Perhaps if you had met each other under other circumstances, things might have gone better for the two of you. But now, you resent how she feels like a stranger whenever you're together. She once brought an element of excitement and risk to a routine, drab life, but that grew exhausting and more than once made you feel like you were suffocating. You grew to loathe her carelessness.
"Your parents?" You ask as she stands in your bedroom for the third night in a row, "Have you even told them you're back in town?"
She shakes her head in lieu of an answer, "You know how they are."
"You're going to blame them for wanting their daughter to visit for once?"
Youngeun laughs. It's one of your least favourite traits—her incapability to take anything seriously. "Not your business. Besides, seven nights, remember?"
Yes. Seven nights. This is what she told you, another expiry date on another chapter of whatever the fuck this is between you. Another unspoken contract was signed for the hell of it. A time limit, for something that isn't even real.
"Just think about it," you continue, hopelessly, "talking with your family. It'll clear your mind."
"Know what clears my mind? The wind in my hair, sun on my skin, music in my ears," Youngeun runs her hand through her silky hair, "Landing in some new town, finding a new local hang out to try something exotic and then exploring whatever is hidden in that town's history, picking up a new person, hooking up with them, letting the excitement course through my veins, knowing there's always something else waiting on the horizon."
Another insufferable thing that she does. It's been maybe fifteen minutes since you tangled limbs in the bed and now she's standing across the room naked making no secret of the fact that she picks up guys and girls wherever she goes. Youngeun looks down at you on the mattress and runs her eyes up and down your body, her fingers resting lightly over her collarbone.
You follow the line of her fingers, nails cut short with traces of peeled black nail paint. A callus on her finger is a reminder of how often she played the guitar. She runs them down her chest, thumb catching a nipple in the process of doing so.
"Look at you. You get hotter every time I come back." And just like that, Youngeun drops a compliment, casual and effortless and you question who's benefiting from this relationship because it clearly isn't you.
You're gonna fuck her again tonight. Tomorrow too, and another three nights after that. After which she'll be gone for another six months to a year. There's a weird emotional emptiness to this routine—you give and she takes and this is all she asks.
"Come here, will you? Pin me to this wall already. Make me feel you." Her hand cups her breast and another traces its way down her abs, a clear intention.
You should hate her, really. Like how you hate the idea that she left home for no reason or how she wasted her potential, hate her for her indifference, for her recklessness and her cold detachment, or hate the fact that it's just meaningless sex. 
She doesn't like strings, it makes no sense to her how people commit. If she was the type of person who asked to be understood, you would probably try to, but that's never something she ever expressed. 
For all of that, you don't hate her. It's why you're still walking towards her and she's backing up into the wall.
So, what does she ask for? Her answer is pleasure and pain.
She kisses like a raging fire. Everywhere her hands roam leaves marks on your skin; she scratches deep in your back as you hook her thigh up around your waist. A hand between her legs, sliding in without any sort of preamble. She's still dripping wet, though some of that may well be your last load. She tastes of salty, sweaty sex and you relish it. She kisses and she gasps as your fingers work at her entrance; crooking them upward so you can press them into her and rub right against the sensitive spot inside her.
Her tongue slides past yours, hot and wet as she grinds up into your hand, claws digging into your lower back. Your hand fucks into her roughly with reckless abandon and her breathing gets shallow as your fingers bring her closer and closer.
It doesn't take long, she's close, you know that when she throws her head back against the wall. "Stop—wait, fuck—wait," Youngeun barely gasps and then with your name in her throat, the friction of your fingers sends her over the edge. A moan escapes as her mouth falls open, eyes clamp shut as you finger her to orgasm.
It's always been easy to make Youngeun cum, but it never loses its magic. There's something particularly thrilling to the way she moans your name in that honey-laced rasp, to the way her entire body arches upwards as the pleasure mounts. A sharp gasp cuts the air.
Her limbs slacken. She leans her head against the wall. She's struggling to catch her breath.
And this is the fucking problem. For every reason to hate her, there are so many more reasons to enjoy her.
That's when you lift her, hooking up the other thigh and holding her by her tight little ass. Youngeun hisses and she's staring daggers and that's always a part of the fun. She'll give you these looks that could kill a lesser man, but you know the only solution is to pound her into submission.
"Be rough with me. Hard," Youngeun pants, sucking air in, breath ragged. Her skin's hot to the touch.
"Like last time?" Your voice comes low, thick and gruff as you hook her legs higher.
"No, harder, faster," Youngeun replies between rapid, short breaths, she grips your arms, rolls her hips and wraps her body tighter around you, "Want me to stay? Fuck me until I can't walk out."
You're incensed and sliding your length over her slick, warm, inviting heat, before slamming her back into the wall, entering her in one long hard motion and enjoying the way her lips fall apart; enjoying the way her hot and messy, fucked-out body arches upward as you hit deeper and the way her cries pitch. You don't even wait for her to catch her breath before snapping your hips over and over and giving Youngeun exactly the type of pounding that she wants.
There's a sharp gasp. A second of silence and then a choked-back scream. You feel a palm on the nape of your neck and a sting on your shoulders as her nails dig deep and scratch. She rakes them over the broad expanse of your upper back and it fucking hurts. It fucking stings and it's delicious. You bury yourself deep inside her, stretch and fuck her all open on your dick.
"Like that. Yes! Like that! Fucking ruin me."
"Since you asked so nicely."
Her moans become a struggle now that you've run a hand roughly up her body and planted it around her neck. Squeezing, not too hard, not to cut her airflow, not to bruise, but firmly enough that she will feel it and feel that she is being held. She loves to feel hopeless. And there, that's what you like: her hot, sweaty body locked between you and the wall and helpless against you as you sink into her.
And as much as she says it doesn't mean anything. Youngeun cries out your name like it means something.
The ever-familiar suffocating grip of her wet cunt grips you as she cums again. Bodies flushed together, grinding and sweaty.
"I can't breathe—" Youngeun whimpers in that cracked, vulnerable and submissive way and you snarl. Fuck her up as promised. Hurt her like she begs for. And Youngeun loves it like nothing else, absolutely nothing, her eyes rolling to the back of her head and a strangled groan as you reach another climax and fill up her pussy again. You pound yet another load into her tight hole.
As much as she would hate to ever admit it, this is as close to a home as she has in her life.
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leashybebes · 2 months ago
Text
this isn't quite a fix-it, but it opens the door to fix it. also i have had a real shitty week for a whole host of reasons and i'm getting out my sads. sorry!
Tommy drives away from Evan's - Buck's - the loft - for the last time feeling like he's been gutted. Liked he's gutting himself. He has to pull over at one point just to breathe, just so that if he's not driving he can't pull a highly illegal u-turn in the middle of the road and go back. 
The first voicemail is on his phone by the time he gets home. For a long, wavering moment, he thinks he isn't going to listen to it, but it never really feels like an option. In the cab of his truck, Tommy hits play. The message is thirteen seconds of silence, an inhale, and the dial tone. Tommy listens to it three times, turns the volume all the way up, blocks his other ear. 
It's just silence.
Everything is just silence.
The second message comes three days later, sometime during his shift, when he'd voluntarily benched himself for the first time in years, spent the day doing maintenance, his phone tucked away in his locker so he can stop feeling stupid for reflexively checking it every five minutes. Two weeks from now, he won't know Evan's schedule, but right now he knows he's on shift and part of him can't help anticipating those regular little updates. He knows they won't come - in his head he knows it, but his stupid, cowardly, aching heart is taking a minute to get with the programme.
That same stupid heart leaps when he sees the notification at the end of his shift. It plummets again quick enough, because he knows - he blew it all up so severely there's no way the message can be anything other than anger or practicalities, so he waits until he gets home to listen to it. It's not much longer than the silent one from the other day, but it's so much worse.
"I'm gonna send Eddie over with your stuff. Can you give him my things, please."
It sounds flat, rehearsed, awful. Tommy tells himself he doesn't have the right to feel sad, lets his eyes slide away from the bottle of scotch in the cupboard and goes for a late night drive instead.
When he gets home, he gathers the stuff Evan had left around over the course of the last six months - clothes, a phone charger, aftershave. He packs them into a box with his key to the loft, thinking about how he never used it unless he got there before Evan, thinking about all the lines he drew without even realising it. He tucks his heating pad in between two of Evan's shirts - Tommy doesn't get much use out of it anyway, and Evan always loved it on days when his leg flared up. Hopefully they can write it off as an oversight on his part, but he wants Evan to have it.
The conversation with Eddie is painfully awkward. Tommy doesn't dare to ask how Evan is doing, and Eddie doesn't need to ask Tommy how he is; it's written all over his face. He hasn't been sleeping, hasn't been working out. He hasn't been drinking either, but only because his self-imposed rules about when he's allowed to drink forbid it.
"Don't be a stranger," Eddie says as he's leaving. 
Tommy knows he will be. Enough time, enough distance, and he'll be a stranger to them all all over again. He'll be a memory for Evan for a while, but give it long enough, and he'll be a memory he doesn't remember. It'll be okay. It'll all be okay.
The third message comes a few weeks later. Tommy's out on another aimless drive - he doesn't love spending time at home anymore. He knows it'll get better, but for now, he's spending pretty much all his waking hours in his car, at the gym, and at work. Like the very first message, he stays in the cab of the truck when he listens to this one. He's glad he managed to put off listening until he got home because this - this is the one that devastates him.
"Hey, Tommy. It's Evan. Well, Buck, I guess."
Evan's drunk, and Tommy should stop listening to the message right now, for his own sanity, and for Evan's dignity come the morning. But his voice…
"I'm real glad I didn't break your heart, Tommy." It sounds mean, sharp, so un-Evan, but it's followed by a silence, and then, "I am. I actually am." There's another silence, a sniffle. "Wish you didn't break mine, but… whatever. Be safe, Tommy."
In the cab of his truck, clasping his phone so hard he's distantly a little worried he might crack the screen, Tommy cries for the first time.
There's a month and a half of silence after that, and he hopes that means Evan is moving on. Tommy gets back home from a failed attempt to visit an old hook-up spot and get out of his head for the night. He's had a few drinks because it didn't break the rules (it wasn't a bad shift, he wasn't alone and okay, yes, he's sad, but if he sticks religiously to that rule he might never know the simple pleasure of a cold beer ever again), but he's not drunk enough for it to cushion the blow when he flops down on his cold bed and hits play.
"Hey, uh. Happy birthday, Tommy. I hope you had a good day."
He didn't.
A month later.
"I went on a date tonight. It was with a woman though, so I'm gonna guess I'm still not queer the right way for you, huh? Fuck you, Tommy. My date fucking sucked."
Tommy feels about two feet tall, and like that's exactly how he deserves to feel. His thumb hovers over the block button for less than a second - he owes Evan the outlet, and that awful, scared little masochist that lives in the heart of him won't turn down the opportunity to let Evan's voice claw at him every chance he gets.
He tells himself he's not going to listen to the next message that comes through, but he's briefly very glad he does.
"Hey, Tommy. I wanted you to know - Maddie and Chim are having another baby. It's past three months so they're telling people now. I, uh - I just wanted you to know. Um." Abruptly, Evan sounds on the verge of tears. "I miss you, you dick. I wanted that with you. Fuck."
And then he's back to feeling crushed. It wouldn't have worked out. It wouldn't have. But he's sorry that Evan's still hurting. His own hurt is - it's just the baseline of his existence turned up a little louder than usual. It'll pass.
He tells himself that every day, every hour, every minute. It'll pass, it'll pass, it'll pass.
Howie texts him the same news later that day. Tommy thinks the message he sends back is perfectly normal, but Howie shows up at his door that night with a six pack of beer and that annoyingly perceptive air about him that makes Tommy feel seen and unsafe in the exact same way it has since the day they met.
The first beer, they talk about the pregnancy in light ways. Howie's excited. Maddie's perfect. Jee's ecstatic. Tommy's happy for them.
The second beer, Howie talks about how scared he is. How they have set ground rules and they're sticking to them, but he's walking through the world with a little core of fear inside him. Tommy almost cries.
The third beer, Howie asks how he's doing. Tommy does cry. Just a little, and he turns his face away quick enough that Howie doesn't see. He still knows, though.
"He leaves me these voicemails," Tommy says, and he sounds wrecked even to his own ears. "I know I don't - I don't have the right to miss him, but it - "
"Tommy."
"It hurts, Howie."
"I know, bud," Howie says, his hand on the back of Tommy's neck, a rough squeeze.. "I know."
The next message is the beginning of the end of it all. Tommy's actually had a - not terrible day. He flew four times, the sky was perfect, the calls went well. They had really good tacos for lunch at the station. 
The message is waiting for him when he gets home. Evan sounds - subdued.
"Hey, Tommy. Listen, I'm gonna - I'm gonna stop calling. I'm - you hurt me. You really, really hurt me. But I think I might be hurting you too, still, and I hate that, even if I'm mad at you. I'm really mad at you, and I think - I think I'm just gonna stay mad at you unless something changes. So I'd - I'd like to see you. Talk. Say - some things. Say goodbye. It's okay if you don't want to. But I'd like to. Let me know if you wanna. And if not, then, I don't know. Bye, I guess."
Bye, I guess. 
Tommy hesitates for less time than he'd like to admit. Maybe he can just ignore this one like he has all the others (is ignore the right word if they have become the constant background soundtrack to his waking hours and woven themselves into his dreams?) and Evan will be as good as his word - stop calling, stay mad, hate Tommy, but move on from him.
But it's Evan, and he's asking for something from Tommy, and the one and only time Tommy turned him down for something he really wanted, he hurt them both so bad. The least he owes Evan - the very least - is closure. And if it drives the shards of heartbreak deeper into Tommy then, hey, whatever, he's pretty sure those shards are a feature not a bug, by this point.
He navigates to their message thread, carefully doesn't look at the most recent communications - a silly joke, a heart, a can't wait to see you - and tries to find the words to reply.
It's not somewhere they've ever been before, and Tommy feels like that was probably deliberate on Evan's part. Still, the scene is so familiar it makes Tommy's steps falter. Evan, at a table in the sunshine, two coffee cups in front of him. He looks beautiful. He looks nervous. He looks tired. He's chosen a table away from any of the other patrons.
Part of Tommy wants to run. The rest of him knows he owes Evan the bravery he couldn't give him all those months ago, and he approaches the table, hands in his pockets.
Evan looks up, smiles like it's a reflex, but it falls away from his face like he's remembered he's mad at Tommy.
"Thanks for coming."
Tommy shrugs. "Of course."
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tartagliove · 16 days ago
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IN GOOD COMPANY kinich x reader ✧ 1.1k words
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"when there's no saurians to hunt, i take on other jobs too. i guess that means we're in the same line of work."
tags ✧ fluff, no pronouns used for reader, clumsy reader, reader and kinich are childhood friends but have feelings for each other.
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note ✧ dedicated to @hanaeriin, from your @pixelcafe-network secret santa! i hope you're doing well and are taking care of yourself! i decided to not go down the wintery route for this since i know you don’t celebrate the holidays—hopefully you'll like this little kinich fic ahhh
a huge thank you to @fandomsuggestions for betaing this!
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Three sheets of paper hang limply from the commission board. They flutter weakly as a hot breeze blows, which offers little relief from the scorching summer sun and the stifling humidity. You wish you were relaxing at home or cooling off in the river far below the tribe, but you have expenses that need to be paid, so you’re scanning the few available commissions and debating on which one you want to take.
