#and it was the second one from to someone from a warm climate | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

prkhaven · 3 months ago

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SWAN LAKE -s.jy-

A lazy body of water couldn’t stop the wave and downpour of love on you and the boy merely visiting for the summer

pairing— city boy!jake x fem!reader

genre: smut minors do not interact, first/second love au, angsty, fluffy, 2000s timeframe, p with plot, p with feelings, slice of life

wc: 13.4k

warnings: kissing, profanity, reader doesn’t do emotions well, jake is very sweet, just a lot of emotions, implied heartbreak, convenience store, mention of theft, swimming

smut warnings: unprotected sex, p in v, virginity loss, body worship, desperate and needy jake, oral (f rec.), fingering, dirty talk, praising, creampie, cock warming, usage of nicknames (baby, love, sweetheart, good girl, my girl)

One. Two. Three. Four.

You counted the raindrops from the air to the ground. Small drops landing on your shoulder, staining the material—dampening it to a different shade.

Rainfall was upon you and yet you couldn’t drag yourself away to seek shelter. Summer rainfall was the beauty of the season that was overshadowed by the blaring heat and clear skies.

Focusing on the beauty as the countless droplets fall from the sky, you heard the clamoring of people who ran, hands covering their head to protect their tanning lotion, sunblock, hair and makeup from it.

Smiling softly you stand from your crouched position and stretch your limbs that cheered to be freed from the pressure. While everyone was running in the opposite direction, you walked towards the body of water.

You see the constant ripples in it, how the additional water doesn’t affect the amount in the slightest, not a single change in it. Yet, a loud splash and the larger ripple caught your attention.

Taking yourself out from the daze to look around the surroundings, there was a male—soaked hair, flimsy T-shirt outlining his abs, a smile that made the gloomy day brighten, a laughter echoing through the crash of water.

Instead of swimming to shore, he swam deeper, his body stretching out and falling backwards, not caring if engulfed by the water. He jumped out and shook his head to spurt out the droplets around him.

He pushed back his hair and wiped his face from the falling rain and salty water, he squinted in your direction catching sight of you staring.

Your eyebrows jumped in shock but instead of repulsed. He waved happily over to you before extending out his arms, throwing his head back in the process to accept the rainfall falling on his skin.

The platters of rain on you didn’t bother you, even though they never did, it now felt like nothing because for the first time, someone else enjoyed it as much as you did.

𓂃 ོ𓂃

You threw the wet towel to the side, a relieved sigh escaping you after finally cleaning up from the shower fall. And yet, you can’t seem to get rid of the male haunting your mind.

Softly nibbling on your lip, you wonder who he was? You’ve never seen him before so naturally you’re curious but you push the thought away deeming it pointless for someone you’ll only see one time.

Walking to your kitchen only to find nothing in any cabinet, you sighed heavily, grocery shopping was happening sooner than you thought.

Left to grab the nearest shoes and keys, you peeked out the window to see the clearing skies, the sun beaming out and a faint rainbow casting in the skies.

You smiled before stepping out of the air conditioned home into the humid summer afternoon. You cringed at the feel on your skin despising it more than anything but having to look past it.

Not wanting to walk anymore in this climate you spot the closest store and see the door was wide open, a small fan perched on a chair outwards for any that walked in. When you stepped into the shop, you saw many fans pointed in all kinds of directions to cool down the burning up shop.

You looked around to see no one else in here but you. Knitting your eyebrows, you glanced around but shrugged your shoulders at the lack of anybody. You were a good person—you wouldn’t dare steal from a small business.

Grabbing a plastic basket just to get the essentials until you were able to properly go grocery shopping. You roamed around, a beauty in authenticity made your heart warm but when rounding the corner you jumped at the shout.

Jumping behind the aisle to hide yourself, you peek from behind to see the back of a male behind the counter and what seems to be a watery radio that he banged lightly before grumbling under his breath and placing the broken item on the counter.

He sighed heavily and ran his fingers through the fluffy locks as he pushed his hair back in annoyance, that is when you managed to catch a glimpse of his face and the plush pink lips he licked over.

Your eyes widened when your hand managed to slip causing an random object to fall to the floor.

A sharp whip of his turned to face you had you meekly squeak and hid even further behind the asiel in hopes he didn’t actually see you.

But the wishes were diminished when his voice echoed through the store, “Ah I’m sorry- I mean welcome to our store! If you need any help just let me know” He told through an accented voice you’ve never heard around town before

Paying close attention, you managed to catch the faint curse under his breath but instead of sticking around to respond, you turned back in the direction you came from and allowed your feet to carry you far away from him. There was a clenching feeling in your chest and you don’t know why you felt it.

It felt odd and tightening that you nearly couldn’t breathe properly—it was frustrating, just straight up annoying.

Gripping tightly at the basket you grabbed anything in sight and pushed them into your filling basket until you physically couldn’t put anything else in it without another item falling.

Hoping you spent enough time clearly enough for there to be a possible switch of employees behind the register would be an understatement but as you were walking up, the basket nearly fell from your arms when you were met with a much different smile than earlier in the day.

“Hi! I hope you found everything well-” He started as he straightened his posture but stopped when he recognized your face

The once kind and professional smile changed into the bright genuine one from a few hours ago, “Hey wait a minute you’re from the dock right? In the storm just a little bit ago?”

Your mouth opened but quickly closed to just nod in response. He chuckled softly and reached over to grab your basket and push the broken radio away to start scanning your items.

There was a moment of silence, only the sounds of the fan running, the soft beeps of the items before they were put into bags. You fiddled with your fingers out of sight and kept your head low until he spoke up again.

“The storm was pretty cool earlier huh?” The attempt at small talk was appreciated, you weren’t the best when it came to it but you vowed to work on it now so you awkwardly laughed and nodded

“Uh yeah it was” The response was short and sweet, the male’s eyebrows perked hearing your voice for the first time before he smiled even more which you didn’t think possible

“How come you were out during it? Pretty sure everyone was on the run to not get caught by it” He commented but you shrugged your shoulders and rubbed your arm

“Corny as it may sound, rain doesn’t bother me as much… Plus it’s just water, it’s not going to melt anyone away unless you’re a witch” You joked but quickly squashed your lips together and screwed your eyes closed embarrassed by the poor joke you made

You thought he wouldn’t laugh but instead he let out a giggle. Peeking open your eyes, you turn to face him as he covers his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes sparkling as he looked at you, laughing like he heard the funniest joke ever.

“Sorry that was good” He wiped fake tears away clutching his stomach, “But I wouldn’t be surprised if they already melted away because of the heat”

You scoff a quick chuckle while looking at him, remembering how he was swimming all by himself during it. “Is that why you decided to go swimming?” He repeatedly nodded his head at your question, proud of the fact that he did

“I wasn’t going to allow the rain to ruin my moment” He told before bagging the last items, “Plus it’s water mixed with water. You know what you get with that?” He leaned on his arms over the counter with a raise brow

Unable to trust yourself to speak coherently and not make a fool out of yourself, you slowly shake your head and he softly slams his hand against the counter, “Water! You get water” He laughed with a smile

You gulp down and pursue the corner of your mouth into an ‘o’ shape. Noticing the clear discomfort in the air, he clears his throat and leans back to sit on the wobbly stool but misses it entirely.

You gasp and peer over the counter to see him sitting flat on the ground, staring into oblivion. “Are you okay?!” You asked but had to stifle a laugh seeing his shocked expression

He rubbed his sides in a pained expression, he looked and saw how your hand covered your mouth. Forming his mouth into a fine line as his cheeks were beginning to hurt by how much he was smiling in the last few hours.

“Yeah stupid stool just needs to get fixed” A warm blush crossed his cheeks as he stood on his feet and dusted off his clothes

You watched his actions with a hand covering your mouth and he could tell you were holding back a laugh and you know he knew you were. The situation is amusing but neither of you wordingly acknowledged it. Merely looking at each other, a knowing smile on each of your faces.

Wanting to move on from the embarrassing moment, he looked past it and punched in the last numbers until the total number summed up. “Will you pay with cash or card today?”

“Interesting that you think anyone has card around here” You moved from the topic and you can see how he sighed to himself with closed eyes in realization

The town was not as advanced as the city, he was so accustomed to the new technology taking the world by storm that he didn't realize there were some that only heard of it through news.

“Right- Sorry” He jumbled but you waved him off and handed him the direct pricing to the cent and he was shocked, normally people would pay in a bigger bill and deal with the change but guess not you

Ripping and handing you the recipe with a smile, you grabbed it and stuffed it into a random pocket before grabbing the bags into your hand and arms. “Thank you. Have a great day…” You narrowed your eyes to read his crooked name tag, “Jaeyun” You finished your sentence with a quick smile

“Oh you can just call me Jake!” He shouted but you had already turned around and walked out the opened door

But assuming you didn’t hear him when there was no response or even reaction from you. He stood awkwardly behind the counter, he hadn’t said a word of goodbye to you and you were already walking out with full arms and hands of bags.

Cursing under his breath, he tapped his finger against the peeling counter, he looked around and nibbled in his bottom lip.

Without much thought left, he quickly shouted in hopes someone heard him that he would be taking 5 and to look over the store as he rushed from behind and went out the door.

The heat from the inside of the store didn’t compare to the humidity of the outside. He huffed and blinked his eyes, a hand extending out to block the shining sun from sight as he searched for you.

That’s when he spots you less than 20 yards away. Surely he didn’t expect you to move hastily with bags at hand but he stood correct.

While you were walking, you heard rapid footsteps coming from behind. Your eyebrows creased in the middle as you tried to turn around but nearly lost your balance at the running person in your direction.

Letting out a shriek and your bags nearly flailing from your arms only to be stopped by a hand keeping your arms in place. You jerk at the sight of Jake, the employee you just saw not even 5 minutes ago, holding your arms from launching the bags.

“What the-” You start but he cuts you off

“Sorry! Sorry! It’s just that I noticed you were carrying a lot of bags and I wanted to help you” He quickly explained himself when he noticed the lack of words from you

You eye him up and down in confusion even still the weight from your arms lessened when he grabbed the majority of the bags into his own hold. “I can manage plus don’t you have a store to watch after?” You question but show no efforts to stop him

Jake cheekily smiled and shook his head, “I got someone to cover me plus who is going to steal from such a small business. It would only look bad on the person who would idiotically decide to rob us”

“Wouldn’t you be the idiotic one for leaving the store unattended?” Your question made Jake blink rapidly at you before shaking his head with a small ‘nah’

While you denied not needing the help, you didn’t mind it. You just didn’t want to have to tell him you told him so.

𓂃 ོ𓂃

While you indirectly in fact tell him so, Jake was okay with the sacrifice made.

After dropping off the bags at your place, he expected a possibility of an exchange in numbers of any kind. But you only gave him a grateful smile and bid him on his way.

At least you gave him your name at the end of it all, in his mind that was a foot in the right direction for whatever he was trying to achieve because when he ran all the way back to the store he saw the knocked down fan and the door closed.

His shoulders slumped when he stepped in and saw the racks of ice cream missing, meaning one thing. The store did in fact get robbed but not even of money just of ice cream to beat the summer heat.

He knew he was going to hear it but he would cover it with what he yelled instead of asking that he was taking 5 which happened to bleed into 15 minutes of straight silence with you with the exception of some small talk here and there.

But when helping you with the groceries, Jake realized a few things during the walk. One, you didn’t really talk much and when you did it was short responses. Two, he doesn’t really know why he was doing all of this. Three, while you didn’t seem to mind him there, you did in fact acknowledge him.

And last and not least, he felt a fluttering in his chest whenever he looked in your general direction. While he may be oblivious to some things, he knows when someone piques his interest.

And seeing you standing at the dock while he was swimming, a look in your eyes he couldn’t explain made him think. Jake could only wonder what was held behind those eyes. There was something he didn’t understand and yet, he wanted to so badly.

Lightly groaning, pushing his head into the crevice on his arm, he jumped at the ting of the door opening. He shot up right and cleared his throat, wrinkling out his outfit while craning his neck to see who just walked in. A spike in his heart rate didn’t ease the nerves jittering within, he helplessly hoped that it was you.

Maybe you needed to buy something else or wanted to give him any type of form to contact you but was just too scared to do so at first but grew the courage to give it too late and deci-

Knocked out of the daze at the same thump on the counter, he looked down on the counter to see an ice cream bar, perching slightly over the counter to see a little girl smiling up at him, a dollar crumbled in hand.

Jake sighed in disappointment but also relief before replacing the frown with a smile before scanning the item.

“Hot summer huh?” Deciding to make small talk to which the little girl nodded her head and placed the bill out for him

Grasping the crumbled bill, he straightened it out and saw that was all she had. While the ice cream was a dollar and 78 cents, he decided to hand back the bill to her which she was confused about. “It’s on me, don’t want to melt away from the sun right?”

The girl accepted the cash back and beamed up at Jake, “Thank you Mister!”

She ran along out the store without a glance back and he smiled softly before sitting back on the stool. It might not be good for business after losing said ice creams to thieves—but nothing beats helping someone.

“That was kind of you” The soft perk of your voice nearly made him topple off the stool again but he managed to catch himself and stand up in shock to see you in the shop again

”You’re back-” His voice squeaked and he cleared it to change the tone, “I mean you’re back”

There was no reaction to the deeper change of his tone but you didn’t walk away which must mean something good right? “What brings you back here?”

You place a jug of water on the counter, “Forgot the thing I need most” But to your shock, he pushes the water back to you scanning it

“Feeling generous today?” You raise an eyebrow which he shrugged, a cheeky smile that didn’t show his teeth

“Isn’t that bad for business?” The comment different from your action while you grab the jug in your arms, Jake’s hand flexed at his sides as he watched you carried the jug but shook his head to rid the thought

“Already got robbed today don’t think business could get any worse” Your eyebrows jumped at his words while you stared at him shock

When you made the comment earlier, you weren’t actually wishing for it to exist. The world or more so the universe had a weird way of casting words into existence, picking and choosing which to listen to and which to deny the luxury of.

Your mouth moved around before resting in a thin line. You opened your mouth but Jake cut you off, “I know, I know you told me so” He heavily sighed but you didn’t say anything

He looked at you waiting for a response but you only stared at him before turning a heel and walking out the now closed store door. Standing in shock by the moment, his eyes remain on where you once stood—now gone.

Something clicked in his head and his leg began to move on its own as he left behind the counter. However, a curt call of his name made him freeze and he slowly turned around to see two people staring at him, arms folded and a displeased look written on their face.

Opting to awkwardly laugh and hunch his shoulder with hopes of disappearing into nothing, he really was going to hear but unfortunately it wasn’t from you.

𓂃 ོ𓂃

The sun was setting, casting a beautiful hue over the horizon. Jake stretched out his arms behind him taking a deep breath to allow himself to get lost in thought and soak in the atmosphere he’s still not used to.

It was only the beginning days of summer and yet, he’s already enjoying it far much more than what he originally had planned with friends across the valley. Unsure if it were for the ability to spend time away from the suffocating nature of people, able to see old faces that he hasn’t seen in so long, or if it was for the encounter of a new face he can’t see to stop thinking about.

Whatever the case may be, he’s enjoying life—in ways he has never done before.

“Jake” At first he thought he was hallucinating, he must really be going mad because now he was dreaming of your voice

Rapidly shaking his head, “Not going to get me today brain” He called out but he shot open his eyes with another call of his name

Whipping his head back, he froze at the sight of you standing on the dock. His mouth fell slack trying to accumulate proper words to form a coherent sentence but nothing came out.

“What are you doing here?”

Jake fumbled his words before meekly responding, “Decided to get some sun”

“During sunset?” Realizing the logistics behind his words didn’t make sense, lightly groaning in embarrassment, a warm blush casting over his cheeks but he tensed up when you motioned for him to move

Quickly abiding to your wordless actions, he scoots to the side enough for you to plop yourself beside him. You let out a satisfied sigh and stretched your legs in front of you, Jake not moving his attention off of you.

“Do I have something on my face?” You remarked but he quickly shook his head and cleared his throat to rid the awkward silence

While you looked ahead at the body of water, Jake snuck glances every now and then towards you. Choosing to ignore the prying gaze and the question eyes pooling out of him as much as possible but you could only ignore it so much.

Sighing heavily, you adjusted yourself before crossing your legs over the other, “So did you get caught in the end?”

Jake whipped his head fully towards you with wide eyes, you weren’t a person of many words and yet, whenever you started the conversation he was willing to run with it. Running a hand over his face in excuse of pushing his hair back when he was concealing his smile.

“Yeah I did” Jake rubs the back of his nape, “There was no escaping my parents with that one”

This time you were the shocked one which must’ve been noticeable when he chuckled and nodded his head, “Yeah my parents own the store ever since they moved here”

“Told me they wanted to get away from the city life and live peacefully and they choose out here”

“So what are you doing out here?” You question realizing why you had never seen him out here before, he hums before pushing himself off his arms to sit up straight

“I hadn’t seen my parents ever since they moved here and decided this summer might be the best shot to see them and so here I am” He extends his arms out in a laugh but it didn’t crack a smile in you

Awkwardly retracting his arms back clearing his throat in the process, he glances over to the glimmering water and admires the crystallization. The body of waters that he sees where he lives don’t look like this, they’re too clouded with dirt to shine brightly. If people allowed themselves to thoroughly take time to care for it, there can be beauty.

“We call it swan lake” You softly point out and he furrows his brows, he knew the story of the shared name

A gust of wind brushes past and you softly hummed enjoying the way it crashes against your burning body, “This lake has witnessed passion, sadness, and misfortune”

Jake turned away from the water to you after the mellow tone of your words. Your eyes looked ahead and yet clouded with an emotion he couldn’t begin to decipher, it ached his heart for some reason.

“Then it must have experienced happiness, greatness and love no?” Your face contorted in the choice of wording, a complete opposite from yours

Looking over at him to already find him looking at you, his mouth pressed against his shoulder, very poorly hiding his soft smile, “When there’s misfortune then surely there is greatness that would follow after”

The corners of your lips tugged downwards before correcting it into a thin line and yet right when he was going to speak again a swoosh sound caught your attention.

Your mouth slightly falling agape while Jake felt a jut inside of him. A soft ripple formed in the water as a single swan landing in the distance.

𓂃 ོ𓂃

You don’t attempt to look for Jake but somehow he always appears. Whether you’re taking a walk down the pier or merely stepping outside to admire the rainfall that everyone shies away from, he always seems to be in the distance, smiling warmly and waving his hand in an attempt to be seen.

While you always do see him, you turn away and ignore his existence. Each time you look away from him, his chest caves in itself but he covers it by maybe you didn’t see him even though you stared directly into his eyes.

So stepping into the same shop close to your place, you expected to see him but instead you saw the familiar face of his parents chatting behind the counter. They stop when they hear the ding of the opening door and plaster a kind smile.

However, it grows when it is registered that it was you. Arms extend out as they motion you over to them. Now knowing that these were Jake’s parents, you begin to see the resemblance. The knowing bright smile, the naturally opening and comforting nature, it made sense why Jake seemed to be the way he is.

It clicks in your head the few times when they would talk about their son who is studying hard and beyond them and how they couldn’t be more proud of the person he is turning out to be. All this time they were talking about Jake.

Your nails dig into the flesh of your palm as you awkwardly shuffling to them, watching you with pitiful eyes.

You nibbled at the plush of your bottom lip weakly giving them a smile, “Hi hon are you doing?” The question meaning to be lighthearted and yet, it felt like a heavy tug on your heart strings

Only nodding your head not trusting yourself to say anything else to show that you were doing well. Unconsciously, your eyes roam around the store, “Searching for something?”

Snapped out to the quick daze, you blinked harshly and shook your head. You weren’t sure why you even came here or what you were searching for to begin with.

The comforting saddening gaze emitted from them to you leaning to a churning feeling within your stomach. You open your mouth to say something but they beat you to it.

“We never got to tell you personally but we are sorry about what happened with-”

”It’s fine” You were quick to rebuttal the sentiment, “Actually I have to go, if you’ll excuse me” Deflecting harsher than intended you felt sorry for the abrupt lash out but your body moved on its own and saw yourself out of the store

Unbeknownst to you, Jake rounds from the wall he was hiding behind and looks at his parents in confusion when they sigh sadly at your disappearing figure.

𓂃 ོ𓂃

There were too many questions and thoughts in his head and not enough answers but he didn’t wish to hear it if not from you—well only if you’re daring to tell him.

Jake fanned himself with the nearest newspaper to kill the heat. He knew as time went on and proceeded deeper into the summer months, the heat would only get worse. Yet, having to live off of fans in the store as it took nearly forever for the air conditioner to work again, felt like utter torture.