Two of the commissions are straightforward and easy—a package delivery and hilichurl camp clearing—but the reward offered is nowhere near enough to cover your monthly expenses. You look at the third paper, skimming the wall of text that details a long and arduous commission. However, it also displays a reward of Mora with enough zeroes to make your eyes widen. That money would last you through most of next month as well.
It appears as though you will have a lot of traveling and fighting ahead of you. You normally are excited for a commission like this, but in the summer heat? Sighing, you reach for the commission.
A flash of green darts across your vision, snatching the sheet of paper out from beneath your fingers.
You whirl around. “Hey! Give that back, I was– Ajaw. Of course it’s you.”
“That’s Almighty Dragonlord K’uhul Ajaw to you, puny human! How many times–”
Tuning out the floating dragon’s usual rant, you look beyond him at the approaching Saurian hunter. A smile lights up your face. “Kinich!”
The bright sun makes the blue and green shine to his hair more obvious. His gorgeous eyes seem to glow from within as they look from his companion to you. “Morning,” he says, nodding at you in greeting.
You try to ignore the way a shiver runs through you at the sight. “It’s good to see you! Are you looking for a commission to take on, too?” you ask him, pointing toward the commission board that now bears two lonely pieces of paper. “The options aren’t very good.”
“Except for this one!” Ajaw flies between you two, waving the commission you were looking at in front of Kinich’s face. “It’s perfect—days of scaling the sides of mountains, fighting some dangerous creatures, not to mention, I can feel a storm brewing!”
You frown at Ajaw, knowing full well why the dangers of the commission delights him.
Kinich, however, swats the Saurian away with the back of his hand. “Were you planning on taking this?” he asks you.
You nod slowly, but then wave your hands in front of you. “You can take it if you want though! There are two more on the board, I can do those without a problem!” But even the combined pay of those commissions won’t be enough. You wince at the thought.
Kinich catches the expression that flashes across your face. “What is it?”
You hesitate for a moment, but under his steady gaze, give in and confess, ���Those commissions don’t offer enough of a reward to cover what I need—even if I take both.”
There is no judgement on his face as he listens, only understanding. He nods when you finish talking, then says Ajaw’s name.
The Saurian darts over, still holding the commission. “You’re gonna pick this one, right? That puny human can’t handle this anyway–“
“Shut up,” Kinich growls, the harshest you’ve heard him in a while. He yanks the paper out of Ajaw’s grasp, then grabs the dragon and chucks him into the sky, where he vanishes with a furious yell.
With Ajaw temporarily gone, Kinich’s face relaxes as he turns his attention back to you. “Here,” he says, handing you the commission. “You had it first, you take it. I know you have the skills to see it through to the end.”
His vote of confidence warms you from within, washing away any sting Ajaw’s words had evoked. “Thank you, Kinich.” You accept the paper from him with a soft smile. “I hope you’ll find something good to take on yourself.”
He nods, strands of hair shifting from the movement. “Don’t worry about me. Focus on your commission.”
“Yes, sir!” you respond with a giggle. “Well then, I need to get ready for the job. When I’m back, we should catch up sometime! It’s been a while since we’ve hung out. I missed it- missed you,” you add on, a bit shy at the admission.
“That would be nice,” Kinich says. By his tone, you can tell he is sincere, so you can’t stop the grin from growing across your face.
“Alright then, I’ll see you around! Bye, Kinich!”
You turn and walk away, leaving the Saurian hunter to peruse the remaining two commissions on the board. Glancing down at the paper in your hand, you read it over once more to take in the details. When you get to the final line, you stop in your tracks.
The smallest string of words say, “Two or more adventurers recommended for this commission.”
Your lips part. What if- There’s no way. It wouldn’t hurt to ask, right?
“Kinich!” You shout his name as loudly as you can, running back toward the commission board. When you’ve almost reached him, you step on the back of your own sandal and trip, a noise of alarm escaping your mouth. Bracing for the impact of the ground, you are instead caught by warm hands and a steady frame.
You blink in surprise at Kinich, who keeps his grip on your upper arm and lower back until you regain your balance—and even then his touch lingers for a moment before he pulls away.
His eyes seem to pierce through you as you look at him and breathlessly ask, “Would, um, would you like to go on this commission with me?”
You hold out the paper, finger trailing along the final sentence.
Kinich huffs out a wry laugh. “Of course Ajaw didn’t mention that detail. Are you sure you want a partner for this? I know you could complete it alone.”
Swallowing, you manage to ask, “And what if I don’t want to do it alone?”
A soft look appears on his face. “Then you have someone willing to do it with you.”
You laugh in delight, and can’t help bouncing on the balls of your feet. “Alright then! I’ll be in good company.”
“And so will I.”
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steddieas-shegoes · 6 months ago
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bad idea right
for @steddiesongfics July prompt using song lyrics from ‘bad idea right’ by olivia rodrigo
rated e | 1569 words | cw: alcohol, super mildly dubious consent because of the alcohol | tags: angst with a happy ending, post break up, exes to lovers, getting back together, sex
📱📱📱📱📱📱📱📱📱📱
Eddie isn’t afraid to admit that he makes mistakes. Sometimes, he makes big ones.
Answering the call from Steve is the first big one.
“Steve?” It’s been almost a year since he’s heard from him, their breakup being the finite end to any and all communication. “You okay?”
“Eddie! Oh my god. So I’m out right now, and I’m all fucked up, and I was thinkin’ ‘bout that time I got so drunk you had to carry me to my bed.” Eddie’s listening to Steve, but he feels like his soul is leaving his body. “You remember how gentle you were? You were so worried about tripping up the stairs and you kept cussing when you lost your grip. You kissed my head when you thought I was asleep.”
Steve’s words are slurred, but Eddie can make them out fine. He was good at understanding Steve all the time, even inebriated.
“I knew you were awake,” he gulps. Robin’s gonna kill him for even entertaining Steve like this. Actually, speaking of her- “Is Robbie with you?”
“No.” Eddie can hear the pout on his lips. “She’s on a date with her girlfriend.”
Right. She’d mentioned that to Eddie yesterday when they were texting about plans for next weekend.
Robin had refused to be split between her two best friends when they broke up, and rightfully so. She may have been Steve’s platonic soulmate, but she knew that what happened between them wasn’t Eddie’s fault. She made sure to spend time with Eddie when Steve was otherwise busy.
“Are you good to get home? I can send an Uber for you.” Eddie offers even though he’s sure Steve thought of that already. Even drunk, he would know how to get home.
“I can get my own Uber.”
“I know.”
“I missed your voice.”
Eddie is doing his fuckin’ best not to make his second big mistake tonight, but it’s not going well. He knows what’s gonna happen. He knows because he’s weak and loves Steve more than anything even after having his heart torn to pieces by him. Even knowing it’ll only lead to more heartbreak.
“You should get home, Stevie.”
“Missed that, too.”
It’s quieter on Steve’s end now, like he’s stepped away from whatever club or bar he’s holed up in, maybe outside to get some much needed fresh air. Eddie hopes it sobers him enough to realize what he’s done so he hangs up.
“Steve…”
“Can I come over?”
Eddie makes the second big mistake of the night and says yes.
-
When Steve arrives, he’s a beautiful mess.
He’s drunk, but the ride must’ve helped a little. His eyes are clear, his cheeks not as flush as they probably were before.
Eddie’s waiting at the door when he gets there, standing with a smile that doesn’t belong. He’s trying to be welcoming to a man who did everything to make sure he felt like he didn’t belong.
Steve is in his arms as soon as he makes it to the front door. Eddie’s third big mistake of the night is wrapping his arms around him as if he’d never stopped, as if this last year wasn’t the worst of his life and he’s barely made it through.
“Sorry I called. I didn’t know where to go.”
And now Eddie’s confused. He’s confused because Steve has an apartment of his own, one that he definitely knew how to get to even when drunk. Even if he didn’t, he would’ve been able to call Robin to help. Or Max. Or Lucas.
And he’s sure that Steve’s been drunk in the last year and not called him.
“Why couldn’t you go home?”
“Too quiet.”
11 months ago, almost to the day, Steve Harrington told Eddie Munson that he was too loud, too hyper, too messy.
11 months ago, Eddie Munson gathered whatever he could find in four minutes and left Steve’s apartment for the last time.
11 months ago, Steve ruined a three year relationship because he’d been feeling overwhelmed and didn’t tell Eddie until it was too late.
Now, Eddie Munson is sure that Steve Harrington is about to be his fourth big mistake tonight.
“You wanna come in?” He asks, already knowing Steve’s answer.
“Please.”
-
Steve is tucked into Eddie’s bed, curled around a pillow, mouth open as he snores quietly. Eddie watches him for a moment before tip-toeing from the room.
Robin’s livid when she answers her phone.
“This better be good. I was two fingers-“
“Steve’s here.” Eddie interrupts what was sure to be too much information about what Robin was getting up to on her date. “Drunk.”
“He just showed up at your house?” Robin sounds less mad now, more concerned, though he’s not sure who she’s more concerned about.
“He called first.”
“And you answered.”
“Yeah. Well.” Eddie sighs. “I’m gonna sleep on the couch, but just wanted you to know he’s safe and I’ll make sure he gets home tomorrow.”
“Eddie, I’m so sorry. He said he was just gonna watch a movie tonight or else I would’ve suggested he go hang with Dustin or something.”
“It’s not your job to babysit him.” Eddie doesn’t like the way she said that, but he’s probably reading too much into it. “He’s an adult.”
“Yeah, no. He’s. I mean, he’s fine. It’s just that we all try to keep his mind busy since…ya know.” Robin explains, though Eddie feels even more confused.
“Since he specifically told me I was too much for him?”
Robin’s silence speaks volumes.
“Eddie?” Steve’s voice is behind him and he’s quick to turn and make sure he’s okay. “Sleep?”
“I’ll text you,” he whispers to Robin before hanging up and turning to Steve. “You should go lay down. I’ll bring you some water.”
“You too?” Steve was blinking slowly, barely awake as he stood in Eddie’s living room.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Stevie.”
“Is it because of what I said?”
It’s not the time for them to have this conversation, and it’s not the time for Eddie to wish he could forget it ever happened so he can hop into bed with Steve. But he thinks Steve is probably sobering up little by little, and if he expects Steve to sleep, he may have to do this.
“You made it very clear how you felt. I’m just trying to respect your space until I can get you home tomorrow.” Robin would be proud of how he’s handling this, he thinks. He’s at least keeping things civil even though his head is screaming at him.
“I didn’t mean what I said.”
Eddie stares at him, tries to find the telltale signs of Steve lying. He doesn’t see any.
Steve’s too tired and too buzzed to hide it.
“Then why did you say any of it?” Eddie feels his chest constricting, his heartbeat racing the longer he looks at him. “Why did you make me think I was too much?”
“My dad came by that day,” Steve’s head falls, his hands wringing in front of him. “My dad had spent two hours telling me I wasn’t enough and that I’d done nothing but disappoint him and I’d never be what he wanted. And it wasn’t the first time, but it was after my boss gave a promotion to someone else even though I was more qualified and my head was killing me and Robin and I had gotten into a stupid argument that morning and it was a bad day.”
Eddie’s staring at him, mouth wide open, watching as the man he loves falls apart.
“It’s no excuse. I shouldn’t’ve said any of it no matter what. Not when it’s not even true. I’ve never felt like you’re too much or too loud.” Steve’s stepping closer now. “I’ve always just wanted to soak up whatever energy you have. And I didn’t know how to tell you that you’re more than I deserve without saying you’re too much for what I can offer.”
Damn Steve Harrington and his charm, even when buzzed, even when exhaustion is causing him to curl into himself.
Damn Eddie’s inability to avoid his fifth mistake of the night.
He doesn’t know if he is the catalyst or if they both are, but suddenly his mouth is on Steve’s and teeth knock together, and there’s a slight taste of blood on Eddie’s tongue.
There’s moans and hands against skin and in hair and hard cocks rubbing against thighs and bruises on hips.
There’s Steve’s head hitting the pillow and Eddie’s mouth sucking marks into his stomach and inner thigh and the blanket falling off the bed as they try to strip out of their clothes too fast.
There’s laughter and soft touches and nails biting into skin and check-ins.
There’s love when Eddie holds his face in his hands as he slides into Steve for the first time in too long, and there’s hope when Steve cries out for more, and there’s passion that Eddie knows he’d never find with anyone else.
After, when there’s sweat and tears and cum and an unfortunate wet spot in the middle of the bed, there’s whispers of tomorrow and the next day and apologies and promises.
It may have been a bad idea answering Steve’s call, but Eddie’s happy to make more mistakes if it means keeping Steve in his arms and being enough for each other.
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httpsserene · 1 year ago
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𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝟏 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥
𝘂𝗽𝗹𝗼𝗮𝗱 𝟰: 𝗱𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗲𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗰𝗶𝗮𝗿𝗱𝗼 / 𝗺𝗮𝘅 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗻 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 | 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗺𝘂𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻
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📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: you can't remember the last time you've gotten to spend more than three days at a time with both of your boyfriends. you understand how demanding their job is but, you just can't remember the last time they really exhausted you...pleasurably. and then winter break comes around , and they have all the time they need to make you lose your mind. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. explicit. overstimulation. light dom/sub. quickies. cunnilingus. vaginal fingering. vaginal sex. unsafe sex. safewords. creampie. come eating. squirting. hand job. masturbation. dacryphilia. mention of taking explicit photos. praise kink. aftercare. set after the 2023 season. no beta we die like carlos’ fuel system. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 6.5k words 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: daniel ricciardo/max verstappen x black!fem!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: take me away • daniel caesar
𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: set post 2023 season. mm, i luv me some danny caesar–i got to see him live this year 😛 i was originally gonna pick a classic country song in true american fashion to show some patriotism for the austin gp—as a black woman, i can attest that we love our country bangers—but take me away just fit perfectly. and daniel is definitely taking yall somewhere this upload—max and reader are just along for the ride 💀. i tried to write sub!max, i think it came across well, and ahead of time i sincerely apologize to the maxiel truthers…i think i may have slayed. i will not be paying for your therapy < 3 🙂 (and if you think i changed the summary, stfu no i didn’t 😌) enjoy y'all !!!!
do you want to be added to my general taglist? or my f1 kinktober taglist? send me an ask!
cross-posted on my ao3, htppsss
to see what kinktober uploads have already been completed or to see what's coming next check my f1 kinktober masterlist ! for all of my works see my general masterlist!
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this past racing season was long; daniel knows that well; he went from being the third driver at red bull, to having a seat at alphatauri, to breaking his wrist–and still managed to recover to drive in the last five races. max can also account for how lengthy this season was; he dominated every race illustrated by his 10 consecutive wins, won his team the constructor’s championship 16 races in, won his third world driver’s championship the following week through a sprint race, and still had to stick around for five more races. but, daniel and max both know who has the best firsthand account of how prolonged and draining the formula one 2023 season was.
you.
daniel knows that you’re they’re biggest supporter; you’re a sweetheart. and while you haven’t vocalized your displeasure for the twenty-three races this year–he can feel your dejection. at the start of the season, everything was seen through rose-colored glasses; max was winning, the three of you were having champagne-drenched celebrations in hotel rooms–so filthy the poor staff probably had to incinerate the sheets. you were satisfied; and daniel was with you whenever red bull didn’t want to parade him around at a grand prix. but as the months progressed and as daniel got a seat, the demanding nature of formula one was observable. the longer season had stolen them from you–they were flying from country to country, the gaps between races only long enough to only have them home for two or three days at a time, before they had to fly out and adjust to a new time zone. leaving your two boyfriends unable to make a mess of you as often as you all crave in doing so. phone sex is hot–but it can lose its luster over almost nine months. they’ve been neglecting you–even though every time either one of them suggests that notion, you disagree vehemently– but, it’s the truth.
they pride themselves on the fact that they used to make you beg for them to stop drawing orgasms out of you...but recently your sex life has consisted of dry-humping like horny teenagers, frantic pussy-eating and cock-sucking, and quickies in the shower. so, max and daniel formulated a plan.
after abu-dhabi, the three of you returned home to max’s monaco flat and fell into bed. you’re comfortably laying completely on top of daniel, front to front, and your head is tucked under his chin, turned to the side to face max, who’s settled on his side facing the two of you, arm draped over your back, with his hand squeezing at your waist randomly as he talks to daniel. you’re fighting sleep and losing; eyelids fluttering closed every now and then against your will, breath slowing as you edge closer and closer to sleep. you're floating on the brink of unconsciousness until you're dragged away at the soft sounds of daniel and max rousing you.
“there ya’ go, honey,” murmurs daniel, his voice rumbling in his chest underneath you, “we got somethin’ to ask you, before we let ya sleep, sweet girl.”
max’s hand shifts to rub at the length of your back, and you clear the sleepy haze from your mind enough to nod your head and hum softly in question, “m’kay.”
daniel gently pulls your head from his neck with his tattooed hand on your nape, making sure your pretty eyes, foggy with sleep, make eye contact, “how do ya’ feel about spending december in australia, hmm? a sunny christmas–on the ricciardo ranch; you, me, max and our families–ain’t that perfect, honey?”
max smiles softly at your pout–you’re never one to appreciate having your sleep interrupted–before adding on to daniel’s question, “jimmy and sassy can stay with the sitter; i already spoke to her a few days ago. she’d be thrilled to have them, so you don’t have to worry about where’d they stay. i don’t think i can get pet passports in three days nor do i want to see how two bengal cats act on a private jet for twenty hours.”
a few seconds pass, max and daniel searching your face for any hint to a possible answer. you blink a few times, before you murmur faintly, “‘m okay with it…can i go to sleep now?”
max laughs tenderly, guiding your head back into daniel’s neck before he scoots closer and rests his own head on the australian’s shoulder, “yeah, mijn schatje. sleep well.”
daniel wraps the arm pinned under max around him, pulling him closer to drop a kiss on his forehead. his other hand falls on your back over the dutchman’s, caressing it softly. he holds the two of you as tight as he possibly can, the big grin on his face only seen by the ceiling. he has his whole world in his arms right now, but come christmas time, his whole universe–his family–will be under the same roof back home in australia.
the next three days are filled with an absurd amount of packing. max and daniel have five suitcases between the two of them—you have five for yourself; it doesn’t hurt to be prepared. the night before your flight, they watch you pace around the bedroom making sure there’s nothing important you’re forgetting. jimmy and sassy had been dropped off at the sitter’s, and max and daniel had already moved all the luggage to the entryway for the early flight. the two drivers had stopped trying to convince you to join them in the bed and cuddled together, knowing it’s best to let you work out your anxieties now so you don’t overthink on the flight.
as you start combing through the closet again, max whispers to daniel, “we could fuck the nerves out her right now, danny.”
daniel smacks max’s hip, smirking when he whines quietly, “no, maxy. she has to sit for an almost twenty hour flight, we can’t make that any more difficult for her.” the dutchman huffs, unhappy with the answer even though he knows it's the logical course of action.
dan continues, “remember: as soon as we get to the ranch and settle in—we'll be alone for a week before my parents come ‘n join us. we’ll have plenty of time to take her apart and put her back together.”
daniel was wrong. after y’all landed in perth, and made the drive out to the countryside—it was apparent that the three of you weren’t the only ones at the ranch. his parents had come early to make sure the ranch was prepped and fully stocked for your vacation, and prepared a home cooked dinner to welcome you in. dan can’t help his big smile from becoming a permanent fixture on his face as he watches his mom and dad fawn over you and max. grace pulls you into the house, instructing the men to bring the luggage inside while she gets to fixing you a plate heaping with barbecue. joe affectionately calls max ‘son’ with a tight hug, congratulating him on his third championship before they all make their way into the house.
the original plan is put on the back burner as daniel watches you and max bloom under the loving attention from his parents. the days passed quickly, all of them spent horsing around the farm; horseback riding, dirt biking, atv riding, making a trip out to the beach, eating good food, and sleeping well. dan sees max’s pale skin pinkening and your melanated complexion glowing with warmth from the caress of the australian sun. your afternoon naps are taken underneath the warm rays, stretching out in any slice of sun you can catch, bathing in it like a cat. max and dan do as many things as they can shirtless attempting to get their tan in as quick as possible—dan tans gracefully, max, on the other hand, burns like a lobster first before his tan becomes apparent.
they fucked you on the second day after your arrival, but not exactly how they were hoping too. it’s still a relatively short affair—for their standards, at least. while it quieted the need within you, it didn’t completely satisfy the urge for any of you. daniel had to coax you into biting a pillow to muffle your squeals, and have max nearly choke on his tattooed fingers to quiet his whining—dan himself clenched his jaw so tightly to prevent his own moans from escaping that he’s surprised he didn’t crack a tooth. he loves his parents, but he’s genuinely going to snap if he doesn’t get to ruin you and max without worrying if they could hear how he makes you and max beg for him.
on the fifth day, you wear your first sundress to lunch and max pulls daniel in the kitchen to muffle a scream into his chest. 
“dan, baby—i love your parents,” max starts, his eye twitching, “you know i do! but, i can’t go another day without hearing her scream for me—for us.”
they’re only men. very desperate men. and you had the nerve to parade yourself in this flowy, yellow, strapless sundress at a meal they have to suffer through. they can’t even tear it off of you after, because dan’s parents have a chance of overhearing. but, what forces the australian to kindly kick his parents out of the house, is how you fail to stop yourself from drooling over them playing around in the pool—struggling to continue speaking with his mom as you sit on the pool’s ledge. 
before dinner, dan showers by himself first, changing into fresh clothes. he then ushers you and max into the shower, ‘to rinse off the chlorine and sweat from the day,’ he says. but, he could care less about that. as soon as he hears the shower start, he practically sprints to the kitchen to see his mom and dad put the finishing touches on the burgers they fixed up.
daniel skids to a stop in the doorway, leaning against it in faux-relaxedness, and says, “howdy.” it’s silent for a minute; his dad stares at him blankly, and his mom eventually breaks and speaks plainly, “what is it, danny?”
daniel gasps in mock-disbelief, “why d’ya always think i want something from you? i can’t just be greeting my wonderful, loving, and understanding parents?”
grace stares at him, not fooled, “are you just saying ‘hi’?”
daniel stutters aimlessly looking to his dad for help, but joe just shrugs at him in a ‘you did this to yourself, son’ manner. 
“maybe! well, no, actually…” daniel sulks, slinking into the kitchen, and resting against the counter next to his mom.
his mom hums knowingly, and gestures at him to start speaking.
“uh, so, you know i love having y’all around, right, and uh, it’s nice y’know—i mean, i don’t see ya’ as often as i want to, but uh—don’t get me wrong, you’re my parents, but uhm—“
joe sighs, “daniel, cut to the chase, please.”
daniel groans, before he leans his head back to look at the ceiling, “fine. look—we just expected to at least have one week to ourselves when we got here. not that y’all being here to surprise us is bad! you know that. but, uhm…we just made plans, i guess. a-and we kind of can’t do it, because, well…”
grace washes her hands as daniel continues to ramble through an unnecessary apologetic explanation. she turns the water off, drying her hands on a towel, and turns to her husband, pointing at daniel while rolling her eyes teasingly, before she cuts her son off, “daniel, we can leave tonight.”
daniel stops, head dropping to look at his mom in shock, “what?”
“we can leave tonight, if that’s what you’re trying to ask. your father and i don’t mind,” grace smiles gently, “we weren’t supposed to stay for this long anyways, we were just trying to get the ranch prepared for y’all, and you know how enamored we are with your girl and boy; we overstayed our welcome. we can go and come back a week before christmas with the rest of the family, danny.”
daniel perks up, “you guys don’t have to leave for that long, i don’t wanna kick you out—“
“daniel, please,” joe scoffs, walking over to clap daniel on the back, “you’re not kicking us out. we’ll be back on the seventeenth, alright. hopefully, that gives y’all enough time to work out your frustrations. we really don’t want to overhear or see anything—“
daniel pales, “okAY, thank you, yes—please don’t comeback until as late as y’all want, jesus christ. wait—did you hear the other night?! ohmygod…they’re going to kill me.”
joe and grace laugh, “no, we didn’t hear anything, danny. we just figured from how they were following you around in the morning—max couldn’t even look us in the eye, son.”
daniel groans, embarrassed, “don’t tell them anything about this okay? they’ll break up with me if they know i asked you to leave so i could have sex with them.”
his parents' laughter only gets louder, but they agree eventually after they indulge in teasing their son a little more.
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dinner is pleasant; you and max remain unaware of the ricciardo’s intervention, enjoying the well-cooked meal and lighthearted conversation. when everyone’s stomach is full and the conversation quiets, grace and joe break the news that they unfortunately have to return to perth. you and max sadden, trying to convince daniel’s parents to stay a little longer—max’s eyes fail to hide his eagerness at their announcement, even though his voice manages to be completely sincere. daniel watches as his parents formulate a fake excuse about their departute before he gently reminds you two, “they’ll be back for christmas, babes. you’ll see them again.”
the two of you calm at daniel’s statement, and walk his parents out to the car, exchanging hugs and kisses before they drive off back to the city. daniel leads you two back into the house after you’ve watched his parents disappear down the road, and the shift in energy as soon as the door locks is missed by you.
you mindlessly amble back to the dining table, stacking the emptied plates and glasses and wandering into the kitchen to clean them. as soon as you turn the sink faucet on, a strong body pushes against your back, and presses you against the edge of the counter as their hand reaches around you to shut the water off. you turn around to tell-off whichever boyfriend did that, but before you can get any words out, you’re pulled into a filthy kiss.
your shocked gasp is muffled by max’s lips, and you half-heartedly attempt to pull away, but the dutchman chases your lips, not allowing you to stop. you give in with a sigh, allowing max to continue kissing you. he buries one hand in your hair, tilting your head to the side for a better angle, and licks at the seam of your lips. you squirm against him, not quite giving into the coaxing of his tongue, and max hums softly before he tugs at your bottom lip. you turn your head to the side, panting softly to suck in a few desperate breaths before max pulls you back and invades the opening of your lips. you squeal at the feeling of his tongue laving against yours, the lewd wet sounds of your mouths have your thighs pressing together. max brings his other arm to grasp around your waist, and pulls you against him, groaning into your mouth at the smallest amount of friction that movement provided. you feel lightheaded, your knees weakening, but max firmly holds you up, not letting you slip from his grasp. your hands come up to wrap around him, one feeling up his chest before resting around his neck, and the other hand digging into the meat of his back in search of stability. he hums at the ache of your nails and drops both of his hands to cup the back of your thighs right under your ass. he lifts you onto the counter, spreading your legs and shoving his body between them, while still managing to not break the kiss. at the show of strength you arch your back, whining highly, pushing your chest against his—he’s so strong. he eagerly starts tugging the sundress up your legs, making to expose your panties before he’s interrupted by a sudden heavy hand on the back of his neck.
max jerks away from you (you can finally catch your breath), his chest heaving, and his own whine fills the air at the weight of daniel’s hand.
“now, darlin’,” daniel addresses max with a smirk, “this wasn’t part of our plan, was it? you forget the script, maxy?”
max blushes a pretty pink, and murmurs, “no, daniel—sorry, danny.” dan hums at the apology, pressing a kiss to max’s warm cheek.
“w-what plan?” you timidly ask, still sitting on the counter, legs spread obscenely, dress skewed messily, and lips swelling from max’s ambition.
daniel chuckles, eyes shining at you hungrily, “mmm. how ‘bout we make our way to the bedroom and ‘ll show ya, sweetheart?”
you’re spread eagle in the middle of the bed, completely naked, with daniel fully dressed in between your legs sucking marks and pressing kisses on your thighs, max stripped down to his boxer-briefs on his side next to you, doing the same to your neck and chest. you’re squirming viciously just from the feeling of his beard scraping against your inner thighs, squeals ripping from your throat when he leaves a hickey or bites at the meat of your thigh. the australian’s pupils are blown wide, as he watches you try and muffle your cries behind your hand—if this is how you’re responding to the two of them thoroughly refreshing their claim on you, he’s thrilled to see how you’ll lose your mind as the night goes on. pulling his head away, daniel presses his thumb into one of the bruises he left and your back arches deeply–you choke on your squeal, thighs slamming shut around his hand.
“none of that now, sweetheart,” dan instructs firmly, “‘s just me, you, and max, honey. no need to quiet those sweet sounds of yours, alright?”
you nod wildly, stumbling over your agreement, “y-yeah, danny. ‘ll be- i’ll be loud for you guys.”
max moans at your words from where his lips were tugging at your nipple, pulling away to raise himself back to your lips, thirstily tasting your desperation from its source. dan allows max to bruise up your mouth, and leave his own beard burn around your lips, as he undresses himself down to his briefs. 
“max…max, maxy, babe,” daniel softly calls a few times, failing to get the impatient man’s attention, “max, look at me.” the switch from dan’s soft tone to a deeper, base filled sound has max snapping away to look at daniel, panting roughly.
“be good f’me and give yourself a hand, darlin’,” dan commands, and max sighs lovingly at the endearment, “you can manage that right, maxy? while i get our sweet girl ready to take you, hm?”
max whimpers, “yes, danny,” and shifts to sit upright, pulling his underwear off and wrapping his large hand around himself. dan purrs, “good boy. her sweet cunt’s already drippin’ for us, maxy. won't take me long to stretch ‘er open for you.” you keen, humiliated at the way dan speaks about you like you’re not in the room with them. daniel tugs your legs open again, hiding his laughter in the plush meat of your thigh, but you can feel the smirk against your skin. 
embarrassed, you whine hushedly, hands fisting into the sheets by your side, “mean.”
daniel hums uncaringly at your remark, “mean? don’t worry, honey–when i finish with you, you’ll think ‘m mean for a very different reason.” he doesn’t give you a chance to ponder his words, and a firm drag of his tongue across your cunt destroys any chance for your thought processes. this time around, your moans are clear, echoing around the room. the press of daniel’s tongue is unforgiving and working intently at your clit. your thighs clamp around his head, not allowing the australian to escape even though he can feel your hips bucking away, trying to escape the consistent stimulation on one of your most sensitive spots. when one of your hands flies down to tug at his curls, he relents his assault and switches to prodding his tongue against your opening. he moans depravedly against your entrance, the noise vibrating through you, causing your shriek to pierce the air. he eats you out like a man starved; savagely shoving his tongue deeper inside you, curling against your walls, nose bumping against your clit, mouth moving like he’s truly trying to eat you alive. he ignores the ache of his jaw, the tightness of his briefs, how his beard scratches your skin; and he smoothly slips a finger into you, beginning thoroughly stretch you out.
it’s absolutely obscene-sounding. daniel works his way up to three fingers, and any previous qualms he had about you being too quiet are resolved. your whines are constant at the insistent invasion of daniel’s curling digits, and based on the way your legs are trembling, he can tell you're nearing the precipice. what’s even more erotic, is the way your cries harmonize with max’s own grunts of pleasure; the dutchman’s hips buck into the frantic pace of his hands and danny wouldn’t be surprised if max comes before he even gets inside you. daniel sits back on his heels, his fingers still digging deeper inside you, forcefully pressing against your g-spot. with his left hand, daniel knocks max’s hand away, ignoring the responding yowl of displeasure, and fists max’s cock on his own, “doin’ a little too much, maxy. our desperate girl deserves to come first, anyways—lemme set the pace for you, darlin’.” max suffers under danny’s ministrations; the extreme shift down in tempo, the constant attention on the head of his cock, a finger pressing at his slit or the vein along his underside alternatingly. you, on the other hand, are being pushed closer and closer to your orgasm. daniel’s thumb joins, rubbing quick circles of your clit–and you scream out, pleasure overriding you. when your moans start to blend into breathy little ah-ah-ah’s, he slips his fingers free from the tight clasp of your cunt, and releases his hold on max’s cock.
you sob achingly, begging daniel to make you cum, dismayed cries of, “no! danny, why’d you stop, please, make me cum,” falling from your lips as max mewls next to you, his own hands trying to force danny’s back around him. daniel shushes you, and motions for max to come closer. max flies forward happily, his whines cutting off at daniel’s attention. he man-handles max into hovering over you in missionary, his cock resting against your fluttering cunt, waiting for permission. your cries quiet, and your heart races with anticipation for max to bury himself in you. danny’s left hand grips at max’s corresponding hip, and his right hand slips in the narrow space between you two, and he presses the flushed arousal in you. and the australian cannot stop running his mouth.