But what made it worse was that he hasn’t seen you this past week. No matter how much he turned his head, you never appeared. He curses at himself for hiding instead of showing himself the last time you were in the store. The conversation was just far too intriguing that he felt like if he showed up, it would make matters worse.

Now it wasn’t known whether it would’ve or not, he would never know since he never dared to move from his spot. Cowardly is what he would say if you asked him.

His body ached more than he would like to admit from sitting and standing. Even his cheekbones were starting to hurt from the constant fake and kind smiles he’s been doing but his mind was in shambles.

He knew that he could merely ask his parents about you and they would tell but it felt wrong. It didn’t feel right that he would learn about you if it’s not you telling him directly to his face. While he doesn’t really believe in spirituality, he sure as hell doesn’t know what was casted upon him.

Every waking moment he experienced had thoughts of you. He didn’t want to be rash with what this could mean even after having to sneak into his parent’s room for the only computer available to search up what it could mean for it to be in bold letters, ‘You like her!’

It’s not like he wouldn’t believe that he does. You’re pretty no denying that but you had a mysterious sense that drew him in and seeing you that day, your eyes following the small raindrops just before the storm came. While everyone remained clueless, you knew what was to come.

And when everyone ran away, you stayed.

He sighed loudly and weakly kicked his hanging feet as he shook his head but his act dropped to be replaced with professionalism when the ding of the door opened. He straightened out his posture and stood on his feet, “Welcome” He weakly called out

A few days prior he would’ve searched to see if it were you but it was tiring to be met with disappointment when it wasn’t. He did know where you lived after helping you take your groceries but he was not going to show up unannounced.

“Still no AC?”

Jake stared at you with wide eyes and you placed two jugs of water this time on the counter. His jaw fell slacked not believing his eyes, quick to rub them harshly and blink before repeating it until you didn’t fade away.

It’s you? It’s you. This time it's finally you.

“I-I uh-” Words were not spewing the way he wanted to but he gulped down the lump and laughed

The smile not forced and but instead true like you could even tell, “Guess not since you’re sweating up a storm” You murmur, hands pocketed into your pants and tapping fingers against your thighs

“Right… Right! Yeah no AC still” He grabbed the jugs and slowly scanned them not wanting to rush time, it wasn’t known when the next time he will see you

“Hot summer huh?” You point out and he stopped midway scanning to look at you

You stare at him in unease when he just stopped, looking around the store to see what promoted this reaction. Left to fiddle with your nape while you waited for him to respond. He quickly realized that he was staring and not saying anything, he mentally cursed and chuckled.

“Yeah, definitely not used to this” Handing you the total price and you take out the exact number in bills and cents and paid for the two items

Cashing them he printed out your receipt and handed it which you were quick to grab. While your face remained unphased his contorted while his heart leaped when his hand brushed against yours.

“Bye Jake” You bid him goodbye and walk out the store before he could say anything else

Standing there staring into oblivion he managed to snap himself out of it and stumbled over his feet to rush out the door without much thought, he yelled ‘be back in 10’ in hopes someone heard him as he left the store unattended once again.

As you were walking, you held the two waters in your arms. The sun beaming down that you closed your eyes and inhaled softly, humidity was gone, it was merely the sun and clear skies.

But your eyes fluttered open when you heard the shout of your name, you turned around to see Jake rushing to you. Deja vu hits you like a wash and you stop in your tracks and take a step back when he pants in front of you. He gulps harshly with heavy breaths to regulate himself after running for less than 5 minutes under the sun.

The sweat trickled down the side of his face to his chin to hand before dropping to the ground. Naturally glowing just by himself, he shined even more than ever before. His chest rose and dropped as he finally caught his breath.

“What happened?” You raise an eyebrow but to your shock he raises up the bright orange paid stickers

He stares at you before peeling off two stickers and putting them on the jugs, “Forgot to put the stickers on them” He softly smiled at his simple work

Knowing Jake somewhat through the time you spent with him, never once did he use that whenever you or anyone else for that matter bought something, nor was it ever used before he took over.

You looked at him and caught his gleeful gaze on you, his eyes sparkled like they held the universe in them. “Are you going to the get-together tonight?”

He jerked his head back at the question but instead of dwelling on it, he shook his head no. “Someone has the watch the shop, plus my parents told me this is my punishment for leaving the store unattended”

“I thought you already faced the consequences?”

“Yeah I’m talking about the one that I am going to get when I go back right now” He chuckled but stopped when another faint one for that manner joined his as well

You were smiling softly as soft laughter came from you. His gaze zeroed in on you, everything else fading to nothing. This was the first time he had seen you smile like that or even laugh at the manner.

It was beautiful. You were beautiful.

𓂃 ོ𓂃

Clamoring and happy people were wandering around, all excited and heading to the get together that was held frequently during the summer. Jake watched everything through the windows, his own parents bidding him goodbye as they made their way out.

He pursed his lips into a pout, his chin resting at the palm of his hand. The talks of this gathering even coming from you made him feel like he was missing out.

Kicking the counter in front of him in annoyance—he thrives in this type of environment and yet, he’s casted away to attend the shop after leaving it unattended once again.

He sighs heavily with shoulders slouched, no one would going to be coming in here anyway what’s the po-

His thought process was disrupted when you peeked through the door before fully opening it and placing the nearest item to allow the cold night breeze to sway in. Jake’s jaw dropped when you waved at him and stepped into the store.

Your attire is different from what you usually wear. It was more open despite the temperature dropping for the night, the weak artificial light glowing behind you casted a outline over you. Each step you took snapped his heart.

“Wha- Aren’t you supposed to be going to the gathering?” He asked clearly confused on why you were there but when you grabbed a random item and placed it down on the counter, you didn’t say anything

“And what makes you think I’m not going?” You knit your eyebrows making Jake hold the item at hand to mentally curse at himself for thinking you were coming for him

He played with the back of his hair and chuckled, “Right! Don’t know what I was spewing”

“Think the heat is finally getting to me”

The coverup was poor and weak, you moved your mouth around as he rang up the item and you paid in total with no need of change. Grabbing the item, you leaned on your arms, “Do you always leave the store unattended or is it just once in a blue moon?”

Jake looked at you wondering why you were lingering around but instead of questioning it, he took whatever he could get. He shook his head and sighed, “Just once in a blue moon”

You softly hummed and nodded your head before turning your back on the counter but resting your arms on it, “Do you have an extra chair? My feet are already killing me”

While it didn’t fully register in his mind, Jake jumped and rustled to give you one. Quietly thanking him while focusing on the greater matter that you were staying with him. “So what happens during these gatherings?” Jake decided to break the ice, his body hovering on air in the motion of a chair

“Nothing. It’s just everyone getting together and talking, seeing what’s up with the latest drama amongst everyone twice a month for the entire summer season” You explain but there was an underlying hint in the way you told it to him

He watched as your hands gripped the counter, the soft scratches against it marking your concealed emotions, your jaw clenching while you admired outside through the open door. “How come you’re not going?”

”Don’t need the whole town having their eyes on me more than what they already do when I’m walking down the street” You sigh in a breath but he was taken back, searching over your expression for anymore hint on what you were talking about came up negative

You maintained a neutral face, a facade that seemed to slip every now and then only to be replaced with what you show everyone.

“It looks like it’s going to rain soon” Jake points out the clouding skies to move on from the topic

You merely shrug your shoulders not ultimately caring but a gratitude felt for his efforts in not questioning you. “Hey I have an idea” Your interest was peaked when you heard the playful tone

Finding yourself running soaked by the downpour, a held back laughter as you ran through the night shower, Jake ahead of you with his arms extended out before reaching behind—offering his hand for you.

You looked between the offer and him, a thump pounding in your chest made you scared but before being able to dwell on it any longer, your hand hesitatingly reached out and clasped your hand in his. Soft calloused hands dragged you alongside him as you both random the empty street, the moonlight beaming through the gray clouds.

While everyone ran in the directions for shelter, you and Jake ran in the opposite direction. Unknowing or more like uncaring of the peering eyes towards you both, for the first time it felt right. Not like old times where you felt stranded alone—This time someone enjoyed this like how you did.

At the shop, a crippling wet note tapped hurriedly on the door, ‘Closed for the night! P.S- sorry mom and dad’ but at the sight of you and Jake disappearing off into the night, hand in hand, maybe it wasn’t bad leaving him at the store that night.

leading and diving head first into the said ‘swan lake’ was not what you anticipated to do with Jake. However, once submerged in the water you brought yourself to the surface in a lost gasp. Searching around there was no sight of the male with you.

Your heart hammered as you called for his name louder each time, you swished past the water in hopes of sight of him despite the pouring rain. Suddenly you yelled when arms wrapped around your waist and tackled you.

Turning around in haste at the sound of Jake’s laughter, “You scared me!” This was the first time you had ever raised your voice loudly in a while

He continued to laugh while you swatted him away, “It’s not funny” You tried to stand your ground but he continued to giggle until it finally came to a stop

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to scare you” He wiped the fake tears away and pushed his hair back in a smile, “But I’m okay”

You huffed and push at his chest to get out of the lake but he grabs your wrist to stop you, “Woah hold on I’m sorry I’m sorry” Jake apologized profusely and turned you to face him

The hard glare you sent him made the straight face grow into a smile which you rolled your eyes at but before being able to rebuttal anything Jake pulled at your arm deeper into the water.

Your eyes widened as he swam each stroke a laugh emitted from him, nothing seemed to bother him. A thump in your chest grew more while wiping your face off of the droplets on them. When he turned around and extended a hand for you, your insides twisted in themselves and squeezed like you were underwater.

“I’m right here with you” Those words never uttered to you before, not even when you were in your supposed happiest

A flick switched and nerves coursed through you as you slowly swam to him. Jake watched your every move and his breath hitched when you swam past his hand straight to be in front of him.

His eyes reflected the cloudy moonlight, the raindrops surrounding you and rippling across the valley. Hands reached up to cup your cheek, the pad of his thumb creasing your cheek softly, gaze softening the more he looked at you. Even under the night sky, you shone brightly like the day he first saw you.

“Jake” He weakly hummed when you called his name, not truly responding, too in enamored to register anything other than you

Unsure of who leaned into who first but your hands gripped his wrist and gripped onto him, eyes scrunched together only to flutter them open when he pecked your cheek instead.

You pulled away to squint at his softened face, his hand hovered over your eyes to block the downpour. “Did I tell you that you look lovely this evening?”

Your mouth opened and closed, eyes traveling everywhere, his face unsure how to respond but he stroked your head softly, tilting his head to the side showing a toothy smile, “May I take you out..? Please”

𓂃 ོ𓂃

The air from the on-going fans weren’t cutting it anymore, choosing to fan yourself instead in hopes of calming down the burning nerves which in reality did nothing to do so.

Nervously rocking between your feet while you stand behind the counter adjusting your clothing to free yourself of dust you were oblivious to creeping person behind you until a voice knocked you out of your daze, “You look beautiful hon”

Slightly jumping, you turn around to see Jake’s mother smiling softly at you while walking into the store, an arm behind her back—something out of sight, you bashfully smile at the compliment and hang your head low while rubbing a hand over your arm.

“You know when Jake told us while running around complaining how he didn’t pack a single item that would be worthy enough for a date, we thought he had gone crazy” His mother began while lightly chuckling, “But when he mentioned you, we understood”

Your shoulders tensed but the burning in your cheeks grew nibbling softly on your bottom lip to conceal the faint smile daring to show. “I can’t lie that I wasn’t shocked to hear that you were going on a date and also a little nervous but right now I feel more happy than anything”

She sighed heavily patting your shoulders in hopes of a comfort which easily eased your hunched up shoulders. “I know how you were after he who shall not be named left without a word but…”

“I know my son like I know the back of my hand so trust me when I say this” She gazed upon you in the corner of her eye to stand in front of you, dropping her hand in the process, “He may know love but he has never fallen in love before—not in the way he has fallen for you”

“Mom have you seen the flowers I set-” You heard Jake while he walked into frame only to stop dead in tracks when he sees you

He wore a white shirt underneath a blue button up tucked into dark blue trousers, the sleeves folded up his veins tracing from his hand up to his forearms. His hair slicked to the side that exposed his forehead just enough and a bracelet wrapped around his wrist.

Cliche as it may sound but it felt like slow motion when his mouth quivered before forming into a shy smile, his hand rubbing the back of his nape while walking over to you, “Seems like your date is ready” She whispered before walking backwards not turning her back to you

Your brows furrowed but when Jake grabbed the bouquet of flowers into his hand, a smile of your own formed. When it was only you and Jake left, he extended out the bouquet, “I’m allergic to flowers” His face morphed into terror and took back the flowers but you giggled and grabbed them from him, “I’m kidding, they’re beautiful”

A wave of relief washed over him while you admired the flowers, his gaze heartily watching you only to be caught. He coughed and diverted his gaze away with a heat on his cheeks, “Thank you Jake”

“Let’s head out?” He offered a hand to grasp and hesitantly you shakily put yours into his while he intertwined your hands together

Allowing yourself to be guided down the familiar road, a comfortable silence bestowed upon you left to admire the growing sunset in the distance. Jake’s thumb creased the back of your hand and tightened his grasp around it while sneaking glances and smiling at you.

Returning the gestures until you took into account the familiar pathway, “Jake are you…” You cut yourself when the dock at the lake came into view

Decorated with fairy lights across made pillars that weren’t there before, a patterned cloth set and held down by shining rocks painted with a glitter that made them sparkle, and a candle-lit at the edge of the dock. You sucked in a breath when Jake let go of your hand and allowed you to walk first.

Looking around your heart churned and fluttered to face back at him, the sunset casting a golden hue upon him while gracefully smiling at you, his eyes softening even more.

Jake’s heart was thumping out of his chest, seeing you standing there, the sunset behind you and his entire efforts bestowed before you while you gripped the flowers he personally picked out and created were a dream he never imagined coming.

But now you were his unexpected dream come true.

𓂃 ོ𓂃

Your face scrunched as you laughed at something Jake had said. He giggled, covering his mouth while leaning his body forward while you reached your front door step, which he told time and time again he wanted to walk you back.

In front of your door, you and Jake simmered down the giggles to nothing. While you looked at the floor, he looked at you. You exhale heavily and lift your head up in a gleam. Your gaze flickered from his eyes down to his mouth for a split second.

Not being discreet like you thought you were, Jake quickly picked up on it but brushed past it deeming his mind messing with him. He opened his arms like a welcome invite that you closed away only to open back up into something new, raw, fresh. All because of Jake.

Engulfing his arms around you, your arms lay at your sides, hands twitching at the baggy button up before gripping the material. It may not have been much in your eyes but to him, it was more than enough. He smiled in the hug and when he started to pull away—the warmth disappearing leaving you to panic, selfishly you didn’t want it to end.

With Jake’s head turned, you awkwardly reached in to peck his cheek like how he did to you. What failed to be accounted for was the fact he would turn his head back to speak.

You landed your lips onto a soft plush, you pulled back to be faced with Jake’s surprised face. A horror washed over, loudly gasping you covered your mouth spewing endless apologies.

There was no response or any movement from Jake for that manner, he remained frozen in place, blinking every now and then as he stared into oblivion with his arms still wrapped around you.

Your hands pressed at his chest, ignoring the firmness of them to push him away but he tightened his hold while shaking his head roughly. “Hey wait no it’s okay. I don’t care- I don’t mind at all. Do it again actually”

“What-” You tried to collect your thoughts when the soft plush landed on your lips again but failed to do when you instantly melt in the kiss

Shaky hands grasp his cheeks and Jake holds his hand over yours, his calloused one creased yours while focusing on the greater aspect, that he was now kissing you. Something he never believed to experience.

Moving his head just enough to grasp yours, he felt like fireworks were blaring off in the distance.

Pulling your arms over his shoulders while his hands rest at your waist, never breaking lip contact once. He wouldn’t dare to do so now that he’s gotten a taste of it. Rubbing his thumb in a circular motion in order to ease the shake within your body. “You okay?” He asked within the kiss

But instead of replying, you pressed deeper, shutting his mouth to prevent less talking. An urge taking over you that you were once afraid to take but with Jake felt natural.

He held you, tight fingers digging into your side to keep you rooted into place. He was soaring through the sky—in the deep end. The lack of oxygen made you light headed but you continued on. It didn’t bother either of you, saliva messily mixing together, your teeth and tongue clashing every now and then in spurts of air before getting sucked back in.

While Jake pulled away with a heavy pant, you weakly chased after his lips to reconnect them but he softly giggled at the attempt. You fluttered open your eyes and breathlessly said, “Jake”

His cheekbones were hurting by how much he was smiling and yet, he couldn’t stop. Continuing his endless fit of giggles, it prompted your own because of the brightness it omitted during the night sky. Jake’s head began to loosen and you were worried the light and warmth would disappear to never return again.

Quickly you grab his biceps to let him continue to hold you. He froze when you looked up at him with a shaky in eyes and a quivering bottom lip, “Stay the night” You rushed out to stay not properly comprehending what you were asking for

His heart dropped and the smile faltered while his expression morphed into shock. You were afraid that it wasn’t the right choice of words and that all chances were ruined but instead of being questioned he softly nodded his head, “Okay” He breathlessly whispered

This time you were the surprised one not believing he would agree and yet, your heart roared.

Bringing Jake inside your place felt different. It wasn’t to help you take your grocery in or for any other reason but you inviting him in.

Taking his hand and not letting go after kicking off your shoes to guide him to your room and slip into bed, sheets covering the both of you pulling and emptying the tiny space in between to nothing. He draped an arm around your waist, his head resting on your shoulders while he circled his thumb on your skin.

There was a moment of silence that a pin drop could be heard, which it was. A light summer rainfall began, the droplets hitting your window casting a soft pattering sound while the shadows of the raindrops filled around the room. You stared at the shadows and softly sighed which garnered his attention.

While he didn’t make a sound, you could feel his question. You blinked around your room before using a hoarse voice to speak not wanting for it to crack while you talk, “Jake I’m not who you might think I am”

You curled your body inwards forgetting how his arm held you but he mimicked your motions. The way you caved in, he caved with you.

“I’m- It’s not- I’m not easy. This isn’t something to be fixed overnight” You mumbled that if he weren’t paying attention he would’ve missed it, you opened your mouth to continue but Jake cut you off before you could say anything more

“Look at me” You refused to turn around and face in worries of making it real but he wanted it to be

Softly tugging to have you face him, you didn’t put up much of a fight. Landing on your back until able to properly face him on your side, choosing to divert your gaze down. He took a moment to take you in before he lifted your chin up. “Please look at me”

Jake wanted to be seen by you and when you carefully took the chance to raise your gaze up and look into his, he felt his heart rate racing, the pad of his thumb creasing your skin with a fond smile. None of the other emotions besides care.

“Look you don't have to tell me now or ever if you don’t want to. I don’t care about your past because all I care about is now” He starts off, “And right now you are you, right here with me. Not who you were in the past with whomever or whoever you will be in the future. Just you right now”

He lightly chuckled while retracting his hand from you, “Plus what made you think that I want something easy or even attempt to fix you”

“There’s nothing to be fixed because you were never broken to begin with”

“You’re perfect the way you are”

You let out a shaky breath, your heart beating loudly that you swore Jake could hear it from where he was laying. You shuffled closer into his embrace, a warmth that was never provided before until seeing him swimming when it was raining.

A person like you with their own twist to life that differs from yours. A point of view that you had never seen through before and yet, he gave it up for you without even being asked to.

You raised your head just high enough to place a peck on his forehead, he giggled softly when you did so. When the moment was right, he leaned you back, his head hovering yours. Eyes bore into yours in search of an answer.

Nervously nodding your head with the faint words, “Kiss me” Uttered from you were more than enough to land your mouths together

The kiss is different from the first, a more gentle approach. His hand never leaves your waist only to loosen up to travel it higher up your side, tracing up your neck.

Fiddling with the back of his hairs, you tugged softly at the fluff of it igniting a soft moan directly into your mouth. Drinking up the sound there was a dizzying effect taking over whilst it was unclear of what it entailed, something in your heart knew it was right.

“Please” A weak breath plead that rang through Jake’s mind like an echo, he pulled away from the chaste kiss to look at you

Eyes looking up at him, a nervous but certainty in them that ran a shiver down his spine. Hands trailed through his hair, racking them through the slot of your fingers in an attempt to stabilize. He gulped down harshly, “Please what love?”