“that’s ‘t, baby–nice n’ easy for ya’–mmm–he’s splitting you open isn’t he–yeah, soak ‘im, babe, get him nice and wet–no, sweetheart, don’t run from it–yeahhh just like that, you take ‘t so well–”
your own orgasm suprises you, otherwise you would’ve at least made an attempt to tell the two men. max hasn’t even gotten halfway inside you and you’re cumming; back-arching, toes-curling, hands rushing forward to scratch down max’s back, eyes screwed shut, and walls clamping tightly around him. max is whining above you, flinching away from the hot grasp of your inner walls, but daniel won’t let him pull out.
“danny, danny! please–oh–i-i-i’m gonna–not gonna last–‘m gonna cum, if i stay inside her,” max admits, sobbing embarrasingly.
daniel laughs softly from behind max, and shifts so his front is pressed to the dutchman’s back. max shivers at the sound, the hair on the back of his neck rising. “aww, you can’t handle it, darling? don’t worry, i’ve changed my plans for you, anyways,” daniel smugly whispers into max’s ear. dan brings both of his hands to the younger’s waist, and forces him deeper inside of you, ignoring the way max cries sensitively and keeps pushing him forward until he bottoms out. you and max let out twin squeals from the white-hot flash of pleasure; you struggle to adjust to his size as quickly as daniel forced him in–you pulsate around him, it’s like you’re still trying to drag him further in and push him out at the same time. daniel presses a kiss to max’s shoulder blade and praises him, “see, maxy? i knew you could do it—such a good boy f’me.”
max’s eyes roll back, and he can’t fight it–he cums, loudly. his limbs weaken and his body collapses over yours, head falling into your neck, and his lewd moans vibrate through your raw skin. the younger’s body covers you completely, and your knees come up to cradle max’s hips, encouraging him to thrust through the aftershocks. daniel leans back, continuing to bathe the two of you with praise as he lets you guys shudder through the come down. a couple minutes pass before your legs relax and max’s moans die down to breathy hums, as both of your chests heave as you try to regulate your breathing. 
“feelin’ good, my loves?” daniel questions tenderly.
you’re the first to respond, a sated smile sent the australians way, “so good, danny.” max sighs out a breathy “yeah,” muffled into your chest. daniel brightens, “alrighty–maxy, fuck her properly now, and make her cum again.” the dutchman grunts in disbelief, “what? no, i-i can’t, i just came–”
dan cuts max off, “you can’t or, you won’t?” max’s breath stutters at the sudden dominance in daniel’s tone, sitting up to turn his head to look at the older man incredulously. the smile on dan’s face is gone, his expression suddenly firm and unyielding–max can only drop his gaze away from daniel’s eyes, avoiding the piercing gaze.
“max, look at me,” the australian states unflinchingly, and the younger man’s eyes fly to meet his at the command.
“what’s your color, darlin’?”
with his tongue flicking out to wet his lips nervously, max mutely whispers, “green.” daniel’s piercing gaze drops to you and he repeats the question, “sweetheart, what’s your color?”
you squirm under his intense attention—max’s hips stuttering at the stimulation, and your bruised brown thighs squeeze at his waist until he stops—but the slight flare of pleasure that races up your spine decides your answer, “green, danny.”
a smirk spreads across daniel’s lips, “see, you can, maxy,” the younger blushes deeply at his teasing croon, “now, be a sweet prince for me, and fuck our sweetheart, hm?” and with a pinch to max’s hip, he sinks in you deeply with an oversensitive sigh, before he pulls out and sets a slow rhythm to allow you both a little more time to recover. the drag of his cock is coaxing soft shuddery breaths out of your lips, and sharp over-sensitive whines from max. his hands are trembling from where they’re grip flexes on your waist, veins popping with the strength of his grasp, sure to leave a mark on your darker skin. dan’s hands halt the gentle roll of his hips, before the man leads him at a quicker pace. max throws his head back onto daniel’s shoulder, overwhelmed at the feeling of your tight, soaking wet cunt, and cries out “too much—ngh—i-it’s too much!” but aside from all of his whines, he’s getting hard again. unlike max, the sensitivity from your orgasm had faded quickly—if anything, it’s doubling the amount of pleasure you’re feeling. desperate for more, you plant your feet on the bed and start rolling your hips to meet max halfway; moaning yearningly at the change in position.
the younger man frantically tries to force your hips back down, the friction added from you meeting his thrusts is too great. “heyheyhey—none of that, prince,” daniel quickly tugs max’s hands away from your waist, one hand firmly holding them against the younger’s chest, “remember, we made a promise to give her so many orgasms to make up for how mean we’ve been to her. you don’t want to break that promise; right, darling?” max tries to hide his face in dan’s shoulder, but it’s too late—he starts sobbing. daniel watches how the tears rain down max’s cheeks, and how his face crumples so prettily—is it weird that making his usually unbothered boyfriend cry, turns him on?
max sniffles, “n-no, danny. -ll do it, i-i wanna make her cum.” not wanting to disappoint you any further, he starts quickening his strokes on his own, eventually outpacing the rhythm daniel set for him. it dawns on max quickly; he’s not going to last, again. he makes the mistake of looking at the blissed out expression on your face, the knot in his tummy tightening as he watches how your mouth falls open in a moan, wet and inviting. he drops his eyes away, but they fall on where the two of you are connected; the sight causes him to choke on his breath. his own thrusts have forced his cum out of you, frothing at your entrance, smeared all over your labia and staining your inner thighs. if he could eat you out and fuck you at the same time—he’d be doing it. max urgently asks daniel, “d-danny, ‘m gonna cum—please, can i cum?” ignoring max, dan’s hand lets go of max’s, and falls to let his middle and ring finger rub vigorously at your clit. your body jackknifes, a scream leaving your lips at the sudden addition, you choke out a warning, “g’na cum! pleasepleaseplease—” and when daniel’s thumb sneaks down to press gently at where you're wrapped snugly around max, almost like he’s trying to slip in alongside his cock—white flashes behind your eyes and you’re cumming hard. 
daniel hums, satisfied, “now, you can cum, maxy.” the younger had already started coming the second he started speaking. it’s erotic—how the two of yours’ orgasm feeds off of each other. every clench of your cunt has you squeezing tightly around max, causing him to thrust in you deeper, which in turn has you pulsating around him tightly, and the cycle continues. max rides out the two of your orgasms viciously this time around, his hips slamming into you, forcing himself as deep as possible wanting to empty every last dreg of his cum within you. you can only whimper brokenly, not making an effort to calm his grinds, wanting to savor anything you can get before he pulls out of you. with max’s last pump of his hips in you, daniel slowly guides him out of you. the two of you hiss, extremely over sensitive from the two times you’ve cum, so daniel tries to make the affair as smooth as he possibly can. with a squelching pop, max is freed from the tight grasp of your cunt, and dan leads him to lie down next to you on the bed.
you’re still floating, not a single thought in your head, a deep sense of satisfaction coating your mind, but you can vaguely hear daniel checking on max, making sure he didn’t push him too far. you hum quietly under your breath, almost like a purr, eyes shut blissfully as you allow yourself to relax in your afterglow. you faintly register daniel slipping in between your legs, his broad shoulders pressed against the underside of your thighs. you feel his left hand gently press at the raw skin of your thigh, and you fuzzily manage to move it over for him, thinking that he’s trying to clean you up. 
daniel can only stare. the pink skin of your hole has turned to a deeper red, with how max bullied your cunt. his mouth falls open, entranced, at the sight of your bruised pussy winking at him, struggling to close, and he moans softly as the pulsing of your cunt starts pushing max’s cum out of you. the creamy, frothy, white fluid slowly sliding out of you and down your ass. his tongue wets his lips—he wants a taste. dan drops the towel he was holding in his right hand, and brings the now empty hand up to spread your lips with a ‘v’ of his fingers. his eyes flick up to your face, and once he sees that you're still floating, he takes a gentle pass over your entrance with two fingers, collecting yours and max’s combined release. he sucks the mess clean, and a groan rumbles through his chest. fuck—he needs more. daniel quickly finds himself breathing softly over your cunt for the second time tonight, and he can feel how your thighs already start shaking at the exhales of his breath against you. he laps his tongue once in a broad stripe over you, and moans depravedly—and then, he pretty much forced to eat you out; why let this go to waste. 
the minute his tongue slips inside you, your thighs slam shut around his head, trying to halt his overeager movements. daniel doesn’t care, he’d happily suffocate in your cunt if it meant he got to eat max’s cum out of you for the last time. when he slips two of his fingers in to coax more of the cum max fucked deep in you out, your hand flies down and tugs at his curls. daniel pulls his mouth away, growling sharply at the pain from the grip of your hand, but he steadfastly dives back in—he’s going to swallow every last drop you’ll give him. “hngh—too much, –anny, can’t take it—my tummy feels weird—it hurts!” daniel’s hips starting grinding against the bed, and he’s made aware of how painfully hard he’s gotten throughout the night; he hasn’t cum once. daniel moans against your cunt, panting against you, “ya got one more f’me right, sweetheart? yeah, ya do—just let me taste you, yeah?” daniel tunes out your cries again, and brushes his nose against your clit as he laves his tongue over you picking up every drop of cum the two of you have spilled on your swollen cunt. his fingers start to curl upwards as he pulls them out, dragging wetness out from the depths of your walls, and you squeal, any pleads that you planned to say have been suddenly erased from your throat at the sudden pain-pleasure that bursts behind your eyes. your core tightens, and you seize against the bed cumming for the third time this night at daniel’s insistence. this is the most intense orgasm all night, and it feels never ending; all of your senses feel like they’re burning hot, nerves tingling from your scalp to your curled toes. what you’ve failed to recognize is that you're gushing all over daniel’s face. he practically gets waterboarded from where he was pressed against your cunt, but once he realizes that he’s made you squirt, he happily starts drinking down each spray of your fluid, uncaring of how his beard is drenched with your release, and how it puddles underneath your ass. 
he swallows you down to the very last drop, plump lips massaging your labia sweetly. he backs off your pussy, switching to your thighs to collect any wetness he missed out on. when your hand tugs at his curls again, pulling him away when the beard burn gets too much, daniel rises to his knees over you. he tugs his cock out of his briefs, the tip flushed the deepest red he’s ever seen it, and it throbs hotly in his grasp. he uses the hand soaked with your squirt to roughly rub himself off, tattooed thigh spasming, and it takes less than ten pumps of his hand before he’s cumming. with every spray of his hot cum that lands against your swollen cunt, your hips jerk—even that feels too much.
when daniel finishes, he moans at the picture he painted on you—would you let him take a picture if he asked? but his fantasy is disrupted when you squirm up the bed, your hand falling to cup protectively over your cunt, thighs tightening around your hand, and you murmur repeatedly, “no more, no more.” max coos quietly from where he’s laying, still just as fucked out as you, but he tries to soothe your cries. he sweetly pulls you into his chest when tears slip out of your eyes, petting at you clumsily, not quite yet having regained complete control of his limbs. “did so good, schatje. daniel did just like he promised—i-if, if you let him clean you up, we can cuddle and go straight to bed, ok? be good, j-just a little longer.”
you sob messily into max’s embrace, but after a few minutes with max and daniel both reassuring you that they’ve finished pulling orgasms out of you, and comfortingly massaging the already setting soreness of your muscles—your cries die down to sniffles, and you slowly spread your legs open for danny. daniel stares at the mess he created this time around, but dismisses the urge to lick it off you; his only goal right now is to properly clean you up, and make sure you go to sleep feeling satisfied and worn-out. as gently as possible, he takes turns wiping both your thighs and cunt, and max’s thighs and cock, switching when either of you says it’s too much. it takes longer than it usually does, but it doesn’t upset daniel as long as it means the two of you are comfortable. 
“okay, okay,” daniel soothes sweetly, “i’m done. you both did so good for me tonight.”
max blushes at the praise, and with a voice as airy as silk, you whisper, “you ‘ere good too, danny—made me feel r’lly good, thank you.” daniel smiles, his heart warming at your sweet words, “thank you, honey. you’re always so sweet to me.”
“now, let’s move this party to the bathroom so both of you can pee, and take a bath before we sleep, i’ll get some snacks for you to eat too,” daniel orders softly, “i took a lot from the two of you tonight—so let me make sure i put you back together, okay?
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worldly-fluster · 1 month ago
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The LADS boys...when you go 'missing'???
(angst with some comedy cause it's fun)
So the plot is: you get tired of being near people, get overwhelmed and overstimulated so you need a bit to yourself...well you forgot to tell a certain someone you went MIA. He...panics? I don't think that's the right word for what he does.
Sylus(featuring the twins), Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel
ALSO-None of you are dating yet in any of these I write. Unless I specifically say so anyway. Lil note at bottom too lol
Sylus-
•So. He is definitely not panicking.
•He sooo knows where you are.
•He tells himself anyway.
•Only to realize that you weren't where he thought you were.
•You were supposed to be at one of his bunkers- your favorite bunker that he has in his possession. He even saw you go in there!
•But you aren't there?!
•The only way you could have left his/Mephisto's sight was if you literally disappeared. Like, poof Lola's gone.
•He looked everywhere in that place for you but he couldn't find a clue so he branched out.
•Poor Mephisto...his poor little wings, having to fly around like a, well, Chicken with its head cut off.
•It was actually a whole TWO days until he remembered that the twins existed and he could get their help.
•They were gone too??
•So, time skip until almost a week- 5 days, 8 hours and 37 seconds on the dot- he wasn't counting- go by and he gets a call from the twins.
•Apparently, they walked in on you having a breakdown and when you asked them for help to get you away from everything for a bit, they couldn't say 'no'.
•And all three of you completely forgot to tell the big boss man. Actually legitimately did forget.
•The twins were panicking about your well-being that they forgot about Sylus until you said you were okay enough to go back.
•lets just say, he was not pleased.
•All three of you- more like the twins only, he couldn't stay mad at you- were 'grounded' until he said so.
Xavier-
•He didn't really think much of you being gone at first, he just figured Jenna sent you on another mission by yourself again. The third time that week.
•Yeah he was worried, but he only got really worried when he asked Tara about it and she said you went on leave.
•He almost immediately signed for his own leave.
•He tried calling, texting, everything. But you didn't answer so he thought the worst.
•Where was his little teddy bear?
•he tried your apartment- he teleported into it and no it wasn't trespassing, he was checking on a friend. What do you take him for? A criminal??
•he tried all your favorite shops, cafe's and even asked Zayne, your doctor, whom had no idea about this but we'll get to his reaction later.
•it was barely two days until he found you.
•at a cat Cafe/bed and breakfast that you told him about in passing a few weeks before.
•He remembered it only because he remembered you were wearing that cute little blue blouse he got you for your birthday a month ago while telling him and he saw someone wearing something similar to it while he was pani-sorry, calmly looking for you.
•Oh he pouted.
•he whined.
•he almost cried.
•so a few head pats and apologies later he was docile and telling you not to do that again, without him anyway.
•he didn't think to ask Jenna about your whereabouts, she knew where you were going the whole time.
Zayne-
•He only realized something was wrong when Xavier popped in asking where you were. Saying he couldn't find you.
•Zayne thinking rationally, first tried to contact you.
•because who would ever ignore their doctor?
•...wait no, you have done that.
•Panic.
•has his own mental breakdown for a few minutes then immediately goes home because life is too much and he needs a bit.
•...why did he find you cuddled in his bed with all the plushies you have given him.
•you're gonna be the death of him, he swears.
Rafayel-
•He noticed immediately.
•boy texts you every other minute because he's bored. Wether it's a meme of a fish or about how sharks eat for free. In this economy?? He thinks not.
•so when you don't text back the normal 'k' within 2 minutes, he calls Thomas to inform him that the assassin sea urchins finally got you and are now after him.
•on a serious note, he is ✨ panicking ✨
•you are officially 'missing' for about a day and a half when he finally gets a message back from you.
•he ignores all messages and calls from you until he sees you in person.
•acts like he doesn't know you but then his act quickly falls apart as he starts whining about it being more than 800 years and something about the assassin urchins being back, crabs wanting vengeance and how barnacles are the new currency of the new age.
•Just text him next time you want a long vacation from everything. He knows the best spots.
##So I might actually write out these things at some point when my brain starts working correctly, who knows when that will happen lol##
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hauntedbythefanficsofmypast · 4 months ago
Text
Dead-ends and Surprise Visits
Masterlist
Of Meetings and Musings
“Welcome back to the channel, GalacticPhantom here and today we’re playing Vikings vs Pirates!” The camera pans over to a ghost pirate ship zooming in on a kid's face. “And we’re gonna kick his—!!!YAAA!!! Oh wait, SKOOOOL!!”  The camera zoomed out to show two large floating ships one obviously an early age pirate ship and the other clearly Viking.
Tim paused the video smirking as his eyes scanned the town below him, noting a few landmarks he’d be able to search out. He hummed before taking a sip from his tea cup. While finally off the mandatory rest, Alfred was still displeased it ended sooner than he wished. That meant Tim was still subjected to his coffee ban, something he’d lamented the last hour. 
He was under the firm belief that the reason it took him fifteen minutes to find this video was because he didn’t get to enjoy his usual three am coffee.
Tim would not be telling Alfred that he thought so, that would be a death wish and he’d be banned from being active in the current, ah ghost hunt?
Tim grimaced at the thought, shaking his head as he didn’t want any association with the GIW, he’ll just refer to it as a manhunt. Sounded slightly worse but less ‘were just gonna decide an entire universe is non-sentient and undeserving of basic rights and protections’.
One last skim over the video had Tim turning back to his notebook noting the areas he had written down.
Nasty Burger
Casper High
Fenton Works
It wasn’t much to go on but Tim had worked with less before so this should be easy work for him.
It was not easy work.
Nasty Burger was a fast food chain said to have completely shut their door in 1974, no reasons were given they all just shut down overnight and disappeared. Any searches just lead to conspiracy theorists talking about how the food chain appeared out of nowhere one day in the seventies. Tim had to give them credence though, he was also scratching his head on how the chain just appeared. It was quoted to have ‘Good food but a creepy vibe, like I don’t really know what I’m eating. They don’t say beef, lamb or chicken, just well, meat patties. It was good though so I didn't question it.’
Tim had a feeling that Nasty Burger was somehow linked to the Infinite Realms, he was convinced Danny’s entire town somehow had a direct link. Of course in order to follow that path he’d have to find the actual town in question!
 Casper High was also a dead-end, it did not exist anywhere, ANYWHERE even in Casper, Wyoming. Where one would expect the high school to be named Casper High! He’d even hacked into government servers to see if the GIW had them in a media and information lock down but there was nothing! The most mentions he could get was that the GIW had been driven out of a town years ago after a few failed attempts of catching a ghost named Inviso-Bill, stating large property damaged that left them deciding to never return. That would've been a lead if they actually mentioned the town in question! Like seriously!! It wasn't even redacted or hidden from clearance, it just wasn't mentioned!
Tim’s last chance was Fenton Works which wasn’t a complete dead-end but still a dead-end. He was able to drag up a little information on them but not much. Jackson Fenton and Madeline Fenton nee Burgess, a couple that got married years ago in a courthouse wedding in Madeline’s hometown of Spittoon, Arkansas. He thought for sure he’d find more but their file was gone, just gone, any existence of them past their home towns was gone including that of their families. He groaned, flopping back on his couch after hitting his third dead-end of the search, even his searching systems were coming up with nothing. Like none of them actually exist, which is impossible because Tim had been watching Danny’s videos for a few months now. That adoption bait definitely existed the question was where the fuck was he.
He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to settle his thoughts before complete unease set over him. Shooting off the couch and into a fighting stance his eyes scanned the room as he pressed his bracelet emergency alert three times. Someone was in the living room with him, someone had been, something was off. Tim could feel it. He didn’t move until Bruce burst through the door and in second he had moved behind his dad and in front of his siblings that stood in the hallway still.
“Someone was here B. I don’t know how but they were and then they were gone in seconds, not even. I had closed my eyes and things immediately felt wrong.” Bruce scanned the room waving Dick and Cass inside, the two oldest immediately doing a top to bottom inspection of every corner trying to find any clue.
“Are you sure Tim? The security systems caught nothing, and I would’ve been notified immediately of a system shut down no matter how small.”
“I’m positive Bruce, I don’t know what happened but someone was in here.” Bruce watched Tim for a second before nodding looking at Duke.
“Can you sit in on your lectures over video call today? I want everyone in pairs until we discover who stepped foot in the manor.
“Sure won’t be an issue. I’ll pair with Tim today since he is working through an investigation. Dick frowned, moving forward wrapping an arm around Damian’s shoulder only earning a fake dirty look.
“I’ll pair with Dami, we already planned an outing to the zoo today. We’ll stop and pick up Babs along the way and bring her back to the manor afterwards.” Bruce nodded, turning to Cass with an upturned eyebrow, the girl hummed before shaking her head. She looked around the room one more time before looking back at him.
“Steph.” She said and the blond was seemingly at her side in seconds grinning, linking their arms together.
“I’ll text Babs for a weekend sleepover so Gordon won’t accuse Dick of trying to date her again!” Steph crowed grinning at Dick who gave her a mock offended look.
“So mean to your favorite older brother! I can’t believe this betrayal.” Steph laughed, punching his shoulder.
“I don’t know about favorite Dickie.” She said, earning a gasp that quickly developed into playful banter between the two most outwardly cheerful of the Batfamily. Bruce smirked slightly before looking at Jason, a suggestion of him and Babs pairing up on his tongue before he noticed the slight glare Jason directed at him.
“Don't even think of it. Babs will be fine with Cass and Steph. We're pairing up assshole, you don't get out of this just because you're the big bad bat.” Bruce thought about arguing for a second but instead just shook his head. A rare fond smile took over his face as he looked at Jason. 
“If you insist Jaylad, we're gonna have so much fun at the Gala tonight. You know a lot have been asking how you're doing, so this will be a perfect opportunity to reconnect with some old friends.” 
“Oh fuck I didn't think this through.” Jason groaned, earning grins from his family as he knew this night would be painful. Alfred knocked on the door calling the attention of the family who quickly clocked a panting Harley Quinn standing beside him.
“Miss Harleen arrived a few moments ago in response to Tim’s distress signal going off. I've assured her everything is being handled but she wished to make sure as well.” Harley gave them a grin as she stood straight walking into the room.
“Messy.” Cass said with a teasing smile as Harley did look very disheveled. One pigtail up with mismatched clothes and one pink and the other blue shoe on.
“Ya know it baby cakes! As soon as I got Birdie the third's signal I rushed over. Brucie gave Pam-a-lamb and I a run down since we could be at the original meeting, I nicked a com from him before he left.” Bruce smirked slightly, rolling his eyes as his kids looked at him surprised.
“Harley has proven to have your health in her best interest since her reform. So yes I let her take a com from me, I knew she'd get to one of you as soon as possible.” Harley grinned before walking over plopping on the couch. She nodded to Alfred as she kicked her shoes off and moved to sit criss-cross. “As you can see she did.”
“Of course! Ya know Bruice and I were close in college before he dropped out! like siblings really along with Crane and a few others! That makes you all my little nieces and nephews!! All the better now that my minds mostly back to normal cause I can spoil and tease you all!” Harley laughed, earning Some grins from the others. She paused, staring at Tim's computer confused. “Hey Timmy, why are you looking up Jackie and Mads? Wow I haven't seen those faces in forever! Look Brucie You remember them right! Jackie, Mads, and good old Vladimir! Though his picture isn't pulled up.” She paused, grabbing a sticky note that Was a glowing neon green. “Sick stick notes I want one, Amity Park? With coordinates too? Is that Where they moved to?” Tim stared at the sticky note in complete shock looking quickly at Bruce.
“That's not mine B-wait wait you know them Harls???” Tim said looking between both of them torn by either examining the note that randomly appeared after Tim’s intruder scare or grilling Harley and Bruce, maybe even Crane as they were his only leads now. Bruce put a hand on his shoulder, halting his runaway thoughts.
“Later, for now let's get this analyzed. Something tells me someone decided to give us a little help finding them.” Tim nodded as he carefully took the sticky note from Harley with a thank you.
‘Latitude: 41° 19' 27.60" N
Longitude: -87° 47' 25.19" W
Amity Park. -CW’
Whoever this CW was somehow managed to get in and out in seconds. Tim's mind was sprinting with all the different possibilities moving about. His determination settled as he handed it off to Bruce who waved Jason along to follow him. He gave Duke a small smile as the other punched his shoulder playfully.
“Let's grab my stuff from my room and we'll settle down here until dinner ya?” Tim nodded moving toward the door with him before turning to Harley.
“Are you staying for dinner?” Harley hummed dramatically before placing her hands on the couch arm and pushing into a handstand.
“Can I invite Ivy over?” She carefully tipped over in a slow back bend before pushing off and landing on her feet. 
“The more the merrier, can she look over the garden though? Damian is trying to grow tomatoes and struggling horribly. He doesn't want to ask her as he feels it beneath him.” Harley snorted as she followed them out the door, all three ignoring Damian's indignant yelling.
“She’d love to, you know how she is with plants!” Tim nodded before grinning abit deviously.
“And while we wait you can tell me about Jack and Maddie Fenton and what B was like in college.”
“Oh you got yourself a deal there Birdie!” 
Danny stared blankly at Clockwork, who acted as if he didn't even notice. His mentor was in his teenage form, Danny knew it meant something, if only the Titan would acknowledge it. The others on the Council glanced between the two a few times until Frostbite decided To speak up.
“Your Majesty, you rarely call Council meetings, might I enquire on why this meeting has been called.” Danny stared a little harder at Clockwork before sighing and turning back to the others.
“Thank you all for coming so suddenly, I know it was last minute and I apologize.”
“My Lord apologies are not needed! Anything that is this important to you is something we are thankful to be privy to!” Pandora said confidently grinning at Danny who smiled appreciatively. 
“I am still very thankful. I was hoping Clockwork would help clue us in but I can see he has chosen to keep his end quiet.” Danny sighed slightly knowing whatever was happening was important. “As you know my full title clues me in when spoken aloud. As we use this when I am needed for things in the Realm. Early today someone not of the Realm used my full title.” Ghost Writer hummed, crossing his arms leaning back.
“Could it have been someone in Amity Park?” Danny shook his head with a sigh as he thought about it.
“No, I would've felt the proximity, and given how close I'd be, would've known who spoke of me like I can with our people. This was further much further and by someone I don't know. It left me rather stumped and uncomfortable.” Danny paused for a moment glancing at Clockwork, who kept a serene expression. “Given that Clockwork is still silent, I can only hope that means I have nothing to really worry about.”
Princess Dorathea looked between the two before giving Danny a serene and gentle smile.
“Well, I believe we must not fear this too much. If it was something truly dangerous I am certain Lord Clockwork would alert us immediately. Perchance it is just some new magics being told of who rules our Realm, please fear not My King.” Pandora nodded along enthusiastically, still grinning, causing the other to smile as well.
“Perhaps we should have a few of the guards patrol Amity Park.” Frostbite announced after a moment of thought. “I have no doubt Princess Dorathea is correct but I can still see the worry in your posture. Amity Park is officially a part of the Realms, so I have little fear of it being found. Especially with Royal Secretary Foley adding his own intense firewalls.” Tucker nodded in conformation as he put his PDA down.
“I think that would be a good idea, have a few patrols. I am not overly worried. I've essentially wiped the town off the maps, it can only be found by chance and  coincidence.” Danny nodded, thinking it over before giving them one of his normal bright smiles.
“Alright, then we are in agreement? Moving forward I will have five Knight patrol Amity Park throughout the day. Knight Wes will obviously remain with me so I will have Fight Knight pick four Knights to patrol with him. Now with that determined, why don't we have lunch together?” A chorus of agreements sounds from around the table.
Past, Present, and that of Space
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rqgnarok · 2 years ago
Text
delicate - jamie tartt
fandom: ted lasso
wc: 3,589
warnings: no mentions of specific pronouns for reader, jamie being a lil self deprecating, mentions of his dad, allusions to smut but, like, barely. set in season 2.
summary: jamie hadn’t planned on dating. his reputation’s never been worse. but then he met you.
masterlist / ao3 / ko-fi
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Jamie’s nervous.
This shouldn’t even be happening. Dating had been the last thing on his mind after his life fell apart. Leaving Man City, joining and being kicked out of a reality show, and coming back to Richmond with his tail between his legs– it had all been a domino effect; a very bad, terrible, decision after another. 
Jamie hadn’t planned on dating. His reputation’s never been worse. But then he met you. 
He’d gone out to some dive bar with a so-called friend of his– some guy he met during the production of Love Island that loved weed and Jamie’s connections– on a fucking Tuesday, of all days. Jamie was supposed to be in bed because training started at 7 sharp the next morning, and the last thing he needed was to show up late and tired. Instead, he’d been in a back alleyway behind a club downtown, moping and drinking his third fruity drink of the night, sweet and heavy with alcohol. 