“I need you” Three words that managed to switch something in his mind, a desire grew tenfold without being able to be stopped, the rationality thrown out at the window to be forgotten of

Not having to be told twice, he crashed his lips back to yours. Your legs pried opened and welcomed him while situating himself in between, laying his body upon you.

Your hands growing more intagled into the fluff of his hair, hiking up your leg while the kiss grew more feverish, bodies contorting to each other in order to accommodate the new position.

Jake grew lost in the sense of you, lack of oxygen making him lightheaded but you were making him more lightheaded than anything. He chased after your mouth when you broke it not wanting to end it yet.

So he decided for the second choice, he messily planted kisses at your cheek down to your neck, soft whispers into your ear, “You’re perfect”

You withered under his hold only to wait as he brushed his mouth into the crevice of your neck and nipped the skin making you squeal. You felt his smirk against your skin and you tugged at his hair in a warning to not say anything which he brushed past.

The hands that gripped his hair fell to his shoulder as he softly sucked on the unblemished skin. Wishing to taint it with him, Your hands gripped tightly when he teeth gritted the skin to run a tongue over it to soothe to burn.

Weakly calling his name, he hummed in response but your moans were his answers. The hands at your sides began to slip down until tugging softly at the hem of your shirt. Softly threading up exposing your skin from the fabric to run the cold slender hands up making you shiver.

Your back arched when he tugged down at your bra to have enough space for him to clasps it off. Working on detaching himself from your neck, Jake pulled away to untuck his button his shirt as hastily as possible.

Copying the rush, you carefully removed your shirt and bra in one go failing to notice the hard gaze he had while watching you. Your attention was brought back to him when he peeled off his upper wear that exposed the linen abs that traced perfectly, the wide back and broad shoulders, and formed bulging biceps when he leaned down to attach his mouth to yours.

Gasping in shock at the desperation but melting right into the kiss, his tongue swiping across your bottom lip to be welcomed back into your mouth. Shaky hands reached your before grasping at your breast, you opened your mouth to gasp and whine when he tugged at your hardening nipple.

“Just the way you are. Perfect. Perfect” He blabbed against your lips before kissing down your chin, down the center of your neck to the crevice of your breast

You peeked down to see how he looked up at you already. Licking your swollen lips, you nod at the silent question he asked through his eyes. He softly smiled before engulfing one of your breasts into his mouth.

Instantly knocking your head back into the mattress when a wet stride strikes across the sensitive bud. “Jake. Jake” You chant his name like it’s the only thing you’ve ever know, digging your hands back into his locks

He grinned before fiddling his fingers on the other side, he nicked the bud with his teeth making you wail with a precision to twist the other at the same time. Holding your arms up, he tilted his head to switch sides in order to soothe the burning feeling.

Giving butterfly kisses all over your chest, smearing the mounds with his salivas and growing marks made his heart thump harshly against his chest. The sight was a view he never wanted to get rid of, one that he will cherish forever.

Jake focused on the way you jerk in his hold as he trailed down the middle to your stomach. A kiss on every exposed inch while muttering sweet nothings along the way. Each word he said made your heart fuller.

His hands let go of your arms to drag them to your hips as he sank to his knees. Calloused hands ran over your bare stomach, a kiss left on each side while he muttered incoherent sentences. The tugging of your waistband made you look towards his pleading eyes, “May I?”

Alarms rang through your mind and you quickly blurted out, “I haven’t done this with anyone before”

Jake freezes and instantly pulls his hands back at the news, the cloud that hovered over him broke. Harshly blinking and snapping his head back while he peeled his body off yours.

However, you flailed and grabbed his hands to put them onto your waist, “I want this” You whispered loud for him to hear, “I want this with you”

“I don’t want…I can’t- I don’t want you to feel like you have to” He stuttered his words, a worry that slowly took over but you washed it away

Your gaze softened at the initial worry, you let go of his arms to cup his cheeks and pull into a kiss. He let himself be dragged back to your lips. You hummed softly rubbing the pad of your thumb onto his jaw, “I have never been sure of anything in life”

“Are you really sure?” He carefully asked

“More than ever”

He gulped down the lump in his throat slowly nodding his head, “I’ll take care of you sweetheart” He murmured, “Let me know if I’m doing something that’s making you uncomfortable, I don’t want to hurt you”

“You could never hurt me Jake” You jumped in staring directly into his eyes

His gaze never broke from yours, a smile etched on his face before pecking your lips “Are you sure-”

“Get on with it Jake” Jake chuckled when you interrupted him with a crash of your lips, a desperate need and desire overtaking you

He held tightly at your waistband fiddling with it until hooking underneath. Adjusting your body to allow him to slip off your pants, kicking them off somewhere in your room to be forgotten about.

Jake pulled away and you furrowed your brows but the unbuckling sound of his belt made your eyes travel down.

A bulge dented in his pants and made you nervously gulp, while you have never done anything like this before, you weren’t so oblivious. Jake saw the nervous expression, “It’s okay baby” He stroked your cheek, “We’ll take it slow”

You didn’t give a response, to only watch him as he unbuttoned his pants to your dismay somewhere in your room and left the rest of the artifacts leaving himself in his briefs. The thought that the pants concealed the truth behind his size was gravely mistaken.

Your eyes widened at his sheer size before looking up at him to see the bashful smile he had while rubbing the back of his nape in a shy manner. Your own smile formed while you reached out and pulled his arm from behind his neck, “And here you were calling me perfect”

He whipped his over to you and roughly shook his head, “Because you are. Everything about you doesn’t have to be changed in order to accommodate everyone else”

“But even in any shape or form you decide to take, you will be perfect. Each and every single time you will be” He strokes the side of your face before planting a soft kiss against your temple, “You’re amazing. Every inch of you, inside and out is a beauty that has graced me”

Your mouth fell agape, words wanting to accumulate but nothing being able to form. Jake smiled when your eyes stared at him, a natural pout that he’s grown to adore from the moment he saw it. “Thank you” You weren’t sure what he was grateful for however, you felt the same way

His fingers traced the material of your underwear, drawing shapes at the elastic before pulling them down. Your breath hitched at the cold air hitting your bare self but he cooed to help ease you. “It’s okay baby, it’s okay I promise”

Your legs unconsciously closed but his hands traced over your knees, “Let me see you” His voice soft and comforting—alluring almost that when he pried your legs open there was no resistance

He sucked in a breath when he caught sight of your glistening core. A shimmer through the dewy moonlight and he nervously gulped. The silence made you worried but when Jake placed a kiss at the inside of your thigh you loudly gasped. “Flawless sweetheart…” He slurred, each kiss growing closer to your leaking entrance and your heart pounded,

A warm breath fanned against your pussy and you shivered, a cold sweat trickling down your neck. You peered down to see Jake in between your legs, his gaze longingly up towards you with a dizzy smile. “You know you speak through your eyes” He muttered making you giggle

Yet when you were going to respond a loud moan ripped out instead as he kissed your soapy self. Hands immediately tangled in his hair when he buried deeply into you. Loudly exhaling, shoulders visibly dropping as he placed opened mouth kisses. “So sweet baby… Fuck”

You squealed and jerked from the contact but Jake dug his fingers into your thighs to hold you in place. He messily rubbed his face in, the arousal leaking over the face but he groaned at the essence on his taste buds. His tongue glided over your slicked folds, lathering and mixing them with his saliva.

“Ja-Jake” You weakly call his name, the plush lips messily kissing you folds while he sucked the wetness out of you and into his mouth

Each drag up your folds lead to him sucking at your swollen clit, making you screech when he tugged at it only to run his tongue over to ease the pain. Your moans grew louder and into a sharp gasp when something protruded into your hole.

Jake groaned when the grip in his hair tightened and you pulled him closer to your core. Your lower body rocking into his face and legs hooking behind him, his nose rubbing against the bundle of nerves making you shake. He wrapped his arms around your legs, lifting your hips just enough to push himself deeper into your core.

You squeaked each time he left open kisses on your soaked self, his breath fanning over the arousal made you shiver each time. “Jake please” You wailed unsure what you were begging for

He focused on what erupts the most reaction out of you, flicking his tongue up and down before taking a long stride and sucking at your clit to repeat the motion again.”So beautiful. So pretty. Just so fucking sweet”

A tightening in your stomach made you attempt to push Jake away but he only held tighter, “Let go for me baby” He blabbed against your pussy knowing you were close

You weakly shake your head but too engrossed in eating you out like a man who’s been starved, he focused on reaching your high. “Wa-Wait Jake!”

“Give it to me love” Your back arched off the mattress as you let out a loud guttural moan, thinking he would stop but Jake continued on

Slowing down his pace but he continued to latch onto you, leaving faint kisses around your spasming self. You withered under his tongue but each slurp he took, the more he felt dizzy, a cloud forming in his head that he could never get sick of.

With a failed attempt, you finally succeeded in prying him off your sensitive self. A weak string attaching his mouth to your smearing wet self, Jake gasped a breath, his arms dropping your legs as he stared at you in a daze. Eyes big and hooded with something you couldn’t begin to decipher, the lower half of his face masked in your arousal while having a loopy smile.

You brushed the curtains of his bangs back, the sweat covered forehead exposed making you giggle softly which he followed after with his own. “You okay there?” You shakily asked and he quickly nodded his head

“I don’t think I’ve ever been better” Smiling and rolling your eyes, he pushed himself up from his knees you caught a glimpse of the raging hard on he sported but unable to comment when he kissed you

Your face scrunched at the taste of you on his mouth but his hand cupping your jaw and holding you melted all thoughts away besides him.

Pulling away from the kiss, you stared into each other’s eyes. Shy smiles from the other while you softly nod your head, “Please Jake” You softly say, “I need you”

Jake hastily rushed to remove and free himself from the confinement that could barely be contained. Your jaw dropped at the sight of his raging hard on slap against his stomach, glistening in all its glory for you. The precum leaked out of its slit and trickled down the side, mimicking the viens tracing down.

You harshly gulped down the lump and looked up at him, his fingers traced over your knees in an attempt to soothe you but your heart hammered out nevertheless. He pushed your legs apart and his slender fingers ran over your sensitive folds. You jerked at the sensation while his other hand rubbed its thumb in a circular motion at your hips.

“Need to prep you before anything like that baby” He slurred before easing a finger inside of you, hissing at the intrusion and the tightness, you screwed your eyes shut

Your hands fisted your sheets, crumbling and messing it up under your body. “Jake” You called out his name weakly grabbing his wrist as he pumped it in and out slowly

“I got you baby. I’m right here” He slurred feeling how your clenched around his finger

The slickness made it easy for him to glide in and out, burying the red knuckles deep into your gaping hole before pulling out and repeating the motions leaving your mouth slack. The lewd sound from the squelch of your arousal meeting his finger filled the room.

You grip his wrist tightly but you weakly let go to clasp over your mouth when he slipped a second finger in. You moaned into your hand loudly, holding back the noises erupting but Jake scratched the back of your hand making you look at him.

He weakly pulled your hand away, “Don’t stop yourself. I want to hear you” As he said that he curled his fingers into your gummy wall making you gasp loudly

He smirked at the reaction and repeated the motion, the squishy walls around engulfing his fingertips, clenching around tightly as he attempted to scissor them open. You rolled to the back of your head when he found the pace that had you seeing stars.

The pad of his thumb rubbed over your swollen clit, “Was asking for attention, I couldn’t ignore… I’m sorry” You knew he didn’t mean the apology as he continued to rubbed down on the nerves

“More- Please!” You wail out, your hands grasping his biceps tightly, your filled holed gripping onto his fingers in a need but he ripped his fingers away when he felt that

You gasped and weakly opened your eyes to stare at him as he gave you a quiet apology and a sad pout. He bent your shaky legs and planted a kiss on your knee before reaching a hand down to hold his base.

Suddenly the initial frustration faded away as a wave washed over you, “Take a big breath for me” He whispered and with a shaky inhale, your chest heaved and you let out a pained whimper when he pushed his tip in

“D-Damn” You let out when he sank himself deeper, Jake let out pitched breaths and faint whines as you gripped around him, “So good”

He ran a hand at your hips to ease you. Your grip at his biceps grew tighter as you screwed your eyes shut but you weakly opened them when he tapped at your side, “Look at me. Just look at me baby”

Through heavily eyelids you look up at Jake who weakly smiled, faltering into a hiss every now and then, “Taking me so well, ‘m so proud of you. So fucking proud”

His body toppled over in a huff, your arms wrapped around his shoulders to hold him close. His cock twitched inside of you and it flared something fiery within you. You felt like you were being split apart by his cock alone.

You sucked in ragged breaths and released shaky breaths, trying to get accustomed to the stretch. Jake patiently waited for your sign, to show him that you were ready and he got it when your fingers drugged into his shoulder and your hurried head nodded in the crook of his neck.

He pressed a kiss at the side of your face, “I’m going to make you feel good, I promise” He reassured you before carefully pulling out just a little before pushing back in

A shallow thrust at first but it was more than enough to leave you dizzy. “So good for me love. So good to me. Taking all of me” Jake blabbed, slowly moving his hips once more to get accustomed to the clench around his cock

He heard soft sniffles come from you and he ran his hand up and down your side. Your body slightly shook under him and he cooed in your ear, “It’s okay let it out. You’re doing amazing. So fucking pretty”

You clawed at his skin, nails dragging down his skin and redding it. The rain hitting the window and the winds pushing up the tree to clunk at the side disappeared to nothing, “Need you Jakey… Please move” You slurred and it was like a switch flipped in his mind

Pushing in and out in slow thrust he soon got caught up in the feel of you wrapped around him. He never thought he could experience heaven while being alive but the wet, warmed confinement that is the heaven to him that he never wants to part form.

Each thrust started off slow and calculated, shallow but sweet. You feel the drag of him against your walls before he pushes himself in again. Able to feel his tip protruding into your g-spot, repeatedly hitting it when his pace quickened.

Your moans and whines grew louder when his tip kept poking your insides, teasing them in ways you never imagined of before. “You’re doing so good for me love” He murmured and you relished in the praise

“F-for you- Just for you” You weakly said, his heart hammered at the confession

Each thrust grew quicker, a desperation that wiped your mind cleared besides of the fullment within you that he provided. You whined out pants when he dragged his cock out fully leaving you empty for a moment before pushing back in to fill you up.

Your voice cracking whenever he did that, you hole gaped for him to be filled by him.Your walls parted and welcomed him with ease, arousal leaking at the sides and soaking his shaft.

The squelched and lewds sounds of each time you met filled the room, his hip meeting yours. Jake ran a hand up and down your body—gripping the skin that he could touch and hold onto.

“So pretty” While unable to see you he knew it was a sight to see, “My girl”

The call of words made your heart swell, you cling tighter onto him while seeps of moans slip past your mouth as you feel him inside, poking into your insides like it was always his to explore.

The obscene grew louder, no longer blocked by the rain pattering against the window or the gush of winds that swayed by. Your broken wails filled his head and consumed his body whole. Each thrust pressed your body deeper into the mattress.

Your hands fisted the sheets as your mouth fell slack, endless noises coming out and bouncing off the room. Jake groaned when he felt you grow tighter around him. A clear indication that your orgasm was approaching.

You sucked him deeper, not wanting to let go. “Clenching around me like you don’t want to let me go” He strained a chuckle, his free hand rubbing on your clit making your wail even louder

Running an infinity motion over the twitching bundle of nerves had you shaking even harder. You buried your head deeper into the crevice of his shoulder and jaw as he was your solace.

Jake grunts a chuckle when you hold onto him, “Give it to me. Let go for me baby” He wrapped his arm around you while his hips never faltered

Each thrust sent your body further into your bedding, the once slow thrust growing quicker and irregular, the tame rhythm disrupted and erratic, you felt him twitch in you whenever you clamped around him. Your legs hooked around his waist to keep him in you.

His eyes widened at the silent jester however he continued the relentless thrust into you. Your moans were frequent until you released the loudest one yet while you clamped around his shaft, he stuttered his hips and gasped a huff when you came around him—a bliss taking over you in an instance.

“Take it for me. Please. Please” He weakly pleaded, vision growing blurry, “Take it baby” Jake sniffled his thrust coming to a hilt when you felt a warmth spread inside of you, his pitched moans filled your ears while his cock twitched painting your velvet walls white of him

Jake’s rest rose with every pant he took, too dazed to comprehend what’s around him besides your fluttering hole engulfing him and taking everything he spilt into you.

Your sharp soft gasps dialed down into small hums, the hold you had on each other never loosening. He rested his forehead against yours. He smiled softly at the tired afterglow you bestowed and his heart fluttered in his chest.

When you heard a soft giggle your eyes opened to see the cheesy smile Jake had, a look in his eyes that seemed to hold the stars in them even though he was only looking at you.

Unable to hold back, you softly chuckle yourself and rub your sweaty forehead with his. He began to pull his body away to pull out but you locked your legs behind and weakly shook your head, “Let’s stay like this for a little while please”

Without another word, his body rested on top of you and head cracking into your neck, adjusting himself to slot perfectly in your arms while he took a heavy sigh, his body relaxing instantly.

He placed a kiss on your skin as he softly smiled, “We can stay like this for however long you like”

𓂃 ོ𓂃

The sun is barely up but growing in the distance, you take small steps on the dock. Jake instantly perched up to the sound and turned around, his smile growing bigger when he saw you wearing his shirt.

You shyly smile seeing the beaming gaze he had for you before walking over to him and taking the seat next to him. Your sides plastered to each other and he pressed his mouth against your head with a gentle smile, “Hi love”

You hummed in response, your heart full with joy and new beginnings. Resting your head upon Jake’s shoulder, hands interlacing with each other while he planted another soft kiss on top of your head.

The sun was rising and the sound of a swoosh followed by another wasn’t enough for you and Jake to pull away from each other. Then in sight, two swans flew and landed beside each other. Watching how they followed the other in whatever path is decided without a question or resistance.

While the swans swam in the lake named after them before ultimately choosing a spot in front of you, neck craned high to rest their heads on each other’s to bask in the sunlight of the humid dewy morning.

Forming a perfect heart shape to new humble beginnings of greatness, happiness and love.

——

a special tag for @jaylaxies <3

#enhypen smut #enha smut #jake sim smut #sim jaeyun smut #sim jake smut #jake smut #enhypen jake smut #enhypen x reader #jake sim x reader #sim jaeyun x reader #jake x reader #jaeyun x reader

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landologged · 2 months ago

Text

Out Lapped | Part One

pairing: lando x reader

genre: toxicity, shit aint sweet sorry, like 85% porn and arguing????, its hot tho, angst? i guess, monaco beinf monaco, possessive and hot lando, readers a dumb hoe (but i get it)

description: You sure as hell didn’t expect to find yourself at Lando’s door after promising your therapist you wouldn’t see him again. But your thighs remember things your brain pretends to forget, and Monaco is a dangerous place to have free time and a hell of a lot of unresolved trauma.

So, here you are, stuck in a loop you swore you’d escaped: he wins races, goes home to her, and calls you at 2AM like you’re the reward. You know it’s toxic. You know he’s lying. But every time you try to walk away, he says your name like it still means something. And every time he touches you—you forget how to leave all over again.

WC: 19k

notes: want to preface this is extremely toxic, i dont hate magui but needed her for the plot sorry, this is not a healthy relationship its just toxic n sexy im sorry i have issues, enjoy tho xx | had to repost bc tumblr put a warning on it

You tell yourself it’s just a building. Just concrete and glass and overpriced furniture, just one of dozens of sleek high-rises dotting the cliff-edge of Monaco’s coastline like little temples to wealth. But that’s a lie you started telling before the plane even landed, and now—standing outside of his door, heat curling around your ankles and your jaw locked so tight you can feel the tension in your teeth—it’s all unraveling way too fucking fast. This isn’t just a building. This is a goddamn shrine. To every version of you that lost and begged and bled behind those walls. And the worst part is you let all of it happen. Over and over and over, like some stupid animal who keeps going back to the cage because it’s the only place she remembers how to breathe.

You stand there too long. Not knocking. Not leaving. Just standing like a goddamn idiot. Sweating in your blouse, clutching your phone like it might ring if you squeeze hard enough, though no one’s called you in hours. You’d deleted his number. Blocked it. Then unblocked it. Then memorized it, like that made you the one in control. The gate code, too. You remembered that one without trying.

Inside, you imagine he’s probably shirtless. Or worse—fresh out of the shower, towel slung low, smirking at his own reflection in the mirror like he’s still a teenage boy. Or maybe, just maybe, he’s got someone over. That girl he was seen with last week, or the one from before. Some Portuguese model with a body like a Victoria Secret angel and a face the camera loves. Long legs, soft mouth, always sun-kissed and unbothered. She’s been rumored with him for months—not that you’ve been reading, obviously. Not that you have the search saved. Not that you zoomed in on the photos where he’s walking three steps ahead and still somehow looks like he belongs to her.