It was a stupid idea, but he was lonely. The certified-prick plaque that he usually wore so proudly wasn’t so shiny anymore and his dad had been blowing up his phone about everything he was doing wrong– what he wore, how he combed his hair, who he hung out with, the failures that landed him back at Richmond. 
Jamie had been in need of alcohol and human company and up to that point of the night he was 50% on his way. He was considering finishing his drink and calling it a night when the muffled beat of the music inside the building exploded behind him, becoming so much louder it rattled his teeth.
Someone came out the back door, he realized. You; pretty with your own drink in hand, looking around. Your eyes fell on him and he sat a little straighter on the curb, unsure of what kind of attention he was gonna get.
You blinked. “Oh. Hi. I wasn’t expecting anyone here.”
“Sorry,” he answered automatically. He’d been doing a lot of apologies as of late. “Was a bit stuffy in there, ain’t it? It’s usually alone in here.”
He expected his accent to be a dead giveaway, gearing himself up for a photo or an autograph or a rant about something he’d done to upset you somehow. Instead, you smiled at him and turned towards the ground, shy.
Cute, Jamie had thought. He’d been doomed from the start. 
“Yeah. Don’t know what we were thinking, going out on a Tuesday,” you’d rolled your eyes, referring to the group of friends that had refused to take no for an answer and dragged you clubbing not even halfway through the week. “Like a hangover’s exactly what I need to get through this week.”
“That bad, huh,” Jamie raised his eyebrows in amusement, watching you huff and puff under the streetlight the back of the club offered. He hoped you couldn’t see him very well, his dark jeans and Nikes along with his designer shirt were pretty much footballer prick Jamie Tartt’s trademark, recognizable even to the worst of drunks. But Jamie didn’t want to be recognized, he just wanted to talk to someone. 
“You wouldn’t believe me,” you huffed, sipping your drink and obviously giving him an out. You’d both come out here for some peace and quiet, after all, but Jamie was done with quiet. 
He wanted his friends back. He wanted his efforts to be noticed, for his dad to leave him alone, and to enjoy the company of a pretty stranger at the back of a bar. 
So instead of following your cue, he patted the spot next to him, looking up at you with an attentive expression. “Try me.”
And so you did. You sat next to him and talked until three in the morning. Suddenly the bar was closing and the dark cloud that hung over Jamie’s head for months was momentarily dispersed in your presence. He went home with your number on a napkin and less than four hours to catch up on sleep before he had to go to work, but a happy man.
And, okay, look. Jamie’s popularity is– in the dumps, really. It’s all negativity at this point, and he usually balanced it with good football, but that was back when he took any honest criticism of his person as petty jealousy. Now, with his shattered self-image and after becoming the internet’s laughing stock, he’s been trying his best to keep his head down
since the media and most of England trashes him whenever he dares to take a breath in public. 
At least his mum’s talking to him again, or rather Jamie’s finally picking up when she calls, but things still don’t feel right. He’s playing and getting enough minutes but it’s not a victory if he can’t hug his teammates when he scores a goal. If he comes home to an empty apartment and no messages on his phone, no one to celebrate the night with. 
So, pretty much everyone hates him. Even Keeley’s bordering on forced politeness these days, which says a lot about how badly Jamie’s done it this time, and yet–
And yet. 
“The fuck are you smiling about?” Isaac grunted when he caught sight of Jamie biting back a grin while typing, lacking his usual bruv. Still in the doghouse, apparently. “Won’t kill you to be early for once, ey? Put that fucking thing away.”
Jamie did, not before a quick look at his texts before pressing send.
hey 
its jamie from the bar??
was wondering if u wanted to go out sometime. i really enjoyed spending the other night with u
He spent all training missing his cues, taking fouls from his teammates, and making Ted’s mustache twitch with… not disappointment but something. It made him a little nervous, but any thought about it flew out his head when he got his hands on his phone at the end of the day, your notifications on his lock screen.
Hi, I’d love to!
I really enjoyed being with you too :) 
Is tomorrow night too early?
It wasn’t. But your schedules were nightmares to line up and you spent almost three weeks trying to catch up to each other. You had a work thing, Jamie came back too tired from a game, you had a friend visit, another game was rescheduled… You name it. Anything that could’ve stopped that date from happening happened. 
But neither of you were giving up. While you couldn’t see each other, your text thread grew and grew and grew, never running out of things to talk about. Despite having seen you only once in person, Jamie was pretty sure he knew you better than he’d ever know other girlfriends and boyfriends he’d had. 
When you texted him to get a good night's sleep and when he told you to get home safe, he pretended, only with a little shame, that this was something you did all the time. That when you were on your way to your place he’d be there waiting for you, asleep on the couch because he tried to stay up for you. When you wished him sweet dreams he’d imagine you next to him, tucked close against his side.
He pretended he was yours. All the damn time.  
And this– today– when the planets finally align and a version of his illusions happens to come true, he’s nervous. Can’t help it, no matter how well it’s going. And it is going well, with Jamie in your apartment where you’d set up a nice dinner for both of you, the date you’ve been talking about for almost a month. He would’ve suggested his own place, but it’s filled with football memorabilia and awards he doesn’t want to explain yet. 
He likes how you treat him. You talk to him like he’s a normal bloke you met at a bar and not a celebrity you’re too afraid to even joke around with. 
“Oh, dinner looks ace, love.”
“Yeah? If I accidentally poison you at least it’ll taste good.”
“I’ll die chuffed, at least.”
A snort. “You’re so fucking British.”
“Oh, bug off, please! Thanks! Cheerio!”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Didn’t know you were so religious.”
“What can I say, Jay, you make me feel closer to God.”
“Ha! Haven’t even kissed you, yet.”
“You seem awfully confident.”
“Night’s very young, angelface.”
It’s so easy, being with you. Being himself with you. 
So what if you barely even know each other? He already knows all about your childhood dog and you’ve been made aware of what’s it like to grow up in Manchester. But shit, just because Jamie wants to bare his soul to you maybe it doesn’t mean he should. He could at least wait until you’ve seen each other in person more than twice, and yet.
And yet. 
He’s at your place, looking at your record collection, running his fingers over the spines of the books on your shelves. He just ate the pizza you cooked– vegan, because he did mention sometime in the past weeks that he’s on a strict diet regime and the fact that you remembered makes him wanna cry a little. 
He likes you so much. Doesn’t he owe it to you to be honest?
“I gotta tell you something,” he pipes up, obviously catching you off-guard.
“Alright,” you say slowly, leaving your wine glass on the coffee table and scooting to give him space on the couch, arms wrapped around your legs. “Sure. Shoot.”
Jamie sits, messing with his hair and avoiding your eye. He looks behind you at the picture frame hanging on the wall, a photo of you with your friends on a trip you took to the States last summer. The stories you told about them made him laugh so hard that he’d snorted and spilled his drink everywhere.
“I didn’t know how…” he sighs, figuring there’s no use beating around the bush. “Haven’t been completely honest with you, love. About… what I do. Who I am.”
“Jamie–” you begin, consoling and standing up straighter, reaching to place your hand on his arm. He shakes his head.
“I just– I didn’t know how to tell you,” he rushes out, meeting your eye with a pleading expression. How scared he must look right now he doesn’t know, but your features soften even further into something sympathetic, kind. He doesn’t deserve you. “And– and I know we– we’ve barely gone out, yeah, but I– I like you. Fuck, man, I like you so much, but you deserve to know–”
“Jamie,” you say again, firmer. You duck your head to try and meet his eye, searching for his stare. You’re still smiling. You haven’t stopped smiling at him since you met him. “I know. If this is about you being… famous, I know, okay? About everything.”
The anxiety that’s been clawing at his throat freezes and fades, just a little. “You… do?”
Your smile turns sheepish, a little guilty. “I… kind of recognized you the night we met. It took me a minute, but I knew I’d seen you somewhere. Your voice helped, too. I think I’d recognize it anywhere.”
“Oh,” he says, feeling like an idiot. He still wants to cry a little, but it’s less hysterical now. He manages to feel safe in your apartment, a space that screams you everywhere he turns to look. Your photos and posters on the walls, your chipped mugs in the kitchen, your colorful rug under your coffee table with one leg shorter than the others, held up with books underneath it. 
“I sound like a creep,” you admit, embarrassed yourself. “I’m a fan of the sport, is all. But I figured you wouldn’t like to talk about your life with a stranger, so I didn’t push. I’m sorry.”
Jamie shakes his head, finally reaching for the hand you have on his arm. You haven’t been a stranger since that first night. “Don’t be. I should’ve told you from the start. You deserve better than that.”
“Than… you?” Jamie doesn’t reply. His jaw tightens and your voice turns reproachful. “Jamie–”
“The public hates me,” he cuts you off. He hates to say it but you need to hear it. Even if you think you know what his life’s like right now, you don’t know the depth of the mess he’s in. “You… being seen with me will probably ruin your life. Wasn’t fair of me to ask you out and not tell you what comes with it.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Jamie,” you say, instantly fierce and defensive of him. You’re defending him for some reason, and you don’t know half of the things he’s done. “Not the truth, not a damn thing. You don’t need to put your whole life on display just to get me to… to trust you, or something.”
Tears blur his eyesight, but he refuses to cry in front of you. Not on the first date at least. Or is it the second one? Does your late night at the dive bar even count as a date?
“Love,” he says gently, threading lightly. “I’m serious. Wasn’t bluffing when I said I like you. A lot. And I know it’s only been, like, one date–”
“Two,” you pipe in. Jamie can’t help his amusement. That answers his question, he guesses. 
“Two dates, then,” he continues, rubbing soothing circles on your knuckles with his thumb. Your eyes go back and forth from his face to the touch, mesmerized. “But this could be somethin’, you know? Somethin’ good and I don’t want you comin’ into it blind or whatever. I’m not– I ain’t exactly a good person.”
You don’t even blink. “I don’t believe that.”
You’re stubborn. It’d be endearing if Jamie wasn’t so convinced of his shortcomings. “Love, I’m a twat. I’m mean to everyone I know, even people I like. I don’t tip enough at restaurants. Never been a very good boyfriend either. ‘m not sayin’ it to be mean. ‘s just who I am.”
You cup his face with your free hand and Jamie melts into it. It’s the first caring touch he’s been offered in fuck knows how long. “What if I like who you are? Public suicide and all, what if I want to be with you? What if you make me happy, Jamie?”
Jamie can’t see how he would but he doesn’t you to leave, either. Like, ever. “You make me happy, too. It’s like I know you already you know?. From a past life or somethin’, does that make sense?”
Your shocked silence makes him hesitate, his hands twitching in discomfort. “Is that… cool?”
“Cool,” you say, eyes full of wonder and voice a little emotional, pulling him closer before he can do something stupid like let you go. “Jamie, I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I met you.” 
A pleasant surprise washes over him, warm. He says, a little choked. “Cool. That’s– that’s cool.”
You grin, trying not to laugh, and cup the back of his neck to bring his mouth to yours. “Cool.”
There’s little talking after that, and who would’ve known your couch is the perfect make out spot? Jamie’s mouth is pilant and responsive against yours, his hands wandering for any skin he can reach and making tiny sounds at the back of his throat that you swallow greedily, unable to get enough of him. 
He leaves your place that night disheveled and happy, kissing you goodbye at least five times (two of them in the hallway before he finally scurries off) and not without making you promise to watch Richmond’s game this weekend. 
It takes you a little too long to clean up after, even if Jamie did wash the dishes you used during dinner (“what kinda guest would I be if I didn’t help? Ma would have a heart attack!”) because you keep bringing your fingers to your lips, tilted upwards in a dreamy smile. 
You make it work. Both you and Jamie continue with your lives trying to be subtle about this new development and a new routine is created; he comes to your place after most games and training unless he’s too tired. Then you meet him at his house, avoiding taking the same roads in case the paparazzi get a bit too creative. 
It’s a little weird. Definitely new, but you find yourself trying to spend as much time as you can with Jamie. Dates at smaller spots and at weird hours; he even takes you running at 4 am once, to which you responded with never again and I’ll forgive you for doing this to me if we share a shower. Needless to say, the early morning wasn’t a total loss.
But your homes turn out to be the safest places to turn to. He becomes ingrained in your apartment as do the flowers he buys for you and puts in a vase on your kitchen table: red chrysanthemums and white clovers, daffodils and heliotropes, blue salvia. 
You once use his phone to order takeout and he has a website on flowers and their meanings open. When he sees you carefully put some of the flowers in a book for safe-keeping, Jamie's face fills you with a need to keep him safe, too, coped up in your home and away from the world that keeps asking too much of him.
His teammates are warming up to him, albeit slowly. Jamie has reassured you he’s alright, that he knows mending the bridges he’d burned on his way out of Richmond will take longer than he’d like, but he’s hopeful about the way things are turning out. 
You feel bad sometimes for keeping him distracted at such pivotal moments in his life of self-reinvention, but he outright refused when you offered to distance yourself a little so he could spend more time with the friends he very clearly cared much about. He was almost offended about it.
We could wait if you want. Maybe it’s too soon to do this yet. I know it’s a delicate situation Jamie, and I don’t wanna rush you into anything.
I don’t wanna wait, Jamie had answered, stubborn. He tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear, pressing you against the kitchen counter. His eyes wouldn’t leave your face. I want you. 
And he has you. Completely and undeniably; this thing between you, this relationship, however delicate, becomes steadier as time passes. You’re already talking about meeting his mom and taking him back to your hometown for a visit, possibilities Jamie could never have dreamed of when he first met you. 
You’d told him during those first dates how unpredictable relationships could be. And neither of you can deny how your personal situation makes things even harder, but that doesn’t mean you’re not willing to try. 
I can’t make any promises of what’ll happen next. No one knows shit these days, Jamie. But I can be with you. And I can make you a drink, if you want. 
He tells you about his dad, too, eventually. In his effort to be more honest with you, even if you tell him multiple times he’s got nothing to make up for. He tells you anyway, wrapped in your arms on your couch while a movie plays in the background, the only source of light in the room. 
Me dad weren’t… you know. Good, or whatever. He’s always thought ‘m too soft and shit. And when I try not to be I… I’m someone I’m not, y’know? Someone I don’t like.
It puts a lot of things into perspective. About when you first met and how he later tried to push you away, convinced he was a terrible person and you wouldn’t want to be with him if you truly knew him. 
What you do want is to track down his dad and, like, throw a brick at his window or something. But you only embrace Jamie tighter, kiss his hair, and don’t mention how tightly he holds your arms to keep them around his torso. If he cries a little, then that’s between you and God, and you’ll die before you ever make fun of him for it.
You wake up one morning to find Jamie staring at you, eyes lidded and sleepy. 
“Dreamin’ of me, angel?”
Your first action of the day is to snort thanks to your fantastic boyfriend. “You wish, handsome.”
“I do wish,” he grins wolfishly. You see his hand sliding through the sheets, moving smoothly and calculated towards your naked body. 
“If you think I’m up for anything before you get some food in me, you’re gonna be awfully disappointed,” glee shines on Jamie’s face and you push it away with your hand, groaning at his dirty-mindedness. “Food, you shameless bastard, I said food. How do you get anything done with your mind stuck in the gutter all the time?”
“Takes some effort,” he says, pride unhurt and still reaching for you. You relent quickly enough, loving the feeling of his hands on you. “Come on, babe, I’ve gotta be up for trainin’ in an hour. We’ve more than enough time, huh?”
“That depends,” you support your head in your hand, elbow digging into your pillow. “What’s in it for me?”
“C’mere and I’ll show ya,” he promises, an endearing frown on his features. “What’re you doin’ all the way over there, anyway?”
He pulls you towards him with ease and you let yourself be caged in his arms, kiss after kiss after kiss.
________
AHHHH HERE IT IS, HERE IT IS
i hope you like it! i kept ya’ll waiting a little but the response was insane!!! i wanted to give you the best i could write AND i wanted to use this fic to thank you for 1.1k! thank you for making me feel so welcome when venturing back into writing and for trusting me with your favorite characters <3 and prepare yourselves bc im making myself put as many fics out this month as i can!
<3
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girliism · 5 months ago
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arts mistress this patrick’s mistress that. what about tashi’s mistress???
what about the pretty girl she keeps up in a nice apartment. paying her bills and college tuition. tashi didn’t mean for it to go so far when she saw you at the bar.
you were there trying to clear your head after a long day at work when you saw tashi out the corner of your eye. she was drinking a glass of wine you were on your third shot. she brought you to an expensive hotel when most guys would have settled for fucking you in the alley.
every saturday you would meet her at that same bar then she’s take you to that same expensive hotel and make you cum all night.
that was months ago now you get to have her at her house when art’s away golfing with his friends and lily’s at her friends.
tashi always smelled good and she tasted even better. you could spend the rest of your days like this. in tashi’s huge bed your head between her thighs licking eagerly at her pussy tashi’s hands tugging on your hair as she makes the prettiest sounds. “so good baby.” she grinding into your face chasing her high.
you always let tashi be on top when scissoring cause she so good at it and cause she likes taking care of you. she’s moving her hips working her clit over yours and it’s got you whining and moaning like a whore. you cum with her fingers in her mouth swirling your tongue around them.
the two of you lay together for awhile lazily kissing before she’s checking the time. “you’ve got to go arts gonna be home soon with lily.”
art donaldson. her husband who you hate. yet you cyberstalk him constantly watching interview after interview match after match trying to see what tashi saw and still sees in him. i’d be so much better to her. you think.
your life was pretty good. your college tuition being taken care of your boss finally treating you better. and tashi. you’ve never loved anyone more than you love tashi. that’s why it hurt so bad when she came back from new rochelle with news.
“i wanna focus more on my marriage with art.” what. she’s sitting next to you explaining how she can’t see you anymore but you can keep the apartment and she’ll still pay your tuition. “but i thought you loved me.” you whisper. she grabs your face with her soft hands pulling you to face her. “of course i love you, you know that. but you also know this couldn’t last forever. you’re so young and i have a family a commit. i’m sorry.”
you spend one last night together but you wake up naked and alone.
you get super depressed after that becoming almost zombie like. ignoring friends never leaving your house except for work and school. how could she just leave me like that.
you knew how.
you’re at the park one day sitting on a bench when you see art. he’s getting ice cream with lily. if only he were out of way you could have tashi and lily. the three of you a perfect family.
it’s so tragic when lily’s nanny takes a really bad tumble down the stairs one day and the donaldsons have no one to watch their daughter.
you accidentally bump into art and lily at the bakery one day. you tell him what a cute daughter he has and he tells you how him and his wife recently lost their nanny. “she tripped and broke her neck. she’ll be ok but she won’t be able to watch lily for awhile if ever.”
“what a shame.” you pout faking your remorse before jumping to tell him how you use to babysit all the time and could use some extra cash. he says he’ll have to run it by his wife.
tashi ok’s it. so you show up at the big mansion you’ve been to hundreds of times for your test day with lily.
when tashi opens the door her heart drops. she hasn’t seen you in months and now you’re here to see if you’re a good fit to nanny her daughter. you’ve got an innocent smile pasted on your face as you introduced yourself to her and reintroduced yourself to art.
you and lily get along great as tashi and art watch from the kitchen. “so do you like her?” “what.” tashi is all jumpy and arts gives her a weird look. “do like her for lily? looks like she could be a good fit.” before tashi could answer you walk over asking where the bathroom is. “i’ll show her.” tashi insist.
tashi’s arm is brushing against yours as she walks next to you. butterflies erupt in your stomach. you’ve missed her so much. “what the hell do you think you’re doing.” tashi corners you. “what do you mean? i’m here for lily. your husband said she need a new nanny i wanted to help.” “cut the bullshit. i told you it was over. i want you say you changed your mind. that you don’t want the job anymore.” how can she talk to you this way when all you’ve ever done is love her?
you soft face hardens as you stand up straighter. “i can’t do that tash. cause then i’ll be forced to tell art about everything and ruin your marriage.” she squints her eyes at you. “i only did this is to show that we can still be together while you’re with him. i just i love you so much tash.” you smash your lips on to hers holding her face so she can’t move away.
like muscle memory tashi immediately starts kissing you back, hand holding your waist. your lips and tongues getting reacquainted after so much time apart. “this can’t happen.” tashi whispers against your mouth but makes no moves to stop.
your hand starts to slide into her pants when she rips away from you. “go to the bathroom and when you come out tell art you don’t think will work out.” with that’s she walks away from you leaving again.
you stand there for a moment before collecting yourself and going back into the main room.
“so, lily likes you a lot and from what we can see you’re really great with her it’s just a matter of do you still want the job.” art says to you while he and tashi lead you to the door as the end has ended. tashi gives you a look but you ignore it. smiling all big bright you say back. “of course i still want the job lily us amazing i can’t want become apart of this family.” your eyes flick over to tashi she does not look happy.
“great that’s great! isn’t it tash.” tashi just nods her head eyes never leaving your. what is your game here? “we’ll email you the schedule you can start on monday.” art smiles kindly at you. “oh thank you so much you won’t regret this.” you throw yourself into his arms nuzzling your face into his neck looking tashi dead in the eye. maybe i can get to her through her idiot husband.
they wish you good night as you walk to the car but you don’t leave. you sit in your car watching the house as the lights turn off one by one for the night.
(this was originally supposed to be cute and fun but who’s wants that when you can have obsessed mistress reader trying to single white female art. 😁)
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avatar-anna · 10 months ago
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Workday Blues
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2024 Masterlist
i wrote this weeks ago after a co-worker had me seeing red lol
"I just don't get it, H," you sighed, leaning back against the leather seat of your car as you waited for the light to change. Your voice felt strained, and you knew you sounded whiny, but you couldn't help it. After a long shift at work, you told yourself you reserved the right to complain. "Why can't people just, I don't know, do the job they showed up to do and get paid for?"
"I'm sorry, bub," Harry said, his voice tinny as it filled up your car. "Did you talk to your manager?"
You scoffed. "There's no point, but I swear I wanted to tell them I didn't want to work that shift anymore. I'm just so sick of—of—doing more than what's required of me and not being compensated for it."
Harry remained quiet over the phone. At this point in your relationship, he knew when you wanted his advice and when you just needed to vent about your job. The latter happened more and more as of late. Sometimes you felt bad for being so negative, but after nine hours of being overly positive as a restaurant server, you didn't have much positivity left in you.
"Need me to leave you a review again?" Harry finally asked.
Despite your exhaustion, you smiled. "What's that, now? The third one this month?"
"Fourth. Three and a half. I had Mitch leave one after the, what did you call it, 'influencer incident?'" he asked, referring to an afternoon where someone tried to pay for their meal by posting a video online.
"Hm. I'll have to bring him a slice of pie the next time I visit the studio."
"Hey, what about me? Where's my pie?"
Grin widening a bit, you said, "I'll give you something better."
"And...how far from home are you now?"
"Pulling in right now. I'll see you inside."
You pulled into the home you shared with Harry, resting your forehead against the steering wheel once the car was in park. Your feet hurt, you smelled like the food your restaurant served, and you desperately needed to take your makeup off. Sometimes you wondered why you were still putting yourself through all of this, and Harry definitely did too. For years now, Harry promised to take care of you, to take care of your student debt so you could focus on your career and not be so tired and unhappy. He didn't say it often because it typically led to an argument about independence and needing to be able to take care of yourself, but you knew how he felt, and after days like today, the idea of letting someone else take care of you financially seemed more appealing than it normally did.
Sighing, you slid out of the car, gathering your lunch bag and purse before shuffling into the house on slippered feet. "H?" you called, eyes lighting up when you heard the sound of nails scraping against wood floors. A shadow of jet black fur whipped around the corner and bounded toward the entrance hall to you, tongue out and tail wagging.
"Hi, pookie! How's my sweet boy?" you cooed. Hades nudged your leg with his nose, and you bent down to run your hands over his soft puppy fur until he eventually fell onto his back in need of belly rubs.
"You talking to me?" Harry's voice sounded like it came from the kitchen, which you followed once you straightened up and your dog was finished licking your face.
"You're gonna eat your words when you get your cute butt over here."
"I live with two boys, and only one of them greets me excitedly without fail. You do the math," you joked.
You smiled and shook your head at the comment. Harry knew your feelings about your "unflattering" work uniform, so he often went out of his way to compliment you whenever you were in it.
When you finally made it to where Harry was standing at the kitchen counter, tears nearly welled up in the corners of your eyes. "Is that—"
"Wild Cherry Pepsi," he said, his grin wide and knowing as he read your expression. "With pebbled ice. And dinner, but I know you care more about the drink with that sugar addiction of yours."
"You know me so well," you said, your voice rising in pitch as your head bowed.
"Aw, come here, bub." You shuffled over the last few steps to Harry, folding right into his welcoming embrace.
His body was firm and comforting against yours, his t-shirt soft beneath your cheek. Breathing in deep, you wrapped your arms around Harry's torso, letting every frustration you felt at work fall away as he held you.
"Thank you," you mumbled, tilting your head up after a minute or two had passed.
Harry smoothed his hand over your hair and down your back, pulling at the hair tie that held your braid in place all day. "For what?"
You shrugged, eyes closed as he began to pull the strands of your braid apart. "I don't know. For being you, for not suggesting I should quit when I know you want to."
"Another time," Harry promised. Pulling out a chair at the kitchen table, he gestured for you to sit down. You practically fell into the chair, feeling like you could finally relax as you took the plastic to-go cup into your hands and took a sip. Your eyes closed, feeling as though you could fall asleep right then even though you knew you should probably eat. As if he could tell you were on the brink of sleeping, Harry asked, "Do you want to keep talking about work or are you ready to forget?"
Harry wasn't being rude, nor was he belittling your frustration. You'd done this song and dance a time or two, but some days required you to vent more than others.
Around the straw, you said, "Can I?"
He sat beside you, taking Hades in his lap, who was happy to be held even though he was getting way too big for it. Usually, you chided Harry for holding Hades like that, but you were too tired, and honestly, it was kind of cute.
You talked while you ate, and Harry listened, letting you get everything you needed off your chest. He was quiet but attentive, apologizing for things out of his control and cursing your co-workers when you did. None of it would really improve the situation at work, but you always appreciated Harry's willingness to listen when you needed him to, and share in your anger and frustration when necessary.
Standing from the table, you took your plate and put everything in the dishwasher. Grabbing your plastic cup in one hand and Harry's hand in the other, you said, "I think I'm all done."
Harry kissed your temple before pulling you up the stairs toward your bedroom. Hades snaked between you and him to run ahead, waiting on the landing impatiently. "Good, because the Real Housewives of Salt Lake City won't wait for just anyone."
"Not a reading night, huh?" you asked, resting your head on his shoulder. Harry looked down and raised his brows in an expression that expressed he was not, in fact, going to be cracking open his book tonight. Kissing his cheek, you said, "Go ahead and start the next episode, baby. I'm gonna hop in the shower and wash my day off."
Harry, who'd been on his way to do just that, paused and frowned. "Well now I want to watch something else."
Grinning, you held out your hand while you continued to sip your drink. "Come on."
Hades, who had already claimed his spot at the edge of your bed, tilted his head to one side, clearly confused as to why his parents were walking away instead of joining him. "We'll be quick," you promised, even though you knew your dog didn't understand. But the message was for Harry too.
When you were finally in bed, watching Harry's show through eyes that were struggling to stay open, you looked up from where you resting against his shoulder. Harry's glasses were perched on his nose, his eyes focused on the television in front of him as he ran his hand idly over Hades' fur, who had conveniently found his way onto your lap once you settled into bed for the night.
"If you insist," Harry said on an exhale, turning the shower on and setting it to a temperature he knew you both liked.
"Be honest," you said suddenly. "I'd be happier if I quit, right?"
Harry was quiet, but you knew he'd heard you. He was just weighing his words. "Is another job lined up in this alternate universe?" he finally asked.
"I don't know, maybe. They argue quite a bit, though. Don't think you want to be part of all that drama," he replied, taking the remote and pausing his show. He looked down at you, eyes soft but perhaps a little concerned. You'd never considered his offer of letting him provide for you this seriously before. "Honestly? I think you'd get bored, bub."
You shrugged. "I don't know. You've said you'd always take care of me. What if I just...let you? I could be one of them," you mused, nodding your head at the women on your TV.
A nod and a noncommittal hum was your only response for a few seconds until you'd gathered your thoughts. "I'm just so...tired. I'm tired of everything I do not being appreciated. I'm tired of not being supported. I love my regulars and I like most of my co-workers, and part of me feels a sense of loyalty to this place despite, well, everything."
"We'll do some job hunting tomorrow," Harry said. "I'll help you update your resume, you'll send some feelers out, and we'll go from there. How does that sound?"
"I could get a remote job," you mused. "I'd get to be home more. I could travel more with you."
Harry kissed the top of your head. "As much as I would love that, I think your strengths lie in the connections you make with people. You certainly charmed the pants off me."
"Literally or metaphorically?"
"Both."
You grinned, cheeks reddening as you recalled the night you first met Harry.
*.*
"Holy shit you're Harry Styles."
Your hand immediately clapped over your mouth, as if physically covering it would keep you from embarrassing yourself further. In your defense, it was the first time a celebrity sat in your section at work, and no one had thought to warn you. And Harry Styles, no less. The man in front of you was probably still immortalized on your childhood bedroom wall, and now you'd all but outed yourself as a fan when he'd no doubt wanted some privacy.
"I'm so sorry, I—" How were you supposed to recover from this? Harry stared at you with a small smile, a pitying one, no doubt. God, you had one opportunity to act cool in front of a celebrity and you blew it in less than ten seconds. "I'm sorry, let me start over. Hi, I'm Y/n, and I'll be taking care of you today. Can I get you something to drink?"
"Just a water please," Harry replied, his voice soft as his smile widened, which made you think that perhaps he thought you making an absolute fool out of yourself was at the very least amusing.
Once you made it back to the service station to retrieve his water glass, you gave yourself exactly one minute to collect yourself. "He's just another customer. An extremely attractive customer," you murmured, grabbing a pitcher of water from the fridge. "You can do this, Y/n. Pull yourself together."
From there, things went smoothly. You acted like you hadn't freaked out when you initially greeted Harry's table, and Harry was thankfully on board with that plan. He was polite, wasn't fussed when a dish he wanted couldn't be made vegetarian, and was surprisingly interested in making conversation with you anytime you were at his table.
"How long have you worked here?"
"Too long," you joked. "Sometimes I feel like there's a bit of Stockholm Syndrome with this place, but the tips are good."
Your eyes widened a bit when you realized he might think you were making a joke about one of his songs—which you absolutely weren't trying to do—but you didn't comment on it, and thankfully neither did he. You talked a little bit more about the career you did want to get into, and casually asked what brought him to the restaurant you worked at. It wasn't one celebrities tended to frequent, but perhaps that was its charm to Harry.