She has no idea what he sounds like when he’s angry. No idea how fast his mood can turn—how one second he’s teasing, laughing, and the next his voice goes low and hard and mean. She doesn’t know what it’s like to be devoured by him, not kissed but taken, not fucked but owned. She’s never had to piece herself together in his bathroom afterward, thighs shaking, mascara wrecked, trying not to cry just because he simply didn’t stay.

There’s no breeze in the hallway, just stillness. Expensive stillness. Climate-controlled. Smells like fresh-cut flowers and clean linen and the faintest undercurrent of chlorine—like the building itself is trying to convince you nothing messy ever happens here. No broken glasses or slammed doors or whispered confessions between kisses that feel like the end of the world.

The walls are paneled in soft blond wood, warm under the overheads, you shift your weight, and the tap of your heel against polished wood echoes too loud. Sharp. Embarrassing.

A laugh bubbles up uninvited. Quiet, bitter, barely audible, but still real. What the fuck are you doing here? You told your therapist—once—that you were past this. That you’d written it off for what it was: a phase, a crash, an experiment in self-destruction that just happened to have a face. His face. His voice. His hands. You’d said it with conviction. You’d almost believed yourself.

But that was when you hadn’t counted in the photo.

It wasn’t even new. Just some grainy tabloid resurrection of last summer—him holding your wrist outside the back of a club, the tension in your posture so clear it almost hurt to look at. And his face—god that fucking face. Golden tan, summer-slick skin that caught the flash of the camera like it knew exactly where to land. That haircut—fresh, sharp, fade carved clean down the sides, but the top left long, soft, curled just enough to look effortless. Like he’d rolled out of bed into a suit and made it look intentional.

White shirt open at the throat, no tie. Slim-fit navy blazer that hugged his frame like he’d been sewn into the thing. And that expression—cool, calm, always calculated. He looked straight into the lens, jaw set, eyes unreadable, like he knew they were watching and didn’t give a single fuck about it. Like he knew you wouldn’t leave. Because you hadn’t. Not really. Not for long, and sure as hell, never for good.

You don’t knock. You can’t. Your hand hovers near the wood, fingers curled like a fist you don’t have the strength to make. You stare at the door like it might open on its own. Like maybe he’ll feel you on the other side and save you the choice.

So when the door finally opens—slow, quiet, just a few inches at first—it doesn’t feel like an invitation. It feels like a trap you’re already halfway inside.

Warm light spills out into the hallway, catching the edge of that honeyed wood paneling behind you, and suddenly you’re in it again. His world. The clean, curated silence of it. Not cold—just impersonal. Too white. Too perfect. A mirror near the entry catches the edge of his shoulder, and for one disorienting second, you see both versions of him at once.

He’s barefoot, of course. Hair damp and pushed back like he’s just gotten out of the shower or maybe just doesn’t give a shit anymore. Black long-sleeve shirt, sleeves shoved up to his elbows like he’s mid-recovery from something. The fabric’s soft, lived-in, probably smells like skin and detergent. There’s a ring on his finger now—something thin and silver, catching the light as he leans one shoulder against the frame. Something that definitely wasn’t there before.

And just under his collarbone, a flash of color. Sunburn maybe. Lipstick, if you let yourself believe in worst-case scenarios. You don’t want to know. You do want to know. It burns both ways.

Behind him, the apartment stretches long and quiet. Pale floors. White cabinets. Stainless steel fridge that reflects the open-concept kitchen like a showroom. Heineken keg on the counter. DJ deck in the corner. Stacks of papers on the island that say he’s busy. Clean sink that says he’s not that busy. Trophies in the other room. Art that’s mostly just versions of himself—cars, helmets, movement frozen mid-victory.

“Well, well,” he says, mouth curling slow. “Didn’t think you’d actually show.”

You raise an eyebrow, defaulting to sarcasm like muscle memory. “You think too much of yourself.”

He leans against the frame, lets his eyes drag over you like it’s nothing. Like it's a habit. “And yet, here you are.”

You hate how calm he sounds. How unsurprised. Like he knew. Like he felt you coming before you even booked the flight. You step forward without meaning to, past the threshold, into the coolness of the apartment that smells like bergamot and money and something darker underneath. Something familiar. Like heat after sex. Like you.

“Are you gonna say why you’re here,” he says as he closes the door behind you, voice low, smooth, almost bored, “or just continue to stand there?”

You shrug. You’re already halfway to the couch. “Didn’t think I needed a reason.”

“You always had one,” he says, following at a lazy pace. “Even when you lied about it.”

You don’t sit. You don’t take your shoes off. You just stand there in the middle of all that soft lighting and polished calm like you’re something feral that wandered in off the street. Your arms cross without thought, instinctive, defensive—like maybe if you press hard enough, you can hold yourself in. He notices. He always notices. That was the problem, wasn’t it? How seen he made you feel. Not loved. Not even wanted. Just known.

“You look tired,” he says. Not kindly.

You stare at him. Let your eyes drag over every inch of him. The tan. The jaw. The lazy posture. The fucking confidence. You try not to let it show—how familiar it all is. How foreign it feels now. Like you’ve studied it in photos more recently than in person. “You look the same.”

He grins. “You mean perfect?”

There it is. The smirk. The bait. The comfort in knowing exactly which part of himself still gets to you. He tosses it out like a joke, but his eyes don’t leave yours. He’s watching your mouth. Your shoulders. Your tells.

And fuck—you wish it didn’t still work. And so you do what you always do, you deflect. You roll your eyes, but the sting hits anyway. He’s always been beautiful in that arrogant, accidental way—like he never had to work for it. You always had to work for everything. But he just was. That was half the danger, all of the problem.

“You must’ve seen the article,” you say, even though you’re not here to talk about the article. Even though this whole thing has nothing to do with whatever the press dug up and everything to do with how quiet your apartment’s been. How empty your chest’s felt. How loud he still is, in every fucking corner of your mind.

“I did,” he says, shrugging. “You looked good. Even when you’re pissed off.”

You laugh once, sharp. “You looked like a fucking asshole.”

“Branding,” he replies, with that infuriating grin, the one that used to mean you’re not really mad at me and you’re not really leaving. The one you used to fall for. The one you feel yourself slipping toward again, like gravity. Like his goddamn dog.

You inhale through your nose, slow. Careful. Like control is something you can hold in your lungs.

“Don’t get excited,” you tell him.

He steps closer. One, then two. Not touching you. Just standing there, inches away, his presence thick as smoke. “You came back,” he murmurs. “That’s all I need.”

And your heart breaks a little, just enough to make room for something worse. Because this is the part you forgot—how he looks at you. Like nothing else exists. Like you’re a secret he’s been keeping warm in his mouth this whole time. There’s something about his eyes up close. Something impossible. They make you forget all the bad endings and bruised mornings. They make you think you might want it again. That maybe the problem was never him. Maybe it was you. Maybe you were too scared to be kept.

“I shouldn’t have come,” you say, voice raw around the edges. But it’s not a real protest.

He moves like he hears it for what it is. Like he knows the thread is already pulled, and you’re unraveling in his hands. He steps closer. Close enough that his breath ghosts against your cheek. Close enough that you can feel the burn of him without needing to touch. But then he does touch—just one hand, slow and certain, curling around your hip like he’s staking a claim he never stopped believing in.

“You always say that right before you kiss me,” he says, low, like a dare he already knows you’ll take.

Your breath catches. Just a subtle hitch in your chest that betrays you more than any yes ever could. Your mouth parts like instinct, like muscle memory, like maybe it remembers how good it felt to fall apart under his mouth. His hand moves, slow. Deliberate. Thumb grazing over the front of your shirt, dragging downward. Just enough to make your skin burn under the fabric. It’s not a grope. It’s worse than a grope. It’s casual. Familiar. Possessive in the quiet way that says I’ve had you like this before, and I will again.

His touch isn’t asking. It’s remembering. You swallow. Your heart's trying to crawl up your throat. You should move. Should say something colder, sharper, final. Instead, you just breathe out—

“Don’t.”

Barely audible. Not even a command. Just a plea. God, you’re an idiot.

He tilts his head, like he wants to get a better angle on your mouth. His nose almost brushes yours. The space between you contracts until it’s only breath and tension and history.

“Don’t what?” he asks, and his voice has that low, slanted softness—curious, cruel. Like he knows exactly what you meant but wants to hear you struggle to say it. The kind of voice that used to unravel you in dark corners, in backseats, in beds that didn’t belong to either of you.

He leans in. Just a little. Enough that you feel the heat of his breath against your mouth—warm, embarrassingly warm, laced with mint and something sweeter underneath. Familiar. Him. That exact blend you used to chase in the dark like a hit you didn’t want to quit. It makes your knees weaken. Your jaw tighten. Your pride splinter.

Your eyes flick to his lips. Mistake. They’re right there. Parted. Wet. Waiting. And the space between you shrinks until it feels like a trick.

“Don’t make this something it’s not,” you manage, barely above a whisper, every word scraped from the raw edge of restraint.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just leans in further, and fuck—his mouth grazes yours. Not a kiss. Not yet. Just a ghost of one. A threat.

His voice is so rough now—like it’s been worn down by every time he’s said your name in the dark. “You mean something it is.”

You shiver, and you hate that he feels it. You want to hold out. You want to keep control. You want to say something biting, something final, something that makes him feel the way you’ve felt since he let you go. But then he exhales—slow, hot, right against your tongue. And just like that, you’ve lost.

You kiss him, hard. Desperate. Like a dam breaking. Your hands are in his hair, dragging him in, and his body collides with yours like he’s been holding back since the moment you walked in. It’s all heat, no space. His mouth opens against yours and the taste of him hits like hunger—like rage, like missing something for too long. You chase it. You give him your teeth, your tongue, your breath. He takes all of it like it’s owed.

His hands are everywhere—gripping your waist, your ass, sliding under your shirt, fingers grazing the skin he used to fall asleep on like he’s checking to make sure it’s still his. You make a sound in your throat, somewhere between shock and surrender, and he groans into it—deep, guttural—like he’s been waiting months to hear it again.

He pushes you back until your spine kisses the wall, the impact muffled by the heat rolling off him. And you—God—you don’t even think. Your legs part without hesitation, hips tilting, instinctive. You wrap them around him like that’s where they’ve always belonged, thighs locking tight as his hands slide lower. And then you feel it—how hard he already is against you, thick through his pants, straining with a pressure that feels dangerous. You gasp. His hips grind forward, slow and deliberate, dragging that heat against the softest part of you. All muscle. All him.

He’s solid everywhere, unyielding, his abs pressed tight against your stomach, his chest hot through the thin fabric of your shirt. You can barely breathe. He’s all around you, above you, inside you already without even being there yet.

“You miss me?” he growls into your mouth.

You don’t answer. Your answer’s in the way you arch into him, nails raking down his back, pulling his shirt up and over his head like you need to feel every inch. It hits the floor. He’s warm and solid and panting.

“You fucking miss me,” he says again, dragging his mouth down your throat, sucking hard enough to mark.

You nod. A tiny motion. Barely there. Then—brrzt. brrzt.

His phone.

You freeze. Just for a second, enough for the thoughts to collect. Lando, however, keeps going. Grinding against you harder. Hand shoved between your thighs, fingers pressing through denim like he wants to rip it off with his teeth.

brrzt. brrzt.

“Your phone,” you pant.

“Fuck it,” he mutters. “Ignore it.”

It buzzes again. Long this time. He doesn’t even look. Just lifts you higher, his mouth dragging over your jaw, your cheek, back to your lips. “Come back to bed,” he whispers against you. “Let me show you how much you fucking missed me.”

Your heart stutters. The phone won’t stop. You twist your face away, breathing hard. “Answer it.”

He growls low in his throat. Frustrated. Presses his forehead to yours. “It’s nothing.”

brrzt. brrzt.

You push against his chest. Gently. Not to stop. Just enough to see his face. “Lando. Just—answer it.”

Silence stretches. He stares at you. Jaw tense. Then—without a word—he reaches into his pocket and pulls the phone out. Glances at the screen. Jaw flexes again. You see it before he hides it.

Magui? The model. He doesn’t answer right away. Just holds the phone like it’s radioactive. Then, slowly, he presses accept. Puts it on speaker and doesn’t look at you.

“Lando? Where are you?” her voice asks, soft, breathy, sweet like something that doesn’t know how sharp the blade is. “You said you’d come back.”

Your stomach drops. Something ugly twists in your chest. He looks at you. Finally. Lips parted. Chest heaving. Guilt doesn’t even register on his face.

And you—you just stand there, legs still wrapped around his hips, his hand still under your shirt, his mouth still wet from your kiss.

Listening. Like a fucking idiot. You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until it starts to burn. His name is still hanging in the air between you, but you’re not looking at him anymore—you’re staring at the phone, your body gone still in his hands, your heart pounding like it’s trying to scream over her voice.

You said you’d come back. He doesn’t say anything. Not to her. Not to you. And then she says it. Soft. So soft you almost miss it.

I love you.

Your brain doesn’t register it right away. It glitches. Like static. Like maybe it wasn’t real. Like maybe your ears are just cruel. You blink, but your face doesn’t move. Your jaw’s locked so tight it feels like your teeth might break.

And he—he just ends the call. Like that. Like nothing. No goodbye. No excuse. No tone shift, no sigh. Just a tap of his thumb and the silence is back, louder than before.

Your mouth opens. But nothing comes out. You look at him, really look, and you don’t know what the fuck you’re expecting. Remorse? A joke, maybe? Something to soften the way that name is still ricocheting around your skull like a pinball.

But he just breathes—deep, shuddering, like he’s swallowing down the instinct to pull you back in. Like it physically costs him to let go. His chest rises too fast, too hard, like he’s been running, like holding you against him took something out of him. His breath hits your cheek in short bursts, humid and sharp, laced with the taste of everything you almost let happen. It’s the kind of breathing that isn’t just from need—it’s from restraint. Barely-there control. Like his whole body is buzzing with the effort not to drag you right back against the wall and finish what you started.

You slide off of him. Feet hitting the floor like reality. You fix your shirt automatically, hands shaking, lips buzzing from where his mouth had been, skin hot and damp and stupid.

“Are you serious?” Your voice comes out raw.

He watches you, eyes dark, unreadable.

“She—she loves you,” you spit, breath catching as you take a shaky step back, heart still racing, hands still curled into fists. “She said that and you just—what the fuck was that?”

He exhales sharp through his nose, then drags a hand through his hair—fast, rough, like he’s trying to get a grip on something he can’t hold. His curls fall right back into place, but his jaw’s tight, his eyes flicking toward the floor like maybe he’s trying not to look at you. “She doesn’t mean it.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

He exhales, sharp through his nose. “She doesn’t know me like you do.”

“That’s the problem,” you snap. “She doesn’t know what you are.”

“And you do,” he says, voice quiet. Still dangerous. “So why are you here?”

You open your mouth. Then close it. Then open it again, and this time it’s just a laugh. Ugly. Bitter. “Jesus Christ, I’m a fucking idiot.”

“Don’t,” he says.

“Don’t what? Don’t realize what this is? That I’m your dirty little relapse while your soft little girlfriend plays house and says I love you into your voicemail?”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he barks. Too fast. Too defensive.

You stare him down, eyes narrowing. “You didn’t say that a second ago.”

He comes toward you and you stumble back.

“No,” you say. “Fuck no. You don’t get to touch me right now.”

He freezes. Stops dead, just a foot from you, close enough to feel the heat of him, too far to do anything about it. His chest rises and falls like he’s running—he’s not. He’s just feeling too much, too fast, too late.

“Look at me,” he says.

You don’t. You stare at the floor like it might save you. Like if you don’t meet his eyes, you won’t fall back into the same goddamn loop that’s already eaten you alive twice over.

He reaches out, fingers brushing your jaw. You flinch, but you don’t move away. Of course you don’t. Because part of you is still standing in the wreckage hoping he’ll lie to you sweet enough to make it okay. His touch is soft now. Thumb tracing your cheek, then dragging down your throat, slow and reverent, like he’s memorizing you again.

“She doesn’t know what I sound like when I’m inside you,” he murmurs.

Your knees almost give out.

“She doesn’t know how you taste when you come.”

Your stomach flips, hard. Heat coiling down your spine, settling between your legs.

“She doesn’t know how wet you get for me, even when you hate me.”

Your thighs clench—reflex, muscle memory, betrayal. His grin brushes your cheek without even forming. He doesn’t need to see it. He feels it. He steps closer. Just one inch. But it’s all it takes. His mouth brushes your ear, hot breath curling into your neck.

“But you do,” he whispers. “Don’t you?”

You close your eyes. Just for a second. Just to breathe. Just to pretend.

His hand slides under your shirt again. Palm flat over your stomach, fingers splayed, dragging up—slow, heavy, deliberate. Every inch he takes feels like a claim. Like he’s reminding your skin who it belongs to. He reaches your ribs. Stops there. Presses in. Just enough to make you feel the weight of it. The heat. The power.

You should pull away. You want to pull away. But your body’s already arching into it. Already melting.

“You’re not some side piece,” he says, low and rough, his mouth dragging along your jaw. “You’re not a fucking mistake. You’re the one I can’t seem to get over.”

You shake your head. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

His mouth finds yours again. Softer this time. Slower. Like he’s trying to rewrite the last five minutes with his tongue. Like if he kisses you deep enough, long enough, you’ll forget her name. Forget what she said. Forget what you heard.

You moan into it. God help you.

He lifts you again. You let him. Your legs wrap around his hips like they never left. He presses you back into the wall and grinds against you, and you’re gasping again, already soaked through your jeans, shame melting into heat like sugar over flame.

“You still want me,” he says. “Even after all this.”

You nod before you can lie. Before you can save face. Because the truth is—it’s not that you want him. It’s that you need him. Like air, you want him more than anything else. And when his hand slips down, tugging open your fly, fingers sliding beneath the fabric like a claim, you whimper.

Because this isn’t healing. This is a fucking possession, and worst of all you’re still letting him in.

His fingers are in your jeans, dragging them down with that reckless one-handed pull like he can’t wait anymore. As if he’s been fucking starved. The denim catches at your knees, then your ankles, and you almost trip trying to step out of them, but he catches you—of course he catches you—because the fall is always part of the game with him.

“You still get wet for me so fast,” he murmurs, thumb pressing into your underwear, slow circles right over where he knows you’re already soaking. “Just like that. Just like you used to. I didn’t even have to try.”

Your breath hitches. Shame and arousal flood through you in equal measure, but it’s not enough to stop you. He watches you fall apart with that cocky, ruined grin—like he’s proud of what he does to you, but not even remotely surprised.

“Bet you touch yourself thinking about this,” he adds. “About my mouth. About my cock.”

Your mouth opens to protest, but he slips a finger beneath the fabric and slides through you—wet, thick, slow—and your entire brain short-circuits. Your knees buckle and he fucking laughs, low and mean and gorgeous.

“You’re so full of shit,” you whisper, voice shaking. “You don’t mean any of this.”

His mouth finds yours again, teeth scraping your lip. “Maybe,” he says against your tongue. “But it’s working, isn’t it?”

You shove his chest, but it’s not a real push. It’s nothing. You’re already grinding against his hand, thighs trembling, cunt clenching around his fingers as he adds another. The stretch burns in the best way. Your head falls back against the wall.

“Lando—”

“I missed this pussy,” he cuts in, voice rough now, his own breathing ragged. “Fuck. I thought about it every time she opened her mouth. Had to stop myself from saying your name when I came.”

That hits like a slap. Your jaw drops, your stomach lurches, but the worst part—the most humiliating part—is how much wetter you get hearing it. You hate him. Hate yourself more. He drops to his knees before you can think. Yanks your underwear down and apart like he owns it, spreads you open with both hands and groans when he sees how wrecked you are.

“Oh, fuck, baby,” he mutters. “You’re dripping. Look at that. She’s got no fucking clue.”

Then his mouth’s on you. You cry out, hands flying to his hair, trying to push him away and pull him in all at once. His tongue is relentless—circling, flicking, sucking your clit with practiced, hungry precision—and your thighs are already shaking. His fingers pump into you hard, steady, curling just right. It’s disgusting how fast you’re close. How desperate you are. How your hips are fucking chasing his mouth like he’s the only thing you’ve ever needed.

“You gonna come for me?” he asks, voice muffled against you. “Show me how bad you still want it?”