"Had a day to myself, just thought I'd do some exploring," he explained before you left him to enjoy his meal.
You'd gotten a couple more tables since then and couldn't go over and talk to Harry like you wanted, but perhaps that was for the best. You flitted around the restaurant floor like you always did, charming customers and taking complaints in stride with a smile. Tips were key, and snarky comments or not being accommodating would get you nowhere with certain customers, even if it did kill you inside just a little bit to see an insufferable person get their way.
You didn't realize it at the time, but according to Harry, he watched you—not in a creepy way, per his recollection of your first meeting. He watched you chat with regulars and help your co-workers place orders and carefully placate disgruntled customers. And all the while, you still managed to stop by his table, smiling and topping off the coffee he ordered after he ate, which, according to him he'd done just so he could keep talking to you.
Apparently, he'd been working up the courage to flirt with you when you finally set the check down on the table. "No rush," you said with a smile before heading to another table, a party of ten that you accidentally huffed to him was supposed to be a party of five.
Harry paid, then smiled when his bill and credit card came back to him. Sorry for acting like an idiot earlier. It was nice meeting you! you'd written on the receipt, adorning it with a smiley face. You watched as Harry smiled as he read your note from Expo before one of the line cooks shouted at you to run the food that was up.
You didn't think you'd ever see Harry again, a universal truth, some might've called it. But for some reason, the notion disappointed you, and not because you didn't get a picture with your teenage crush. It felt bigger than that somehow, which was altogether crazy considering you'd only just met him.
So imagine your surprise when you saw him again two days later. "He was supposed to be in my section, but he insisted on yours. Don't fuck it up," one of your more vile co-workers told you, clearly jealous. And as you saw him, his head bent over the menu and his knee bouncing beneath the booth, your heart leaped in your chest in a way that made you both nervous and excited.
"You forgot something," he said as he closed out his check for the second time that week. Time had passed in a blur, despite it slowing down every time you went over to talk to him, which was to say a lot. It wasn't as busy as the day he first came in, leaving you no choice but to check on him more than you normally would.
"Did I?" you asked, looking down at the bill with furrowed brows.
"Last time I was here, I mean," Harry corrected.
Last time, you thought. All Harry had gotten was a salad and a coffee, but the tip he left was well over half of what your other tables had left that day combined. But you rang everything in correctly. Perhaps he was expecting a discount for his celebrity status? He didn't seem like the type, but that was the only conclusion you were able to draw.
"The note you left," he continued, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. He sat up straighter, giving you a better view of the Keith Harring shirt he wore. "It didn't have your number on it, so I've had to come back the last two days so I could ask you for it. Only now I know you don't work on Mondays."
Shock ran through your entire body, to the point where you couldn't even speak. Harry, Harry Styles, mind you, wanted your number. Badly enough that he'd come back to an average Mom-and-Pop restaurant to get it.
"No, I—I don't," was all you could manage as your entire face heated up.
"I hope I'm not sounding like a creep right now," Harry said, scratching the back of his neck nervously. "I realize now I may have participated in some light stalking."
"You're not," you blurted, trying to remember how to speak. You felt like you'd somehow entered an alternate dimension. "Here, hold on."
You pulled your order pad from your back pocket and scribbled your number down, willing your hands to stop shaking. Ripping it off the stack, you handed it to Harry, who took it from you graciously.
"Can I call you later?" he asked, standing up from the booth. You had to back up a couple steps to give him room, and you were now aware of just how tall he was as you craned your neck to look at him.
"Please," you blurted, cursing yourself for sounding so eager. Harry didn't seem to mind, though, smiling as he slipped his phone and wallet into the back pocket of his jeans. "I—I mean, sure. I'm off at eight tonight."
"I'll be counting down the minutes," he said before cursing under his breath. "Shit. I sounded like a stalker again, didn't I?"
A laugh bubbled out of you, making Harry's shoulders relax. "I'll allow it. Just this once."
Harry laughed too, then winked, and you were honestly so proud of yourself for not swooning in front of him. "I guess I'll be talking to you later then, Y/n."
*.*
"You made me so nervous," you said as you recalled the memory of how you'd embarrassed yourself in front of Harry the first time you met.
"I know," he said, laughing when you smacked his arm. "It was cute, though! And you also made me plenty nervous, to be fair."
"That is true," you sighed, grinning a little as you turned your face into his arm. "One of us stalked the other, and it certainly wasn't me."
"Sure, but one of us has posters of the other plastered all over their childhood bedroom."
Scoffing, you sat up and scooted away from him, making Hades bark in protest. "It's one poster. And you weren't even my favorite. Zayn was."
"Sure. Keep telling yourself that."
"I will."
Sighing, you settled deeper against him, as much as you could considering the puppy still in your lap. "Sometimes I think I keep the job because that's where we met."
"It's okay to let it go. We'll have the memory," Harry promised, his hand meeting yours as he began to scratch Hades' fur. "We'll figure it out. I promise."
Nodding, you reached for the remote and pressed play on the show, content to leave the conversation there. If Harry promised to help you figure it out, then you believed him.
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sweetdispatch · 2 months ago
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I wrote a song - J. Hughes
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Songs masterlist
song: I wrote a song - Mae Muller
pairing: Jack Hughes x ex girlfriend!reader
summary: Healing process after Jack cheated on his girlfriend
warning: cheating, swear words, drinking
words: 1.4k
note: it's a way different vibe from what i normally write but i hope you like it!
---
She and Jack met through Luke. She and his brother had been friends since college because they’ve been hanging out in the same group of people. After she moved to New York, she and Luke have been hanging out a lot. One night, she was at his place when Jack came back home. When he saw her, he was starstruck. He never saw that beautiful woman like her.
After three dates, she and Jack became a couple. Luke was so happy that his brother finally found someone so similar to him. He was confident that his brother had never been this cheerful like he was with her. Although he was third wheeling them, he was delighted for their happiness. When Jack suffered an injury it was the moment when all things in their relationship went wrong.
When you said you were leaving
To work on your mental health
You didn’t mention the cheating
Jack picked up an injury in January. She was trying to be there for him as much as she could with her work schedule, but he was taking his anger out on her. Often, he was just saying sassy comments to everything she asked him. She was tired of him throwing tantrums but tried to understand him. She knew how much hockey means to him and how much it must hurt him not to be able to play, especially when Luke was all the time training and playing.
After a month, Jack was back on the ice but his attitude hadn't changed. Still, he was snippy towards her. She felt like he was blaming her for his injury. They were arguing over it and she was always in a lost position when he started screaming at her. Neither of them wanted to break up but they knew something must change so they can be happy again. 
Jack told her that he needs a break. He didn’t want to end things with her but he needed a space to figure things out. She agreed knowing that their relationship was based on screaming, crying and guilt in the past two months. This was the moment when he cheated on her. The minute he felt free, when technically they still have been dating, he started sleeping with other women. 
I got so mad, was gonna 
Cuss you out outside your house
She learnt about his cheating in the most cruel way - through social media. One day, she was scrolling through her twitter and she saw a picture of Jack kissing another woman. She didn’t know how to react. She was heartbroken. He was her first real love and she truly believed that they make things work while being on a break. This killed a piece of her heart. 
She really wanted to take revenge on Jack. She was close to going to New Jersey just to scream at him in front of his apartment. She wanted to slap him, do the worst to him so he could feel how she’s feeling but she knew she’s better than him. She simply wrote him a message saying that they are done and he should never contact her again. 
Jack was confused and asked her what her problem was. Yes, he was cheating on her but he thought he’s sneaky enough so she wouldn't notice this. When she sent him a picture of him kissing another woman, he realised that he wasn’t. He hasn't answered her. He just accepted that he’s single again. His friends were asking him what happened but he said that they realised they are not made for each other.
I could have cried a home 
And spent the night alone
Right after her short conversation with Jack, she broke down in tears. She felt like her whole world just fell apart. She wrote on group chat with her girl friends that he cheated on her and she ended things with him. All she wanted to do was to cry and lay in her living room while watching sad movies under blanket. That’s what she did. She came back home and dressed up in comfortable clothes. 
This was painful for her because half of her wardrobe were his shirts and hoodies. She decided to throw them in the box and give it to Luke when she got the chance to see him. After she found something that’s actually hers, she went and turned on Edward Scissorhands. This movie always made her cry. Around 7PM, she heard knocking. 
What she did not expect was all her friends in front of her door. They’ve been holding bottles of wine and food from her favorite place. When they came in, one of her friends put on some music and they had a little party in her apartment. They knew how much she loved Jack and wanted to make her forget about him. 
Tell all your friends
How cruel you were to me
When she and Jack broke up, she cut her ties with all his team, even Luke. She really wanted to stay around him but she was seeing him as her ex. After a month, she got better. She felt like she moved oun and was ready to talk with Luke. He was surprised when she invited him to her place but gladly accepted it.
Luke came and the first thing to do was to ask her why she broke up with his brother. She wanted to scream that it’s all Jack’s fault. That he ruined their relationship. That she was always for him but he just treated her like a servant during his injury. That he wanted a break and the first thing he had done was to cheat on her. She really wanted that but she swallowed her pride and simply said that it wasn't it. 
Luke felt that she's lying. He knew her well enough to read it but he also saw her watery eyes after he asked the question, so he decided not to dig into it. He accepted this answer but still was curious about what went wrong. He was how Jack was happy with her and how she was happy with Jack. They spent the night catching up with their lives. 
When Luke was ready to get back to his apartment, she gave him the box with Jack’ things. After he returned to his and his brother’ place, he threw the box at him. Jack was taken aback but before he could say anything, Luke asked him what really happened that they broke up. Jack never saw his brother so furious so he decided to tell him that he cheated on her. Luke listened to him and went to his room to call her and apologise for his dumb brother. 
Me and my girls are out
And we all sing along
Three months after she and Jack broke up, she returned to Michigan. She was hanging out with all her girl friends from college. One night, they decided to go to a club and have fun. She was skeptical but agreed. She knew she deserves to finally move on and search for someone new. They were getting ready and drinking wine while doing it. 
When all of them finally arrived at the club, they went to order drinks. She was partying like there’s no tomorrow. That was her first party since she broke up with Jack. In the middle of the night, she saw familiar blue eyes in the crowd. She realised that it’s her ex-boyfriend partying with his friends that she never had a chance to meet. 
She said this to her girls pleading them to leave but they told her that Jack is a past and she deserves to have a fun night. They dragged her to the dance floor when their song started playing. She was singing all her heart and laughing at the same time. She acted like only her and her friends were in the club. 
She didn’t know that Jack also noticed her. He couldn’t stop watching her and how she was having fun out there. After conversation with Luke, he realised how badly he fucked up and how much she meant to him. Seeing her all free like that made him happy. He wanted to go and apologise to her but he knew he would do more harm to her. For the rest of the night, he was watching her having fun and imagining that it was him with her, not her friends.
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backseatsoldier · 12 days ago
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"Broken", Not Stupid - 8: Home?
Pairing: alpha!Simon "Ghost" Riley x unusual omega!OC (13)
CW: Omegaverse; cult-like situation; dehumanization; selling children to a cult
Author's Note: The words are flowing~ today! And a bit softer part this time lol
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"13." I hear Simon call to me gently. When I feel his hand on my shoulder I open my eyes slowly. "We're here."
Groggily, having fallen asleep for the rest of the drive, I sit up and look out the car windows. It's... a house. It's not huge, but it does have a fenced in front yard. Probably the back too, by the looks of the fence seemingly wrapping around the house.
Home.
The world settles into my mind again, but it feels... foreign. Almost as if it's a lost concept to me.
"Alright?" he asks for the second time since he's picked me up.
I nod slightly and unbuckle my seatbelt. He quickly exits the car, rounding it, and opens the door for me again. Instead of taking his offered hand I get myself out of the car. My independence is important to me and I refuse to continue being taken care of tonight.
Even if he is, technically, my alpha.
My alpha!
The omega inside me squeals at the thought of having an alpha and I shake my head to clear the excitement as I follow him up the front steps.
As soon as the door opens, I get the faint smell of cinnamon and cedar - him. It should be stronger, considering this is his house, but I pay no mind to it. I'm sure the constant sterile air flow from Salvation's facilities for the past however many years has done something to my sense of smell. Couldn't smell him until we hugged. Gotta be something from Salvation.
There's plenty from Salvation I'm dragging with me, I'm sure.
Once inside, Simon seems on edge, but he gives me a quick tour. He points out the living room to the left, kitchen to the right, bedrooms and bathroom down the hall in front of us. He adds that there's a sunroom on the back side of the house, that the door at the end of the hall leads to it.
"I also have-"
Something warm and soft rubs against my ankle and I look down to see...
"-a cat. Sorry. She's not typically so social. Espeically at first."
I wave dismissively at him and lean down to let her sniff my fingers.
"Black cat seems... very you," I comment as I gently run my hand over the cat's head. She nudges up into my hand while purring.
"Her name is Selene," Simon informs me after a moment of silence. "Named her after a moon goddess because, well... she showed up on full and new moons every month for," he pauses, thinking, "about three months. I started leaving food out for her on the third visit and she became a permanent fixture in my life after that. She let herself in one day while I was on my way out," he chuckles at the memory.
"You're very beautiful. Simon must take good care of you," I coo at Selene. She meows loudly at me in response and I smile.
"She's probably cussing me out because I've been gone or busy around the house all day," he mumbles.
"Oh, you poor baby... did Dad abandon you all day?" I frown at Selene and she meows in an almost sad way while shoving her head against my wrist.
Simon takes the time I'm spending with Selene to close the door and lock it. Then he moves down the hall and opens a door to the right. While he does... whatever he's doing, I lay on the floor with Selene and she takes the chance to curl up close to my chest. From the corner of my eye I see him leave the room he'd entered and make his way back to us.
"I see you two made very fast friends." There's a hint of a smile in his voice, but he still has the surgical mask on so I'm not sure if he is smilng.
"Not gonna lie, if she stays here, I'm going to fall asleep right here," I chuckle and slowly run my hand over her back.
Selene purs louder and I smile at her.
"I wasn't allowed to have cats," I say softly. "Dogs were the only animal allowed..."
I trail off as I think back to my life before Salvation. Simpler, yet somehow still so complicated.
"Come on," Simon says to me. "I won't let you sleep on the floor. Especially in front of the door. I got a bunch of blankets and pillows out for you to choose from real quick. Tomorrow you can take your time with selections and truly make your nest yours."
The omega in my head springs to life but I move slowly, so as not to upset Selene too badly.
"Can she stay with me tonight?" I request after picking out a couple blankets and pillows. Selene is already curled up on a pillow I chose specifically for her, should she be able to stay in the room.
"I don't think either of us have a say in the matter. She's already made herself at home," he chuckles quietly and reaches out to sratch Selene's head gently.
A whine builds in my throat at the show of affection but I swallow it. Damn, I need sleep. So I climb into my first-ever nest and snuggle near Selene, slowly stroking her fur to coax both of us to sleep.
Once my eyes fall closed, I hear Simon's boots shift on the carpet and the door close but not latch.
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Masterlist | CoD Masterlist | Part One
Tag List: @lucienofthelakes @lostintransist @demothers-empty-blog @scaredyspooks @tessakate @one-really-annoying-tree-rat @nerdyphantomtheorist @gazsluckyhat
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