You nod frantically, too far gone to pretend. He chuckles darkly. “Then fucking do it. Let her hear you next time she calls.”

And then he sucks, hard, and everything inside you snaps. Your legs shake, your vision whites out, your body jerks against him with a guttural, broken moan that you couldn’t stop if you tried. You’re still shaking when he stands. Licks his lips, smug. Unbuttons his jeans like it’s nothing.

“Still think I don’t mean it?” he asks, pulling his cock out, hard and leaking, dragging it against your thigh.

You should run. But instead you grab his face and kiss him again—deep, messy, tasting yourself on his tongue—because if you’re gonna go down, you’re gonna burn on the way.

“Shut up,” you whisper against his mouth.

He grins like he’s already won. Next thing you know your panties are hanging from one ankle, forgotten. He’s panting into your mouth, hand gripping the back of your neck like he wants to fuck you with your face pressed against the wall and your spine bent backwards. His cock is hard against your thigh, leaking, twitching, so ready, and your nails are in his skin, already dragging, already marking.

Then he pulls back.

“Hold on,” he mutters, breathless, and turns away.

You blink. Chest heaving. “What the fuck are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer. Walks toward the bedroom. Opens a drawer. You don’t move, frozen in that second of hot disbelief, like maybe you didn’t just see what you saw.

Then he comes back. With a condom. And your blood boil over, you were going to fucking murder him. You stare at the plastic like it had personally slapped you.

“Seriously?” you spit in utter disbelief.

He shrugs, casual, tone light like it won’t explode the whole fucking moment. “What? Just being careful.”

“Careful?”

He shrugs again, tearing the foil open with his teeth, cock still hard in his hand. “I don’t know where you’ve been.”

The silence that follows doesn’t hang—it slams down between you. Sucks the oxygen out of the air. You just stare. Your mouth doesn’t work. Your chest doesn’t move. Rage rises slow in your throat, heavy and hot, turning your blood molten. It crawls up the back of your neck, behind your eyes, makes your vision pulse at the edges.

You take a step. Then another. Close enough to see your own slick glinting on his skin. And then your hand flies. The slap cracks across his face—flesh to bone, skin to heat—and his head snaps with the force of it. The sound ricochets off the walls, brutal and final.

He doesn’t stumble. Doesn’t flinch.

He just laughs. Low. Dark. That sharp, broken sound that says fuck yes. Mean. Worse, turned on.

“Oh, that’s what does it for you?” he breathes, eyes flicking back to you, wild now. “Getting offended that I don’t assume you’ve been sitting at home like a fucking nun?”

“You’re disgusting.”

“So are you,” he snaps back, grabbing your face with one hand, gripping your jaw. “But you’re the one who keeps coming back. Not her. You, princess.”

You’re both panting. Still half-dressed. Still drunk on whatever shit-show occurs whenever you two are in the same room.

“You think I’m letting you fuck me with a condom now?” you hiss. “After all this? Go fuck yourself.”

“You’d rather I come in you just to prove a fucking point?” he growls.

“Yeah,” you snap. “I fucking would.”

He doesn’t put it on. He just lets it fall. Condom hits the floor with a whisper and then he’s on you—slamming you back against the wall with the weight of his whole body, his mouth crushing yours, tongue and teeth and spit, hands everywhere, gripping your thighs, your ass, your jaw like he can’t decide what part of you he wants first.

He’s cursing into your throat, your name half-spoken—spit out—like a threat, like worship, like an apology he doesn’t fucking mean.

And then—

He shoves into you.

Raw. Bare. Deep.

You gasp—no, scream—your legs snapping tight around his waist, head thudding back against the wall as your body stretches around him with that slick, aching slide that feels like pain, like home, like fuck, finally.

He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t check if you’re okay. Doesn’t have to. Your nails are already dragging down his back, hips tilting into his like your body’s starving. He grabs your ass and drives into you again, again, harder—grinding deep like he’s trying to split you open and crawl inside.

You bite his shoulder. He groans loud, then fucks you harder.

“This what you wanted?” he snarls. “This what you fucking needed?”

“Yes,” you moan, breath caught, body stretched and shaking. “Yes, yes—fuck, yes.”

He pulls out mid-thrust and drags you down the hall, arms still locked under your thighs. You’re dizzy, dripping down his stomach, mind gone. Then he kicks the balcony door open.

You jolt. “Are you serious—”

It’s too late. The breeze hits your sweat-slick skin. Warm air, salty from the sea, cool on your flushed face. He presses you to the glass, your chest against it, city lights glittering like stars below, and pushes back inside you in one brutal stroke.

You scream. Palm slaps the window. He fucks you like he wants Monaco to watch.

“You don’t care if anyone sees, do you?” he hisses, snapping his hips. “Fucking exhibitionist slut.”

You’re moaning into the glass, fogging it up with your breath, clawing at the railing.

“Say it,” he growls into your ear. “Say you like getting fucked in front of the world.”

You can’t even form words.

“You’re mine,” he snarls. “Say it.”

His hands grip your hips like handles, like he’s steering the whole scene, and your face is pressed to the cool glass, moaning open-mouthed against your own reflection. You can barely see the city anymore—just streaks of light and shadow and your own shame, smeared across the surface in fogged breath and desperation. Your knees are going numb. Your thighs burn. You can’t stop clenching around him.

He’s fucking brutal now. Deep. Deliberate. Each thrust hitting with the full weight of him—hips slamming into your ass, chest flush to your back, breath hot and ragged in your ear.

You shudder. Grip the railing, knuckles white, thighs shaking. And all it takes is one more thrust—one more brutal drag of his cock inside your soaked, ruined cunt—and your body fucking shatters. You come with a sob that scrapes your throat raw, clenching down on him, pulsing so hard it feels like you’re trying to pull him deeper.

“Fucking—fuck—I’m gonna cum in you,” he grits, voice torn, no space for permission, no pause for protest.

You don’t say no. You can’t.

He slams forward one last time and stays there—buried to the base, cock twitching inside you, and then he lets go.

You feel it hit. Feel him spill, thick and hot, spilling into you without hesitation, no condom, no fucking thought. Just heat. Just need. Just him.

His entire body shudders against yours, mouth open against your shoulder, groaning low and wrecked, every pulse a brand.

It’s silent for a moment after. Just heavy breathing and the muffled throb of music echoing up from the street below. You can feel him softening inside you. Feel him pulling out, slow. Lazy. Like he’s done. Your legs shake. You press your forehead to the glass, body humming, raw and wrecked.

And when you turn—he’s already walking away. Without a single word, he begins adjusting his waistband. Grabbing a towel. Scrubbing his face like he just finished a workout. Not even a glance back in your direction.

You blink. Still half-naked. Still leaking.

Still there.

“Lando,” you say. Quiet. Maybe it’s not even his name—it’s a plea. A question. He doesn’t respond. Just walks into the kitchen. Opens the fridge. Drinks straight from a bottle of water like your body wasn’t just wrapped around him minutes ago.

That’s when it hits. The shift. The drop. On queue. You wrap your arms around your chest. The breeze brushes your thighs, sticky and exposed, and you feel it—his cum sliding out of you, running down your inner leg in a humiliating heat.

You feel empty. Not the kind that hums. Not the kind that settles sweet and fucked-out in your bones.

No. This is raw. Open. Like something vital’s been scooped out and left behind. You’re still dripping from him. Still shaking, breath catching in your throat like a secret you didn’t mean to tell. Your legs are barely holding. Your heart’s trying to pretend it’s fine.

He leans against the counter. Phone in hand. Scrolling. Laughing under his breath at something you’re not a part of.

Like he didn’t just fuck your soul out against the glass. Like you didn’t say yes to all of it.

And now—he’s done. And you’re just there. Still wanting. Waiting.

You don’t know how long you stand there, barefoot and half-naked, the breeze licking at the mess between your thighs, spine still curved from where he bent you against the glass. The city glows on without you. Somewhere below, people are drinking champagne and laughing under golden light. The world keeps turning. You peel yourself off the railing. Limbs heavy. Walk stiffly back inside, legs aching from the way he held you open like a vice. You grab your jeans from the floor and pull them up without really thinking, fabric clinging to sweat and everything he left inside you. You’re dizzy. It doesn’t feel real. Or maybe it feels too real. Like the high’s just starting to rot from the inside out.

He’s still in the kitchen. Shirtless, scrolling. Water bottle on the counter, beads of condensation sliding down the side. He hasn’t looked at you once.

You watch him for a second, arms wrapped around yourself like you’re trying to hold your insides in. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move. Just scrolls.

You clear your throat.

“I… guess that’s it, then?”

His eyes flick up. Casual. No longer interested.

“Thought that’s what you came for,” he says. Not cruel. Not sharp. Just flat, just honest.

Dismissive. Like the fuck was the favor. Like this was a transactional itch, not a relapse that shattered something in you.

You blink. Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

He goes back to his phone.

You step forward. One bare foot against the marble tile, cold and slick beneath your toes. “So what now?”

“Now nothing.”

He says it like it’s funny. Like you’re the one being too dramatic. Like you didn’t just let him inside you. Like you’re not still stretched around the memory of him.

Your stomach tightens.

Of course. Of course. Because his is how it’s always been, isn’t it? Because he fucks you, and then he pulls away. Mentally. Physically. Spiritually. Every time. He rolls off. Goes quiet. Distracted. Picks up his phone like your body didn’t just bend around him like it remembered how. Like you didn’t give him everything—again. And on the rare nights he let you stay, he wouldn’t touch you after. Wouldn’t hold you. Wouldn’t even turn toward you in the bed. Like warmth was permission. Like kindness meant commitment. God forbid he see you after.

And still, you stayed. Every fucking time. Still hoping that one day he’d kiss you on the forehead instead of just your mouth. That he’d trace your back after instead of zipping his pants. That he’d make breakfast. That he’d ask you how you felt.

But he never did. He never wanted that part. And still—you came.

“I came here because of that photo,” you say, quietly. “Because I thought—fuck—I don’t know, I thought maybe we should talk. About what we were. About what we never really finished.”

That gets a reaction, but not the one you want. He exhales sharply, smirks at the counter. Shakes his head.

“You’re kidding, right?”

Your jaw tenses. “No. I’m not.”

He sets the phone down, finally looks at you, and the look is pure Lando—half exasperated, half smug, like he’s above it all. Like he’s already out of reach again.

“What did you think this was?” he says. “Closure? A love story?”

Your throat closes up. You swallow hard. “I didn’t—fuck, I didn’t think. Okay? I just missed you.”

The words feel pathetic in the air. He tilts his head. “Yeah, and now you don’t have to.”

And that’s it. That’s fucking it. No tenderness. No gratitude. No I-missed-you-too or it’s-complicated or even a lie to soften the blow.

Just that. He picks his phone up again. You start to say something—maybe don’t make me feel used, maybe tell me this wasn’t nothing, maybe just lie to me—but you stop.

Before you can even finish inhaling, he’s pressing the phone to his ear.

“Hey,” he says, soft.

So. Fucking. Soft.

Your heart caves. It doesn’t break. It caves. Like something imploding from the inside out. It’s not the volume of his voice—it’s the tone. The shift. Like he’s wiping you off his skin and putting on someone else’s smile.

He turns his back to you, leans against the counter. “Yeah… I know. I’m sorry, baby.”

You just stand there. Your arms still crossed, but now it’s because if you don’t hold yourself together, you’ll fucking fall apart. You feel the cum drying between your legs. You feel it leaking into your jeans. You feel like a mistake wearing your own skin.

“Yeah,” he says into the phone. “Just had to handle something real quick.”

Your breath stutters. You’re not a person. You’re not even a memory. You’re a thing he had to handle.

He glances over his shoulder. Sees you still standing there. He turns back, still murmuring sweet nothings into the phone, and you’re left standing in the middle of the room with your mouth full of dust and your thighs still slick with the lie you let back in.

You stare at the back of him, phone cradled to his ear, voice soft in that way you haven’t heard in months—not since he used to call you at 1AM, whispering like a promise. He’s murmuring something now. You catch pieces. Missed you too. No, just tired. I’ll come by tomorrow. Yeah, I will.

The words don’t even hurt as much as the tone. That casual affection. The tenderness you’ll never get again.

Your body aches. Not from pleasure, not anymore. From the aftermath. From the sharp reminder of how quickly he empties you out and walks away. You’re still sticky with him. Inside and out. You don’t say anything. No dramatic line. No last jab. That would give him too much. Let him think you still want a reaction. That you’re still clinging.

Instead, you start collecting your things. Quietly. Your shirt’s wrinkled where he tugged it. Your panties are still damp, shoved in your back pocket with shaking fingers. Your shoes by the door—you slip them on without a sound. Your bag. Your phone. What little dignity you can scrounge from the marble floor.

You glance back once, not because you want to, but because your body betrays you even now.

He doesn’t look. Still on the phone. Still laughing quietly. Still calling someone baby like it means something. Your throat burns. You swallow it down. You told yourself this wouldn’t happen again. You told yourself it was just to talk. Just to finish what never got finished. Just to say goodbye properly.

But you knew. You knew the second you saw him. This was never going to end clean. Not with him. Not with you.

You open the door. His voice fades behind you as it clicks shut. You hold your bag close to your chest as you walk down the hall, staring straight ahead, blinking fast and hard.

Because if you cry now, you’ll never stop. And he doesn’t deserve to know that he still has that power. He already knows.

You don’t even remember walking back. You must’ve called a car. Or maybe you walked half the way and then gave up. Maybe you blacked out the drive, staring out the window with your lips still swollen and your thighs still sticky with him, flinching every time a memory passed too close. Maybe you held your phone in your hand the whole time and didn’t unlock it once. You can’t remember. You don’t want to.

You’ve never felt less like a person and more like a ghost dragging her ruined body across white marble and velvet hallway carpet. Everything at the hotel is too pristince. Too quiet. No one at the front desk looks at you, but you feel like they know. You feel like you’re wearing it—like guilt is a stain bleeding through your clothes, like they can smell him on you.

You ride the elevator in silence. Your reflection stares back from the brass paneling. Eyes rimmed red. Lip a little bitten. Hair half-wrecked from where he’d fisted it. You don’t fix it. What’s the point? There’s no one left to impress. You get into the room and it feels smaller than it did this morning. Like the walls have leaned in, closing around you. You don’t turn the lights on. You just stand there for a second, letting the dark settle. Your bag slides off your shoulder and hits the floor with a dull thud. Your phone clinks against the dresser when you set it down too hard. And you’re still holding your shoes.

You sit on the edge of the bed and stare into nothing. The shame doesn’t come all at once. It creeps in. Starts as a whisper behind your ribs, an ache behind your eyes, the slow, growing awareness of what you just did. And who you did it with.

Lando.

Your heart clenches at the sound of his name in your own head. Not because it’s romantic. Because it’s sick. Because you want him still. Want more. Want his mouth, his hands, his fucking voice even now—like he didn’t just toss you aside like old gum. Like he didn’t walk away mid-mess and call her. Like he didn’t say nothing when you stood there, humiliated and half-clothed.

You drag yourself to the bathroom and flick the light on. It’s too bright. Makes everything worse. The mirror is a crime scene. Your makeup is half-gone. Mascara smudged. Lipstick faded and smeared. You can still see the mark on your collarbone where he bit you. You run cold water. Cup it in your hands. Splash your face. It does nothing. You strip slowly. Shirt. Jeans. Bra. That ruined pair of panties you shoved into your back pocket like a secret. You drop them all onto the cold tile, one by one, and stand there naked, not touching the towels. Not stepping into the shower. Just standing. Letting the air hit your skin.

You feel used. Your thighs are sticky. The inside of your cunt aches, sore in that way that used to make you feel desired, but now just makes you feel stupid. You stare at the spot on your hip where he used to kiss you, back when it meant something. Back when it felt like worship instead of a routine.

Your exes never fucked you like this. Not even the worst ones. Not even the ones who said all the right things with their mouths and none of it with their eyes. They fucked you politely. Or carelessly. Or selfishly. But never like this. Never like they needed you to feel it days later. Never like they hated you and loved you and wanted to punish you for both.

Lando does.

Lando always did.

You sink to the floor. Slowly. Your bare ass hits the tile and you curl your knees to your chest like you can somehow close yourself off from the parts of you that are still open. Your hair falls in your face. You don’t move it. You just breathe.

You told yourself this wouldn’t happen again. You said it out loud. Like a spell. Like if you repeated it enough, it would become a truth. I won’t let him do this to me again. I won’t let myself want him. I won’t go back.

But here you are. Back. Fucked. Full. Empty.

And still—wanting.

You reach for your phone. Not to call him. Just to look. Some part of you is already anticipating it. Hoping for the text. The breadcrumb. Some half-assed “You okay?” that’ll make you hate yourself more because you’ll respond to it. You always do.

You unlock the screen. Nothing. You check the signal. Perfect bars. You wait. Another minute. Five. Still nothing.

You open his contact anyway. Just stare at it. That stupid name. The photo you should’ve deleted months ago—him grinning at some party, hand in your hair, that cocky fucking smile. You remember the moment. You remember thinking this might actually work.

You close the app. Open your messages. Type something.

“You didn’t have to call her while I was still in the room.”

Delete.

“I know what this was, but you could’ve at least—”

Delete.

You lock the screen. Drop the phone next to you on the floor.

You sit there, knees tight to your chest, bare skin on cold tile, heartbeat echoing in your ears like a countdown to nothing.

You won’t cry. But the part of you that still aches for him—still wants him—knows the truth. This isn’t over. It never is. And when he calls again, you’ll answer. Because you always do.

The morning’s too bright. Not metaphorically. Not emotionally. Just literally—too fucking bright. The Mediterranean sun punches you in the face the moment you step out of the hotel, and you’re instantly sweating through your shirt. You should’ve worn black. You should’ve stayed in bed. You should’ve never come to this country in the first place.

The streets are already buzzing. Tourists, locals, teams in branded polos. You can hear the distant whine of an engine on a test run somewhere, that sharp scream of speed slicing through the heavy, salt-thick air like a knife. The city’s waking up, but not slowly—Monaco never does anything slowly. She wakes up hungry, already half-drunk, already waiting for someone to crash.

You hope it’s him. You hope he hits the wall. You hope he qualifies dead fucking last. P20. God, give him P fucking 20. It’s petty. It’s cruel. But it’s all you have left. You wrap your arms around your stomach like it’ll hold in the sour twist of jealousy and hurt and sex you still haven’t scrubbed off. He’s probably already awake. Already laughing. Already sending her good morning texts while stretching in those silk sheets you bled yourself into last night.

You duck into a small shop near the marina—overpriced bottled water, sunscreen, last-minute branded merch. A cap with his fucking number is front and center on the rack. You want to set it on fire. You want to smash the display. You want to grab it and scream at the teenage girl fawning over it, he’s not a hero, he’s a fucking coward.

You buy gum and painkillers and overpriced sunglasses you don’t need.

At the register, the clerk asks, “You here for the race?”

You smile too hard. “Yeah. Something like that.”

Your body’s sore in that deep, intimate way. Not just your thighs, not just your hips—but your core, your chest, your fucking heart. Your insides feel rearranged and not in the poetic way. Your stomach is tight. Your mouth is dry. You didn’t even eat dinner last night. Just swallowed him. Let him fill every empty space. Let him win. You keep walking. Past yachts bobbing in the harbor, past velvet ropes and security guards and women with lips like weapons. Everyone’s beautiful here. Everyone looks like they belong.

Your phone stays cold in your pocket. No text. No call. No you okay? You imagine her posting something. A soft-boiled egg on a white plate. His wrist in the corner of the frame. His smile. Her caption: my love.

You hope the car catches fire. You hope he gets lapped. You hope he feels a tenth of what you’re swallowing with every step.

You sit at a café just off the main street. Order espresso. Black. No sugar. Your phone’s on the table. Face up. Still nothing. You chew your gum until your jaw hurts. You glance around. Every man in the city looks like a ghost version of him. Curls and sunglasses and soft voices ordering oat milk lattes. Every laugh sounds like the one he gave her. Your legs are crossed tight. Like if you keep them that way, it’ll keep the shame in. You still feel it. Every time you shift in your seat, you feel the dull ache of him. The stretch. The emptiness. Like he’s still inside you, just in the form of silence.

It’s not that you wanted love. You just wanted to not be discarded. Not like that. Not so fast. Not so quiet.You check your phone again.

Nothing.

You sip your coffee and watch a woman walk by in a Ferrari shirt, her toddler in tow. The kid’s got a tiny McLaren cap on. Your stomach flips. You wanted to be seen. Instead, you were handled.

Just another fucking pit stop. You close your eyes. Inhale. Count backwards from ten.

But the only thing that fills your mind is his voice from last night, low and smug in your ear.

You almost don’t go.

The cab ride feels long. The restaurant feels too much. Too much candlelight, too much glass, too much silver on the table, like it’s all trying to distract you from the fact that you’re still aching in all the places he touched. Your body’s clean, but it doesn’t feel that way. The shower didn’t help. The makeup didn’t help. The dress—tight black silk, slit to your thigh, halter low enough to tempt—feels more like armor than anything else. You wore it to forget, not to remember.

The guy across from you—what’s his name again? You haven’t said it out loud since you saved it in your phone—he’s sweet. Easy laugh. Well-dressed in a way that’s intentional but not obnoxious. Confident, but not a narcissist. The kind of man who should be able to make you forget. You’re nodding along to something he’s saying about race weekend logistics, sipping cold white wine and tasting nothing.

You laugh when he laughs. You answer questions. You twirl your fork in risotto you’re not hungry for. And you look fucking good. You know you do. Hair pinned. Collarbone sharp. Lip gloss like lacquer. There’s a version of you here that could do this. Who should be doing this. Being adored. Taken out. Picked up and shown off. A version of you who isn’t still bleeding for someone who left her dripping on a balcony.

But you’re not her. Not tonight. Not when your heart’s still a clenched fist in your chest. Your phone lights up once.

You glance down.

Lando.

No message preview. Just the name. Just the knot that forms instantly in your throat—tight, familiar, awful.

You don’t react. Not outwardly. You don’t flinch. Don’t gasp. You lift your glass like nothing’s wrong, like your whole body isn’t already curling inward from the contact.

The guy across from you is still talking. Still smiling. Still thinking you’re here.

“—so I told him, mate, you can’t just buy the yacht, you actually have to learn how to drive it,” he’s saying, laughing at his own story, voice too loud, too clean. “Rich kids, man. No sense of reality.”

You nod. Smile, maybe. You’re not sure what your face is doing. Everything sounds underwater.

Your phone lights up again.

Lando.

You shift in your seat. Cross your legs tighter beneath the table.

“Anyway, so we ended up in Saint-Tropez for the weekend—crazy, right?—and I swear to god the guy tried to dock it by just, like, aiming.”

You pick up your drink just to keep your hands busy. The rim touches your lip but you don’t sip. The screen lights again.

Lando.

And again.

Lando.

“Have you ever sailed? I feel like you’d be good at it. You’ve got that… I don’t know, that calm presence. Like you’d be the only one not panicking.”

Your fingers twitch on the stem of your glass. Calm. He has no fucking idea of the whirl-wind occuring in your head this very moment. Your phone buzzes again and this time you don’t even look. Because you don’t need to.

Lando.

Your hand tightens around the stem of your glass. Your lips part like you might say something. Like maybe you’ll stand up and run before this moment becomes what you know it’s about to be.

You look over your shoulder.

Not because you want to.

Because you have to.

That awful sixth sense prickling at your neck, crawling down your spine. Your body stiffens before your eyes find him. Because somewhere inside you, you already know.

And then—

There he is.

Far end of the restaurant. Slipping in through the private entrance like the front door was beneath him. Like he hasn’t made a mess of your insides. Like he didn’t fuck you breathless against his balcony railing not even twenty-four hours ago.

Tan coat. Dark trousers. Curls pushed back like he ran a hand through them on the drive over. Jaw tight, smile easy. There’s a laugh in his throat—God, that laugh—like he didn’t tear yours out with his fucking teeth. She’s with him. Magui. In the flesh. Long legs. Loose hair. White silk dress, delicate little thing hanging off her body like an afterthought. She’s laughing at something he said, hand on his arm, and your gut plummets.

He doesn’t see you yet. Or maybe he does, and he’s just pretending. Your face burns. You want to disappear. Melt into the leather of your chair, vanish into the floor. The guy across from you says something about dessert. You smile. You think you do. Maybe you grimace. He excuses himself to the bathroom, promising to be quick.

You’re already grabbing your phone the second he stands. And now you look, you read, properly.

Lando [9:37 PM]

nice dress

Lando [9:39 PM]

trying to impress him or just make me crazy?

Lando [9:40 PM]

it’s working

Lando [9:41 PM]

you think I won’t walk over there?

Lando [9:41 PM]

you think I won’t remind you what you begged for last night?

Lando [9:42 PM]

you can’t fuck him. you won’t. i can see it on your face.

Your heart pounds so loud you can feel it in your throat. Your hands are trembling against the phone. Your thumb hovers and then you type it.

go fuck yourself

You don’t even get the full breath out before another text lights up.

Lando [9:43 PM]

already did. thinking of you the whole time

Your stomach turns. You look back across the restaurant—and now he’s looking at you. Head tilted. Smile carved into his mouth like a dare. His hand rests on Magui’s lower back as he murmurs something in her ear.

She doesn’t notice you. But he does. His eyes are locked on you like a blade. You want to stand. You want to scream. You want to slap him across the face in front of everyone, tear the candle off your table and set that fucking smile on fire.

Instead—you grab your wine and down it.

Pick up your phone and you type.

what do you want from me, Lando?

Because you know exactly what he’s going to say. And you know you’ll give it to him anyway.

You don’t send another text. You don’t need to. Because you already feel it—his eyes. Continuing to burrow into you across the room. You don’t have to look again to know he’s watching your every move, jaw tight, tongue pressed hard behind his teeth. She’s still talking to him. Smiling. Leaning close like she’s won something.

But you know better. You’ve played this game before. He’s not listening to her. He’s watching you.

Before you know it, the bathroom door swings open and your date returns, all warm smiles and lightly cologned confidence, none the wiser. He slides into the booth beside you now instead of across. And you—oh, baby—you let him. You lean in. Just enough. Just close enough that your perfume slips into his nose and your thigh brushes his. Your knee rests against his under the table and you don’t pull away. You’re smiling now—really smiling, lip caught between your teeth, eyes bright with something vicious.

“Miss me?” you murmur, voice syrupy.

He laughs. “Was only gone a minute.”

You rest your hand on his forearm. Light at first. Then you drag your fingertips down to his wrist, slow and soft like you’re mapping out where you’ll bite later. He pauses, eyes dipping down to your hand, then back up to your mouth.

“You’re… different all of a sudden,” he says, smiling. “Something change?”

You shrug, eyes hooded. “Just realized I like this table better from this side.”

You know what you’re doing. You tilt your head, your mouth just a little too close to his neck, and you laugh at whatever he says next—something harmless. A joke. A compliment. It doesn’t matter. You laugh like Lando isn’t sitting ten tables away, burning. You laugh like you’re not already thinking about unzipping this poor man’s pants just to get revenge on the one who broke you.

You rest your chin on your hand and trace circles on the inside of his knee. You cross your legs in his direction and let your dress slip higher. You sip your wine with your lips parted, slow, tongue flicking the rim.

And then—your phone buzzes again. You check it casually, still smiling.

Lando [9:51 PM]

what the fuck do you think you’re doing

Oh, there it is. The leash pulls tight. Instead of answering, you reach for your date’s collar and straighten it instead, gentle, intimate. He’s blinking at you now, almost stunned, not quite believing his luck.

You feel Lando watching. You can taste it. Your hand drifts down to your date’s thigh. Not obvious. But not subtle either.

“You wanna come back to mine?” you ask, quiet, like a secret.

His breath catches.

“Yeah. Definitely.”

You feel the heat in your cheeks. Not embarrassment—arousal. And rage. And something darker. You want Lando to lose his fucking mind. You want him to picture it—the way you’ll moan for someone else, even if you’re faking it the whole time. You want him sick with it. You want him to feel what he did to you.

Yo grab your bag and stand, letting your hand trail down your date’s chest as you say, “Come on, then.”

You don’t look back. But you don’t have to. You can feel Lando watching you walk away like he’s about to snap a wine glass in his fist. And for the first time all fucking day, you feel a little bit like you won. The cool air hits you the second you step outside, crisp with salt and a faint hint of fuel—Monaco always smells like money and speed. You’re holding his hand. This new guy. The sweet one. He’s talking about the afterparty, asking if you want champagne or tequila when you get there. You nod. Smile. Pretend.

But it’s all wrong. Every step you take feels heavier. Your stomach twists once. Then again. Sharp, then dull, then sharp again. It’s not the wine. It’s not the food. It’s the lie you’re living inside, stretched too tight around your ribs.

By the time you reach the curb, your throat is dry. He’s hailing a car, jacket off, offering it to your shoulders like a gentleman, still thinking this night is going somewhere good. He’s got no idea you’re two seconds away from falling apart.

You stop and pull your hand back.

“I can’t,” you say, voice too small.

He looks over. “What?”

You shake your head. Your smile’s already cracking. “I’m sorry. I just—I can’t.”

He takes a step closer, brows pulling together. “You okay? Is there something wrong?”

You press a hand to your stomach. It does hurt now. Real pain. Not from food. From grief. From self-disgust. From the way your body still remembers another mouth, another weight, another name.

“I thought I could,” you say, voice barely above a breath. “I thought I was over it. But I’m not.”

He just watches you. Confused, maybe. Definitely kind, and kind in a way that only makes it worse. You hate that he’s decent. Hate the way he listens without interruption, the way he offers space for your sadness without trying to fix it. He’s doing everything right and it still feels wrong. Because no matter how gently he holds you, how safe his hands are, your mind always drifts elsewhere. Always pulls back to something sharp. Something dangerous. Something that doesn’t even belong to you anymore.

To Lando. To the way his name still lives under your tongue like it has a right to be there. To the taste of him, the weight of his stare from across a room, the way his laugh ruins you even now. To the memory of his hands on your body while someone else wears his heart in public. It’s shameful, the way you crave what hurt you. The way your skin still prickles for him while someone good stands in front of you trying to love you without a fight. And still—he’s the ghost you reach for in the dark. Even now. Even here.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, stepping back. “You don’t deserve this.”

And before he can speak, you turn. He calls your name once. But he doesn’t follow.

You walk. Fast at first, then slower, then fast again. The city glows around you—buzzing, alive, gearing up for a weekend of victory and champagne, of golden boy headlines and photos that will never include you. The heels you wore start to hurt. You carry them, bare feet on warm pavement, heart thudding in your ears like a warning bell.

You don’t cry. You don’t scream. You don’t throw your phone or punch a wall or sink to the floor in some kind of cinematic collapse. That would require an emotion that hasn’t already been wrung out of you. What you do is walk. Barefoot. Purse in one hand, heels in the other, dress still clinging to your skin like it knows it’s part of the performance you didn’t get to finish. You walk like you’re being timed, like if you slow down even a little you’ll notice what your body’s doing—shaking, buzzing, trying not to feel anything too loudly in case someone hears it. In case he does.

You walk back to the hotel. Back to the quiet. Back to the too-cold lobby where the concierge doesn’t even glance up. Back to the elevator that moves too slow, back to the room that feels too clean. Back to the bed where you let him inside you, to the window you pressed your palms against, to the glass that still holds the outline of your spine. You walk back to where last night still breathes in the sheets, where the air remembers what your mouth sounded like when he pulled you open.

You unlock the door with shaking hands. Not trembling—shaking. That kind of shake that lives in the marrow, in the hollows between bones, the kind that doesn’t show up until the moment things go quiet. You twist the handle and step inside like the room might have changed, like maybe it’s not the same space where you peeled yourself out of his grip hours earlier, where your knees hit the carpet and you thought maybe, for a second, that he might look at you and see something. The door closes behind you with that soft hotel click, and it sounds too final. It sounds like the kind of soft that doesn’t care how heavy the silence is on the other side of it. You don’t turn the lights on. You don’t move beyond the threshold. The air feels stale even though the window’s cracked. The sheets on the bed are still half-pulled back from when you rushed to get dressed, from when your fingers fumbled over your bra strap like it mattered, like decency was something you still had access to.

And that’s when it hits you—that feeling. That pulse. That presence.

Not the man you left at the restaurant, not the one who leaned into another woman’s ear while staring straight through you across the room. Not the one who smiled like he hadn’t had his face between your thighs the night before. Not the one who let you walk out without chasing. That version of him is for the public, for the cameras, for the kind of girls who don’t know better.

The one you feel now is the one who told you, under his breath, that no one would ever fuck you the way he does. The one who kissed your throat like it was an apology, like it was a promise. The one who held your hips in both hands like he needed to brace himself against the want. The one who said I love you with a groan and meant it in the filthiest, most broken way. The one who left you full and aching and ruined and somehow still wanting more.

He isn’t here. He isn’t anywhere. But his name is still wet in your mouth, and his breath is still in your lungs, and your underwear is still sticking to you from where he finished without asking, and every part of your body still feels like it belongs to him. And maybe that’s worse. Maybe this—this absence, this phantom weight—is heavier than the act itself.

Because this is what he does. He invades. He stays. He lingers. And when he goes, he never really leaves.

The phone rings just past two a.m.

You stare at it, thumb hovering over the screen, not moving. You don’t answer right away—not because you’re trying to punish him, but because it’s a moment, and it’s yours. The quiet just before. The breath held. The anticipation curled at the bottom of your stomach like something alive. You hate how much you want this. Hate how your body remembers his name before your mouth does. Hate how none of it has dulled, not even now.

It rings again, softer somehow, though you know that’s impossible. It’s just the hour. The way silence thickens around sound this late, the way everything feels heavier when you’re alone. The way he feels heavier when you’re alone.

You press accept on the third buzz.

You stare at the ceiling while the line connects, the glow of the screen fading into the dark again as your hand drops back to the mattress. Your fingers brush the edge of the pillow but you don’t turn over. You don’t shift. You stay exactly as you were—still, flat, undone. He doesn’t say your name. He never does right away. That’s part of the performance. That moment he lets the silence settle just long enough to remind you that he holds the leash, that if you want anything—words, answers, closure—you’ll have to crawl for it.

He sighs, soft, like he’s tired, like it’s been a long day, like this is normal. “Hey.”

Just that. Just hey.

And it’s nothing. It’s nothing and it’s everything, because your chest tightens immediately, stomach flipping like you were still twenty minutes from him and not lying here in the wreckage of what he left behind. His voice sounds rough, maybe from the champagne, maybe from her, maybe from the way he always sounds when he’s just had something and still wants more. You want to hate it. You want to pretend it makes your skin crawl. But all it really does is make you ache.

“You alone?”

The question lands too gently, like he’s not really asking. Like he knows.

“Yeah.” Your voice sounds like it’s coming from someone else. Brittle. Caught in your throat.

A pause. You can hear him breathing. That quiet, familiar rhythm that used to mean something. That used to make you feel safe before it made you feel like a fucking joke.

He clears his throat, and the smirk is audible even over the line. “So? How was he?”

You flinch. You don’t know why—you should have expected it. It’s exactly the kind of thing he says when he’s trying not to ask the real question. When he’s trying to keep the power even while he’s already lost it.

You pause. Too long. “Fine.”

“Just fine?” His voice drops, dark amusement curling at the edges. “You let him fuck you, then?”

Your jaw clenches. You know what he’s doing. You know exactly where this is going. You roll onto your side, tuck the phone closer to your ear, press your thighs together without thinking.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out at first. You swallow. Hard. “No.”

He laughs. Just once. Dry. “Didn’t think so.”

The silence stretches again, and it’s worse this time, heavier, like it’s his. Like he brought it with him and left it in your lap and now you’re the one holding it. You shift onto your side without meaning to, knees curling into your chest, hand still clutching the phone like it might anchor you to the bed.

“Hmm,” he hums, dragging the sound out like he’s picturing it. “Thought so. You always tighten up when you lie.”

You don’t respond.

“You were thinking about me the whole time, weren’t you?” His voice is softer now. Dangerous in a different way. Not sharp. Sweet. “Sitting there all pretty, playing the part, but your pussy was still sore from me.”

You swallow hard, lips parted, phone hot against your cheek. It feels heavier than it should—like it’s holding his whole mouth on the other end. Like if you press it tighter, you might feel the weight of his breath against your skin, humid and amused.

“Lando…” You don’t mean it to come out like that—weak, soft-edged, needy—but it does. It always does when he says your name first, or doesn’t say it at all. When he lets the silence settle until you have no choice but to fill it.

“I bet you didn’t even want him to touch you,” he murmurs. Not a tease. Not even mean. Just certain. Like he’s telling you something you haven’t admitted to yourself yet. “You sat through dinner, acting like a good little date, and all you could think about was my hand on your throat. My mouth on your cunt. The way you begged for it on that balcony.”

Your breath catches. The kind of catch that expands across your chest and makes your lungs feel too full too fast. You shift—barely—but the movement gives you away. Your hips tilt into nothing, like muscle memory took over. Your chest rises too quickly. You’re trying to hold it back, but your body’s already mid-confession. You make a sound, low in your throat, too soft to call language. Half protest, half surrender.

And he hears all of it.

“You touching yourself right now?”

You don’t say anything and he takes your silence as a yes.

“Do it.” He doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t coax. He never has to. His instructions always sound like they’ve already happened, like you’re just catching up to the inevitable.

“Slide your hand down. Just one finger.”

You move slowly, not because you’re trying to be seductive, but because there’s shame in the familiarity. The way your body responds without hesitation. The way the sheets shift as your hand disappears beneath them. The way your fingertips graze your stomach and you pause—not out of modesty, but reverence. Like you already know what you’re going to find. You press your thighs together, the way you used to when you were trying not to let him see how bad it got, how fast. You hesitate. You want to blame him. But you’re already wet. Already ruined. Your panties cling, soaked and still warm, like your body’s been waiting for this call all night.

“Lando,” you whisper, but it’s not a plea to stop. It’s a surrender.

“Yeah, baby,” he breathes, and it lands deep in your ear, rough and syrup-slick at the edges. His voice has thickened—fuller, slower, like the sound of someone wrapping their palm around a want they’re trying not to show. “That’s right. Show me you still fucking need me.”

You hate how good it feels. Not the words. The tone. The certainty. He never doubts it. Never doubts you. Your need. Your body. He speaks to it like it’s his, and the worst part is—it still listens. God help you—you do.

Your fingers hover beneath the sheet, suspended above your stomach like they’re waiting for permission. Caught there in limbo. Not quite obedience, not quite defiance. The space between his command and your compliance is thin, delicate, the place you always seem to fall into first.

His voice lingers, curls around you like a second skin. Honey-laced gravel. That sound you’ve heard pressed to your shoulder, your mouth, the inside of your thighs. It tugs. Not gently. Not violently. Just effectively. It would be so easy. To give in. To surrender under the guise of pleasure. To let your body chase his voice and pretend—for five minutes—that this is love. That he means any of it. That wanting you is the same as keeping you. That this ache, this pull, is more than just habit wrapped in heat.

But something clenches in your chest. Sharp. A tightness just behind your sternum, hot and specific. A different kind of knowing.

You pull your hand back. “No,” you say, quiet, but not soft. A whisper, yes—but one you mean.

The line stills. His breath shifts—no longer seductive, just audible. A pause, an exhale, the kind that happens when someone wasn’t expecting a refusal.

“No?” he repeats, slower now.

You swallow. Your throat tightens. “Not like this. I’m not—” You sit up in bed. The sheets slip down your chest like they know they’ve been dismissed. Cool air replaces the warmth of your body, and it feels like stepping outside of something. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to say that shit to me after what happened.”

You wait. Expect the smirk in his voice. The pivot. The sarcasm. The cruel, clever deflection that always comes when you try to reach for something with weight.

A beat passes. Then another. You brace yourself for the mockery, the deflection, the teeth. But instead, he sighs. Honest. A sound you’ve only heard a handful of times before. The sound he makes when his armor slips, when he thinks no one’s watching.

“I know,” he says snd it sounds like truth.

You blink.

“I just— fuck,” he mutters, voice dropping low again, but not to seduce this time. Just honest. Raw. “I keep trying to not think about you. I go to sleep next to her, and it’s you I’m dreaming about. I kiss her and it doesn’t taste like anything.”

Your breath catches.

“I thought maybe if I pissed you off enough, you’d stop being in my head. But then I saw you tonight.” He laughs under his breath. “You looked so fucking good. I hated it.”

You’re quiet. Staring at the far wall of your hotel room like it might give you answers.

“I don’t want to keep doing this,” you whisper.

He doesn’t protest. Doesn’t try to sell it as love or misunderstanding or timing or fate. He just waits, still on the line, still breathing, letting the weight of your words—and his silence—do what it always does. Fill the room with him.

“I want to stop,” you say again, but it sounds different this time. Smaller. Your voice loses its bite somewhere on the way out, like your throat already knew it was a lie.

“So stop,” he murmurs. “Block my number. Forget my name.”

You don’t answer.

“Exactly,” he says, softer now, and the smile bends downward in his tone, into something resigned, something rotted. “You won’t. You fucking can’t.”

You close your eyes, let your head fall back against the pillow. The ceiling’s too white, too still. Your chest feels hollow, carved out with something blunt, something dull and wide. Like he reached in with both hands and took, not just the good parts, but the name you say when you’re alone, the thoughts you think when you’re cold, the you that existed before him.

“I miss you,” you admit, and it guts you to say it.

He breathes in like you just unzipped his skin. Like you reached down the line and dragged his ribs apart with your teeth. “Say it again.”

You shake your head, lips parting, but no sound comes.

“Please,” he says, quieter now, the way he gets when he really means something. Like you’ve just put your hand on the door, and he’s begging without pride. “Just once.”

The silence feels like it stretches forever, like the night itself is holding its breath just to hear what you’ll say next. Your fingers tremble where they rest on your chest, tracing the curve of your collarbone like distraction could be enough. It isn’t. You should hang up. You should. But your throat is tight and your stomach’s hollow and your whole body feels like it’s still locked in the shape of his. You wish it didn’t matter anymore. You wish his voice didn’t still pull at the part of you that needs to be seen. You close your eyes and inhale through your nose, a sad attempt at trying to ground yourself in this moment. “I miss you,” you whisper, again. And it cracks something in your own voice—thin and breaking, like you hate yourself for meaning it.

You hear him groan. Deep. Loud. From the chest. The kind of sound that doesn’t start in the throat—it starts lower. Beneath the ribs. That heavy, involuntary kind of noise that escapes before it can be shaped into something cooler, something controlled. It scrapes up through him like the words pulled something raw out of him and left it there, exposed.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You don’t know what that does to me.”

You picture him—eyes closed, jaw tight, knuckles white around the phone. Picture him tilting his head back, one hand dragging over his face like he’s trying to shake it off, like the sound embarrassed even him. Like your voice still reaches places he keeps locked and your thighs clench instinctively, traitorously from the thought of it. Something inside you twists, low and hot and helpless.

“You can’t say that to me and expect me to stay quiet,” he mutters, voice ragged now. You can hear the shift in him, the sudden tension coiling under his words like a wire pulled too tight.

You bite your lip, but you don’t interrupt.

“I’ve been thinking about it since you walked away tonight,” he says, lower, slower, each syllable like a bruise dragged across your skin. “How your hips moved in that dress. How empty your hand looked without mine in it.”

Your fingers slide beneath the sheet again, slow this time, like surrender—like there’s no point pretending you won’t. Not when he’s already in your ear, in your body, in the rhythm of your breath. You barely brush your own skin, but it’s enough to light up everything he left raw. You don’t stop. You can’t. Something in you has already given way.

He exhales, sharp and sudden, like he felt it—like he knew the moment your hand moved. “Are you touching yourself now?”

Your breath catches in your throat, tight and unsteady, and you hate the pause that follows. Hate how long it takes you not to answer, but not to lie either. The silence is its own admission.

“Yeah…” he says, voice dipping. “You are.”

You swallow hard. Hard enough that it hurts.

“I can picture it,” he murmurs. “Your legs spread just a little, that pretty little cunt already soaked for me. You’re rubbing slow, aren’t you? Just like I taught you.”

Your hand obeys without permission, palm pressing down over the thin cotton of your underwear. You gasp—quiet, quick.

“God, I miss the way you taste,” he groans. “I’d fucking die right now to have you sitting on my face, one hand in my hair, grinding like you always do when you’re too far gone to be shy.”

Your hips jerk.

“I’d tongue-fuck you ‘til your legs shake,” he growls. “Wouldn’t even stop when you begged me to.”

You moan, involuntary, soft and choked.

“That’s it,” he breathes. “Don’t hold back. Let me hear you, baby.”

You slide your hand lower. Inside. Fingers sliding through slick heat. Shame and need pulsing together under your skin. You want to stop. You don’t. Because his voice is the only thing that feels real right now.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick now, every word catching on the edge of a groan. “Nice and slow. Fuck yourself for me.”

Your fingers move without thought, caught between his breath in your ear and the ache blooming low in your stomach. The wet sounds are obscene in the quiet of your room—shameless, slick, and sinful. And he knows. You haven’t said a word in minutes, but he knows exactly what you’re doing.

“I bet your thighs are shaking,” he says. “Bet your fingers are slipping because you’re so fucking soaked. You always were, weren’t you? Always such a desperate little thing for me.”

You bite your bottom lip, hard, your free hand grabbing the sheets beside you, twisting them as your hips start to move.

“Are you gonna come for me?” he asks, voice low and reverent now, like it’s prayer instead of poison. “Yeah? You’re close, aren’t you? I can hear it. I can fucking feel it.”

You moan. Soft. Broken.

“God, I miss how you sound,” he groans, the sound raw in your ear like he’s fisting the phone. “I used to make you scream, didn’t I? When I had you bent over the edge of the bed, dripping, wrecked, begging me not to stop.”

Your back arches off the sheets.

The room is too still—dim and expensive and wrong, like every object inside it is holding its breath with you. Fingers move frantically between your thighs, slippery with sweat and want, chasing that high you swore you wouldn’t let him give you again. The bedsheets twist beneath you, cool against your calves, sticky at your back. You’ve kicked them off entirely now, one leg stretched toward the edge of the mattress like you’re bracing for impact. You are.

Outside, the faint drone of the sea whispers through a cracked window. Somewhere in the distance, a car rips down the avenue too fast, tires humming against wet asphalt. Monaco never really sleeps—just hums at a lower frequency, like even the city is in on it. Like the architecture itself is bent toward indulgence and regret. And then his voice drops again—low, measured, threading into the stillness like silk soaked in kerosene. Almost tender.

“You wanna know something?” His voice drops even lower, into something almost tender.

You make a noise. Can’t speak. Don’t trust yourself to. Your eyes are closed but you can feel him—his voice in your ear, his name still carved into the rhythm of your breath. He doesn’t wait.

The words drop like fire in your chest. They land hard. Searing. Like you swallowed something molten and now your lungs are screaming, your spine melting into the mattress. Your thighs jerk. Your fingers falter. The ceiling above you stays dark, indifferent.

“I fucking love you,” he says again, this time harsher. Desperate. “I hate how much I do. But I do.”

It’s not soft. It’s not romantic. It’s a wound splitting open in real time. A confession flung into the dark because he can’t hold it anymore. And you—you shake. You can’t breathe. You can’t stop. Your fingers stop and then start again, harder, faster, like maybe if you come it’ll drown it out. Like you can flood it out of your bloodstream, sweat it out of your skin. But it doesn’t work. It’s still there. In every heartbeat. In every gasp.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

“You’re mine,” he breathes. “Even when you’re not. Even when you walk away. I still feel you. Every fucking day. No one else even comes close.”

And your orgasm hits like a crash.

It’s violent. A wave slamming your body against itself. Your legs tense. Your stomach seizes. Your breath breaks into pieces. A sound claws its way out of your throat, and your hand flies up—reflex—trying to cover your mouth, trying to keep it in. You can’t. It’s too late. He hears it. Of course he does. He always does.

“That’s my girl,” he growls. “Fucking knew you’d give it to me.”

You don’t say anything. Can’t. The words won’t come. They’ve drowned under the weight of him—of this. The way his voice still owns the oxygen in the room. The way your body still says yes when everything else is screaming no.

The line is quiet.

You can still hear him breathing, but it’s distant now. Removed. Not soft or hungry anymore—just there. Like a metronome ticking at the end of a hallway. Background noise in a house that doesn’t feel like yours anymore.

You curl onto your side, away from the phone. Away from him. The sheets are cold on this side—untouched, undisturbed. Your arm tucks under your head, and your legs curl toward your chest on instinct, like your body’s trying to hold itself smaller. Contain the ache. The trembling hasn’t stopped yet, a slow pulse beneath your skin like something sacred was scraped out with a dull edge.

He should say something.

You should say something. But neither of you do.

The heat is already fading from your skin. It evaporates too fast, like it was never yours to keep. The chill that replaces it seeps under your ribs—quiet and surgical. It settles in your throat like a question you don’t want to ask. You blink at the wall. At the dark. At the soft glow of the city bleeding in from the window. The room’s filled with dim gold and ghostlight, shadows cast by luxury fixtures and memories you didn’t mean to resurrect.

Everything is still. And wrong, you fucking hate how familiar this feels. The after. Always the after. That hollow stretch of silence where he pulls away—not with excuses. Not even with guilt. Just absence. Just a breath you can’t sync with anymore. A distance so thick it presses against your chest like a hand. You’re alone in a room that smells like him. On sheets that remember your back arching. And now it’s quiet. And cold. And exactly like the last time.

When he finally speaks, it’s low. Measured. Like he’s collecting himself. Like the version of him that just broke you apart is already folding itself back into something clean, something that won’t ruin the rest of his night.

“You still there?”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

You wait.

You try not to. You tell yourself not to. But you do. Of course you do. For softness. For proof. For anything that makes what he said—I love you—feel like a truth and not just a well-aimed knife disguised as comfort. You wait for the voice that said it to come back with warmth, with meaning, with something that makes the wreckage worthwhile. But all you get is silence.

And then—his voice again. Casual. Neutral. Airy, even. Like a light switch flipped somewhere between your thighs and his pride.

“You gonna be at qualifying?”

It hits like a slap. Not a sharp one. A dull one. Open-palmed and slow, the kind that comes after the fight’s already over. The kind that reminds you who’s still standing. You roll onto your back. Stare at the ceiling like it might peel away and let you float out of this. Your chest aches, hollow and wide. Your thighs are still slick and parted and ruined. Your mouth still tastes like his name. And he’s asking about fucking qualifying. Like this was a meeting. Like this wasn’t a bloodletting.

“No,” you say. Flat. Tired. Honest. Like your voice has finally given up trying to be anything else.

He doesn’t argue. Of course he doesn’t. That would require effort. Would require remembering that you just let him back inside a body that still flinches from the last time.

The pause stretches. Long. Unearned. The kind of pause that should hold regret. But doesn’t. You wonder if he’s already looking at her. If she’s asleep in his bed right now, one leg kicked out from under the covers, soft breathing and sheets still warm from her skin. If he’ll crawl back in like this was just a break. If he’ll kiss her shoulder and curl into her like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just call you from the next room and come in your ear while whispering your name like a prayer. If she’ll roll over and whisper I love you back.

“Okay,” he says, finally.

That’s it. No pause. No catch. No sorry. You don’t say goodbye, won’t allow yourself to give him the satisfaction. So instead, you just hang up. Slowly and quietly. Like if you move too fast, the grief might notice you. Like if you make a sound, whatever just died might come back and ask for more. And then you lie there. Alone. Cold. Numb in the exact places he made you feel again. The wet between your legs isn’t even arousal anymore—it’s humiliation, pooling like proof. The room feels too big. Your skin too tight. Your heart too loud for how little it’s getting back. You close your eyes. And you try—god, you try—not to remember how good it felt to believe him.

You told yourself you wouldn’t watch. Told yourself you’d go out during the race. Walk the port. Maybe take a train out of the city. Catch a ride into Italy, buy a coffee in some no-name border town where no one gives a fuck about Formula One. You told yourself if you left early enough, you wouldn’t hear the engines start.

But you did. You heard them. Sharp and brutal. Like the city itself was exhaling all at once. The engines howled to life like beasts shaking off sleep. And the streets—those narrow, glittering veins winding around the harbor like silk on bone—filled instantly. People spilled out of hotels, bars, yachts. Laughter carried down alleyways. Shoes clacked against marble and cobblestone. Horns. Screams. Sirens. The whole city vibrating in a single fevered pitch, like a heartbeat you couldn’t separate from your own.

And that was it. You felt it again.

That tug. That sick little string wound tight through your ribs. Strung there by him. Still holding. Still pulling. It didn’t matter how much distance you told yourself you needed—when the world turned toward him, you did too.So you ended up outside a bar near the track. Not the private ones. Not the ones with velvet ropes and industry passes and terrace views. Just one of the ones carved into the street-level buildings, open to the chaos, full of heat and sound. Flat screens bolted above the bar. Fans shoulder to shoulder. Bottles sweating in metal buckets. Flags tied like bandanas. Champagne already foaming across tabletops like victory was a guarantee.

You stood by the railing. Arms crossed. Sunglasses still on even though the sun was behind the buildings now. Shadows stretched across the street like tired ghosts. Your foot tapped against the base of a rusted stool, your hip leaned just barely into the edge of the counter like you weren’t really here. Like maybe you were just watching a version of yourself watch him.

The race blurred by.

It always does. Too fast, too clean, too cinematic. Like it’s not real. Like it’s something you could turn off if you found the right remote. He looked good—of course he did. He always does when there’s something on the line. Fast. Confident. Hungry. His car didn’t take corners. It swallowed them. He moved like he was dancing with the track. Like he could feel its heartbeat better than his own. You didn’t blink when he overtook on Lap 42. Didn’t flinch when the leaderboard adjusted like it had been waiting for him all along.

But when the checkered flag dropped? When the whole bar erupted—glasses raised, hands slapped to backs, phones held high and recording?

That’s whens something inside you cracked. It was clean and silent. Like glass under pressure. You watched the screen. Watched him throw his fists into the air inside the car, helmet still on, adrenaline turning his voice to something breathless and boyish through the radio.

“Fuck, man! We did it!”

And he sounded happy. Not like he’d sounded on the phone. Not like last night. Not like someone torn in two. He sounded whole. He sounded free. You stood still while the rest of the bar screamed and spilled and toasted and laughed. While confetti machines burst at the table beside you. While someone popped a bottle and poured foam into a stranger’s cup like they’d both waited their whole lives for this.

And you—still in your sunglasses, arms locked across your chest like armor—you felt like you were being erased. Not slowly. Not softly. Violently. Like the footage of him crossing that line was actively overwriting you. Like every frame of his win was bleaching your name from his mouth. Then you saw her.

Not up close. Not at the podium. Just a flicker. A flash of white on the screen behind him. Behind the fence. Her hair. Her silhouette. Her hand.

Raised in a wave. And the way he looked at her—god. You thought you’d collapse.

You don’t know why you’re here. You already booked your ticket back to Italy. You packed your bag with one hand while brushing your teeth with the other, You checked out of the hotel like it was a fire you had to get away from. You had a plan. You were going to leave before the city woke up, before the papers hit the stands, before your own stomach could catch up to the shame curling in it.

But then you didn’t. You didn’t leave. You didn’t get in the car. You didn’t do the smart thing, or the sane thing, or even the thing you promised yourself you would. Instead, you walked. Shoes in your hand, face bare, heart kicking like it wanted out. You walked past the marina. Past the crowds still drunk off the race. Past the café where your phone first lit up with his name. You told yourself it was a loop. A muscle twitch. A final look.

You knew it was a lie and now you’re here. You ride the elevator in silence, arms crossed, your teeth sunk so deep into your lip you can taste blood. The hallway stretches out in front of you like something cinematic—floor-to-ceiling windows on one side, pale wood on the other, recessed lights humming low like they know what you’re doing. You don’t even knock. The apartment door is already cracked open.

Of course it is.

He’s inside. Shirtless. Sweaty. Champagne-drenched hair curling messily across his forehead. Still wearing his fireproofs, halfway unzipped. His chest rises with breath that’s only just started to slow. He smells like victory. Like sun-warmed metal and sweet rot and something you used to beg for. He looks good.

Of course he does. He turns when you step in. Smiles. The real kind. That one that used to mean I knew you'd come.

But it fades the second he sees your face.

“Hey,” he says, cautious now. “You okay?”

You shake your head once. Quick. Like it might stop the tears from crawling up your throat.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” you say. But that’s a lie.

He steps forward, slow, cautious, like approaching an animal he’s already wounded once and isn’t sure won’t bite again. His arms stay loose at his sides, fingers twitching like he doesn’t know what he’s allowed to reach for anymore—your waist, your wrist, your forgiveness.

“You—uh, did you see the race?” he asks, and it’s not small talk. Not really. It’s a test balloon. A toe in the water. Like maybe if you say yes without venom, maybe if your voice stays level, he can convince himself none of this is a disaster.

“Yeah,” you snap, the word scraping up your throat like it came with splinters. “You were amazing. Congratulations.”

His smile twitches back onto his face, but it doesn’t land properly. It hovers at the corners like a glitch in the system. Like he knows it’s too late to fix the part of him that doesn’t know how to be soft when it counts.

“Thanks,” he says, and it should mean something. Should carry weight. But it floats.

You step closer. Not because you want to be near him, not anymore. But because the distance feels dishonest. Like if you’re going to bleed in front of him, he should at least have to watch it happen up close. Your voice shakes when you speak, but you don’t try to hide it. You don’t care if he hears what it costs you. You want him to.

“Why wasn’t I ever good enough?”

He blinks. His head pulls back just slightly, like you slapped him. Like the words hit somewhere he wasn’t guarding. His brow creases—not out of confusion, but something worse. That dawning realization that this conversation isn’t going to end where he thought it might. That this isn’t another soft landing.

“What?” he says, but it’s not really a question. More like a deflection. A delay tactic. Something to stall the blow he knows is coming.

Your heart’s beating so hard it feels physical now—like it’s trying to break out of your chest and throw itself at his feet in one last act of desperate, humiliating honesty. Like it still wants him even as you drag yourself through the fucking wreckage of that want.

“Why have I never been enough for you to choose?” you ask, and your voice cracks on the word like it’s never been said out loud before. “Not fuck. Not sneak around with. Not call when you're lonely or bored or drunk at some goddamn afterparty. I mean choose. I mean claim. Why have I never been the one you tell people about?”

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes. His throat works around it. His eyes drop to the floor and back up again, and for a second—just a second—you think he might lie. Might try to salvage this with some half-truth about timing or image or circumstance.

“Why her?” you whisper, and this one hurts more than the rest—not because of what it means, but because of how quietly you ask it. Because it comes from the part of you that’s already accepted the answer. “Why does she get to be seen?”

He looks at you like you’ve just thrown a grenade at his feet, like he doesn’t know whether to jump on it or run. And maybe that’s always been him—too cowardly to save you, too selfish to leave you alone.

“I let you inside me,” you say, and now your voice is breaking for real, cracking down the middle like an old fault line that’s finally splitting open. “And you walked away. I let you hear me. I told you shit I’ve never said out loud before, not even to myself. I gave you everything. And I didn’t say I loved you, not because it wasn’t true, but because I knew it didn’t fucking matter. Because I knew, no matter how much I gave you—no matter how deep I let you in—I’d still just be the thing you come back to when you’re bored. Or lonely. Or drunk. Or broken. But never when it matters.”

He doesn’t speak. Not right away. Just stands there in the center of his spotless, silent apartment—an altar to success and self-control—still radiant with the remnants of the win. His chest rises in slow, shallow pulses, adrenaline still flickering beneath skin damp with sweat and victory. There’s a gleam across his collarbones, the faint shimmer of champagne that never got wiped off, dried sugar crusted along the edge of his jaw like celebration had kissed him and refused to let go. His hair’s a mess—curling, golden, clinging to his temples like he earned the chaos. And maybe he did. Maybe he earned every fucking second of it. But all you want is to ruin it. To drag your hand across his face and wipe the triumph off like it’s blood that doesn’t belong to him.

Because he looks too happy for someone who’s left you bleeding this many times. But when his eyes land on you—finally, fully—something shifts. He’s not smiling anymore. Not smirking. Not playing cool or disinterested or oblivious. He’s just looking. At you. Carefully, as if he’s cataloguing damage. Like he’s not sure if you’re about to cry or scream or throw a glass, and the fact that he doesn’t know is maybe the only honest thing he’s ever done in your presence.

You step further into the apartment. The floor is cool under your feet, too clean. Everything here is intentional—curated—like even his grief would be expensive. Your arms are still crossed tight over your chest, but it’s not a defense anymore. It’s just something to hold while the rest of you starts to come apart in slow motion. The tension in your shoulders doesn’t brace you—it betrays you. It trembles loose. Not strength. Not anymore. Just unraveling in real time.

“I shouldn’t have come,” you say, and your voice barely makes it past your teeth. It sounds like someone else said it first and handed it to you to carry. “I told myself I wouldn’t. I watched you win and I felt sick.”

He shifts his weight, opens his mouth, but you hold your hand up. You’re not finished. If you stop now, you’ll never say it.

“I’m tired of pretending I don’t care. Tired of pretending that what we had was just sex. You know it wasn’t. You know. We talked. We laughed. You let me in. You made me feel like I wasn’t crazy for needing you. And then every time I get close to believing you—really believing you—you disappear. Or worse, you show up like nothing happened and expect me to melt for you. And I do. God, I always do.”

His gaze drops. His jaw clenches. But he still doesn’t speak. And that silence—it’s not passive. It’s precise. It’s brutal in its precision. Like he’s figured out by now that anything he says will only confirm how much worse he made it. So he doesn’t say a word. Just lets the weight of what you said sit there. Lets you carry it alone, like you always have. And that silence? It hits harder than anything he’s ever said. Than every lie. Than every I miss you that came too late.

You take another breath, but it doesn’t settle. It just wobbles on the way out, shakes loose in your throat like it’s trying not to turn into a sob.

“I just want to know…” you start, and your voice is thinner now, worn down to something soft and splintered. “Why I’ve never been enough. Not once. Not for a full day. Why I’m always good enough to fuck. To call. To cry to when you’re falling apart at three in the morning. But never good enough to stand next to in daylight.”

Your hands shake, but you keep going.

“Why it’s always her when I’m the one who knows how you take your coffee. When I’m the one who told you to breathe before qualifying, when you couldn’t stop pacing. When I’m the one who stayed.”

That’s the part that undoes you a little. That last word. Stayed. You weren’t supposed to say it—not out loud. It’s too naked. Too pathetic. But it tumbles out anyway, like the truth was tired of waiting for permission. And it lands. You see it shift something in him. His eyes flick toward the floor, then back up. His fingers twitch at his sides, curling briefly into fists, then flattening again. His shoulders rise with a breath too deep to be casual—like he’s dragging something up from the part of him that doesn’t usually speak.

“I never meant for it to get this far,” he says finally, voice raw around the edges, like he’s chewing on the words even as he gives them up. “I didn’t think I’d need you like that.”

You almost laugh, but it’s not funny. It’s sharp. Bitter. It curls in your mouth like acid.

“You needed me,” you echo. “But not enough.”

He steps toward you then. Slowly. Cautiously. Like he’s approaching a live wire. Like he thinks there’s still something left to salvage in the wreckage.

“It’s not that simple,” he says.

But you shake your head before he can finish the thought. “Yes, it is.”

And this time you don’t snap it. You don’t spit it out like a weapon. You just say it flatly. Like a fact that doesn’t care how he feels about it.

“You either love someone,” you say, “or you don’t.”

“I do love you,” he replies. Just like that. Like it’s obvious. Like it’s always been true, and always been enough.

But it costs you everything to hear it. Every little ounce of composure you’ve been clinging to. Every version of yourself that held out hope. It’s not relief that hits you—it’s grief. Not longing. Not even disbelief. Just loss. Again. All over again. Because now that he’s said it, now that the words are out, you know for sure: his love was never the kind that saves you. Never the kind that holds you in the light. His love only ever lives in the dark.

You look at him, and something twists in your chest—not from happiness, but from mourning.

“Then why has it always felt like I had to beg for it?” you whisper. “Why has it never once felt like it came freely?”

He doesn’t answer.

Doesn’t lie. Doesn’t soften. Just stands there, mouth parted like he wants to say something, anything, but he knows. He knows whatever he gives you now will only make it worse. So he says nothing. And the silence between you—thick, heavy, final—says everything.

You stare at him—not the Lando the world loves, not the polished boy in champagne and fireproofs and grins for the cameras, but the one in front of you now. Quiet. Flickering. Human in the worst way. The kind that disappoints just by standing still.

Your arms drop to your sides. Not in surrender. In exhaustion. Your limbs feel too heavy to hold upright, your ribs ache from holding in this pain for too long. You’re sagging under the weight of it.

“You love me,” you repeat, hollow now. Like the words are ash in your mouth. “But you’re still with her.”

He doesn’t deny it. Just lowers his eyes, clenches his jaw, like maybe he hates himself for it. Or maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he’s just tired of pretending it’s not true. And that’s the answer. That’s the only answer you’re going to get. There’s no grand speech. No twist in the narrative. Just the sharp silence of reality pressing down on you like gravity finally remembered your name.

And somewhere behind you, the elevator dings.

#f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #lando #lando fluff #lando norris #lando norris fic #lando smut #Lando X reader #Lando Norris x reader

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gallusrostromegalus · 1 year ago

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If you please; what is your Tolberone theory of knowledge?

My theory, which I thought up a few weeks ago while sick with covid, is that all knowledge is a form of art, and that there are very broadly three basic types of knowledge arts: physical arts, philosophical arts, and scientific arts, and that pretty much all academic, artistic and practical disciplines exist somewhere in that triangle spectrum.

Physical arts are knowledges of how to actually, physically do things. The purest front of physical arts are things like dance and navigation.

Scientific arts are knowledges of things that can be tested and proven. Computer programming and Quilting are both scientific arts: they work, or they don't.

Philosophical Arts are knowledges of things which while not objectively provable, are still very real. History and Being A Good Listener are philosophical arts.

Nearly every discipline of knowledge is some combination of all three. Cooking is largely applied chemistry, a scientific art, but it's also a philosophical art because flavor is extremely cultural and contextual, and a physical art because you have to know how to hold the damn knife and heat when it's done.

The first part of toblerone theory is that, like how each piece has three sides, any given project needs at least one person who has a good grasp of each of the underlying arts involved or it's going to go sideways at best. For example:

Physical and Scientific arts, no philosophy: Jurassic Park. They need someone to point out that, while very possible, it's not necessarily a good idea.

Philosophy and Science, no physical: that dril tweet about the forum debate locked by a mod after 12,000 pages of heated debate. They need someone to drag them away from the keyboard and actually do something.

Philosophy and Physical, no science: that cult in midsommar that put a guy in a bearsuit. Without the ability to engage measurably with the world, they give into fear and behave like reactive animals. Also the "rare chicken steak" phenomenon.

You can have differing ratios of each type- Jurassic Park really only needed two philosophers: one animal behaviorist and an OSHA inspector, and 98% of the issues would have been avoided- but you do need at least ONE of each underlying art to check each other's work.

The second part of toblerone theory is that, like how the toblerone is made of many triangle pieces, there are poles to the triangle spectrum. Practical vs Esoteric arts. Short term and long term arts. High stakes vs for funsies arts.

While you have have different ratios and levels of expertise in each of the arts, you do all need them to be on the same piece of the bar, or they won't take each other seriously. A UN Diplomat and a climate scientist aren't going to take the advice of physical artist my uncle Bobby the plumber re: global warming, but they will take the advice of physical artist my Aunt Cheryl the civil engineer, a world expert in getting shit done.

The same applies for the other end of the spectrum. Aunt Cheryl the civil engineer isn't going to get much milage with the local high school student council and principal Waley when the problem at hand is "what are we going to do for this year's prom theme?"

I gotta go to therapy now, pictures later.

#toblerone theory of knowledge

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xylatox · 2 months ago

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꒰⋆.˚ 𝕱𝖆𝖛𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝕱𝖎𝖈𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝕬𝖕𝖗𝖎𝖑 𖹭.ᐟ.ᐟ꒱

adeline's ✉ 〃hello (❁´◡`❁) I have decided to now just pick out my overall favourite fics of the month instead of including ever piece I've read! Anyways, please support the authors and their work (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

Half-Smoked Cigarettes // @faeyun

pairing // lee heeseung x f!reader

synopsis // the last thing you were expecting when taking a smoke outside was to see someone trying to sneakily cut flowers off your mom’s bushes in the front of your house in the middle of the night—nor were you expecting to become so enamored by him, either. and it seemed that the feeling was completely mutual.

✉︎ // Kipo's fic back on tumblr :) it was honestly so nice to read her work again and it was such a good and funny read

Chemtrails // @heechwe

pairing // jung wonwoo x f!reader

synopsis // Wonwoo is the last person you expect to find at a grief support group, but he may just be the peace that you need to weather all of your storms.

✉︎ // I ugly cried from begin to end reading this. I loved the mc in particular as she really reminded me of myself at the beginning of my grieving period

blurring the lines // @amourcheol

pairing // joshua hong x f!reader

synopsis // you think you know everything about your best friend, dashing bachelor joshua hong. when you stumble upon his suggestive literature from his recent travels, however, reading even an extract is enough to make you question everything. unsure of your newfound feelings, you turn to your confidante, unaware of just how much knowledge—and experience—he has to offer.

✉︎ // the start of fia's bridgerton series. I literally love her work so much and since I finished Bridgerton earlier in the year, this just brought me so much joy.

To: Someone From A Warm Climate // @hyukascampfire

pairing // faerie!taehyun, faerie!yeonjun x f!reader

synopsis // In which 𝗁𝗎𝗋𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝗓𝗓𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾. "𝗂𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂 𝖺𝗆 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝖾, 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗇'𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎?" 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗎𝗉 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗍, 𝗍𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗉. "𝗌𝖺𝗒 𝗂𝗍," 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗌. "say what i am."

✉︎ // Will love this series till the day i die. Ashlynn updated and it was literally the best day ever then to read this.

Nine and Three Quarters // @just-nc-tea

pairing // park sunghoon x f!reader

synopsis // Somehow, in the middle of your semester break, you ended up with a new roommate. Your landlord rented out the second room in your flat without telling you, and now you’re living with Sunghoon. At first, your paths barely cross – you’re buried in work, and he’s always at the rink. But slowly, he slips into your routine in ways you never expected. Then one night, everything shifts. A blurred memory, a moment of fear—and Sunghoon catching you before you can fall. Suddenly, it’s not awkward anymore. You start looking forward to him coming home. Maybe—just maybe—home isn’t a place. Maybe it’s a person

✉︎ // Patty's Sunghoon fic :((( I swear I literally screamed when they finally started being more than roommates/friends. The slow-burn did in fact slow burn (I loved it so much)

things i know that i can't have // @zreamy

pairing // jake sim x f!reader

synopsis // jake's life was hard enough before he fell for you—balancing uni, football, and being a good christian son. in some cruel twist of fate, sleeping with you has only made things harder—and, according to sunghoon (and scripture), damned him to hell the first time he thought about it.

✉︎ // I will literally always love fics where christianity plays a role, its super duper comforting to me and i feel like jake is the perfect choice for this kind of thing

Invisible String // @heesmiles

pairing // soulmate!sunghoon x f!reader

synopsis // They say when someone you love dies it takes a piece of who you were and a piece of who you were going to be. You met the love of your life the day you died; and it took something from you. It changed who you were and you don’t know if you’d ever want it back. Sunghoon was tied to you, two tangled souls connected by one invisible red string but you didn’t know it, until it was too late.

✉︎ // this fic sent me to hell and back emotionally. I kid you not the angst was so unreal but i loved every minute of this fic.

Criminal Conscience // @beomiracles

pairing // criminal!beomgyu x detective!reader

synopsis // Moving rapidly through your career as one of the leading female investigators, you never once encountered a case you couldn't crack. Though you never expected for your past mistakes to come back and haunt you in the form of an ex lover, accused of murder.

✉︎ // cc sundays ヾ(≧▽≦*)o I always look forward to when serene updates this series, it literally brings me life. It also heavily reminds me of my true crime media that I consumed 100% of the time before i started reading fics more

no doubt - the series //@jakesimfromstatefarm

pairing // no doubt!jake x no doubt!reader

synopsis // a series of drabbles that look into the first year of jake & y/n's relationship after she decides to give him a second chance...aka jake being an absolute total whipped simp for her but in the most endearing way possible <3

✉︎ // literally anytime addie publishes a drabble I'm so giddy because of just how downbad jake is. hes literally the cutest, they are the cutest.

Checking You Out // @jakedustry

pairing // hockey captain!Jake x f!reader

synopsis // In which Jake Sim loves hockey, he loves it so much he is willing to spend his every free minute on the ice skating, but he also finds himself falling in love with you—the only girl his coach doesn't want him to date. But with the way you look at him, can he stay far enough to keep his position as the captain?

✉︎ // I loved every single minute of this. mc'd dad was stressing me out so bad ngl but god i love simp!jake so much

Daffodils // @yunverie

pairing // best friend!Choi Soobin x f!reader

synopsis // To you, the bond of soulmates was as sacred and divine as a delicate flower. Growing up, you had watched your parents bask in a love so grand, drawn together by the cruel yet beautiful trial of flowers and ink. You dreamed of your own bond one day awakening, of finding the one destined for you.

Until you didn’t.

One vicious prank was all it took to crush the seedlings of your young heart. The idea of soulmates began to sicken you—no longer a dream, but a wound.

Soobin had always gathered your broken pieces, helping you reassemble what was torn apart. The time you spent closing your heart to love, he spent his trying to cup the love that only grew for you with both hands—trying to keep it from spilling over. And one day, that love blossomed into soft, bright daffodils, nestling deep within his chest.

✉︎ // Yun's rewritten Soobin fic :( I had the pleasure of reading the first version but I absolutely loved the things she added to the plot. I really do love a good soulmate au.

Secrets // @theothernads

pairing // Boxer!Jungwon x f!rich!reader

synopsis // After making it to university, you found yourself finding comfort in a cat café worker not too far from your lectures. The cute worker seemed to have a knack for making you fall for his charm. And, how could you not? Your chemistry was perfect- but you never thought that he had secrets and that Jungwon was your secret as well. As much as you two tried to keep everything behind the scenes, things don't always work out the way they should

✉︎ // I truly loved this :( it was so emotional, intense and just downright amazing. The angst and class differences really had me going through it.

What Remains The Same // @dawngyu

pairing // choi beomgyu x single-parent!reader

synopsis // On the hardest, most terrifying day of your life, when your body is tearing open and everything feels like it’s coming undone, his name is the only one your heart remembers to call for.

✉︎ // Another fic that had me absolutely ugly-sob. I went in thinking one thing and left with a heart full (of tears) and what I believed was a plot twist I didn expect. I truly loved this.

Frostbite // @heesmiles

pairing // hockey player!sunghoon x figure skater!reader

synopsis // Sunghoon’s injury was comparable to the end of the world, at least for him it was. Having not been cleared in time to start practice with his team, Sunghoon is stuck practicing alone after hours, except he's not alone. Forced to share the rink with the practicing figure skaters was his version of hell, especially when one of them couldn't shut up about the fact that the world was their oyster and taking a positive look on life was the only way to live? How could he be positive when the only thing that made him happy was taken away from him. She had felt like frostbite sinking into his skin. Frostbite was quick, it stung and then it killed before you could even see it coming.

✉︎ // I love when some part of me can relate to fics, whether is the mc or how anyone else is written, it always feels extra special to me then. This took a part of me as I loved how realistic Sunghoon's feelings toward his injury was portrayed. I just also really love the whole grumpy x sunshine dynamic

adeline's ending ✉ 〃and these were my fav fics! a mix of laughs and cries, but each and every one was a piece that got my through the month. Again, please always show your love and share your thoughts with the authors, it means alot to them. Till next time! (❁´◡`❁)

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ironunderstands · 1 year ago

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Ngl I despise stupid ass tweets like this

There is a time and a place for talking about sexualization, but like you cannot be serious.

It’s shorts. She’s wearing shorts. I know part of the reason why her thighs are exposed is because people like to look at thighs, but oh my god. For 5 seconds, 5 goddamn seconds can the people in this fandom not treat women’s bodies like they are some inherent sin? ITS SHORTS.

Based off this tweet you would assume she was dressed like THIS or something (although this one has SOME armor LMAOO)

But not just by hoyo standards, but by normal people standards, Feixiao is wearing a regular outfit, especially considering the climate she lives in is probably fairly warm, and she’s not a normal human being, so all that extra armor wouldn’t be doing much for her anyways.

Hell, this is a universe where shit like the antimatter legion exists, and I’m sorry, but a few pieces of metal really aren’t going to do much against the stuff that Feixiao might be facing, and considering how restricting armor can be, a pilot such as herself would prefer lighter clothing. Honestly if we want to have a discussion about practicality or realism, the flowy/longer parts of the outfit should be the ones under fire, but that’s not the complaints here.

And I get where this person is coming from.

I understand wanting to see an armored lady, especially considering her male counterpart seems to possess that, but this is not the way to approach it at all.

But calling it misogyny? AND SOFT PORN?? SHORTS??

SHORTS

Like do you hear yourself? You sound like a puritan right now? Honestly I’d prefer Feixiao having her thighs out over hearing someone talk about them like they only exist for gooners to gawk at.

Moreover, considering the absolute nightmare that was the copy-past female Luofu designs, I’d say that hers is a breath of fresh air

Also, if you supposedly can’t take a woman seriously because her legs are exposed.. get help dude. Please.

I don’t even think it’s ridiculous to believe that her design is sexualized, especially with the garter, but like, why like this?

Oh, and Jingyuan’s design is sexualized as well, it’s just not through exposed skin. He has a whole ass corset and thigh garter and he’s imposing and has a deep voice and glowy ass eyes and long hair and he stares at the camera in his splashart like That and you get where I am going with this because HES MEANT TO HE HOT TOO. He just has a different kind of appeal

For fucks sake his lightcone literally has him lounging in a chair legs spread eyeing a bird sleepily as the light hits him like that and his face looks like that wand you expect me to believe this game isn’t trying to present him as attractive? For fucks sake he practically has an adoptive son. This is the dilf older man fucker final boss and yet a woman with shorts is what sends you spiraling?

Don’t act like you didn’t see the TikTok comments of people wishing they were his bird when he got released. Or the master stroke jokes? Or everyone and their mothers (literally according to Cyyu) drooling over his EN voice? “I AM the reinforcements?”

If you want to talk about non-sexualized generals and pull up a picture of Jingyuan I will (and currently am) laugh in your face because to be honest more revealing clothing would make him less horny because the uniform is part of the appeal.

I rest my case

#honkai star rail #hsr #Jing yuan hsr #Jing yuan #feixiao #Feixiao hsr #Surprisingly enough I don’t really have a thing for Jing Yuan #I’m just very observant

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hyukascampfire · 1 year ago

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TO: SOMEONE FROM A WARM CLIMATE ... ❨ O1 ❩ ⸺ 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘴

𝓘N WHICH 𝗁𝗎𝗋𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝗓𝗓𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾. "𝗂𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂 𝖺𝗆 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝖾, 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗇'𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎?" 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗎𝗉 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗍, 𝗍𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗉. "𝗌𝖺𝗒 𝗂𝗍," 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗌. "say what i am."

faerie!𝗍𝖺𝖾𝗁𝗒𝗎𝗇 · ƒ ! r 7.5k 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗒 ⸺ violence, blood is drawn, some heated kissing and groping, a magic spell is placed over a human character, fem reader, mentions of violence, animal death ｡ ( playlist )

← rꫀׁׅܻblogs & asks arꫀׁׅܻ always apprꫀׁׅܻciatꫀׁׅܻd! ♡(ᗒᗣᗕ )՞ →

🪶 ⦂ i am so obsessed with a icy and mean taehyun. like genuinely it is rotting my brain. lmaooo

The stale reek of the ancient, crumbling palace walls seem as though they are closing in on you. You trail only a foot behind the odd goblin spy. He’s silent as he goes, relatively short in stature and quite grubby, worrying his hands in a habitual manner. You have plenty of reasons to be scared of him; a royal spy, no doubt lethal in skill, who could probably spin around and end your life the second he decided he didn’t like you.

But you aren’t scared of him—no, you’ve lived your whole life in this world. You’re more worried about whether or not the rest of them will find you up to their standards when he finally presents you to them. You, a potential spy.

You? You, who was taken here as a child? A changeling is what they call you: a human child stolen away by faeries, and in your stead is left a faerie child. Growing up among the folk was all you ever knew, but it prepared you plenty for moments like this. They were different by nature. They did not understand the rules of the human world, and never understood your resentment for being spirited away the way you were. Some would rather believe that it was a blessing, that you would one day grovel at the feet of the faerie that had stolen you here all those years ago. Resentment bloomed corrosively in your heart each time Nut-hatch had you sewing the gowns she couldn’t manage until your fingers were bleeding and sore. Because, who wouldn’t adore a life spent at the beck and call of the faerie that snatched you right from your cradle? From the world and life you were meant to inhabit.

You trip over a loose, fractured stone, catching yourself on a wall. Palm stinging, you hiss. You spin the hand over to inspect the burning scrapes. Blood wells around shallow white trails where stone had bitten skin, but you kick your legs back into motion. The goblin does not bother to wait for you. You expect that he’d just continue walking if you don’t.

“And you expect to be a spy,” the goblin laughs, a throaty and irritating sound. “Over a scuff…” He does not even turn around to address you, but you can’t say you expected him to. You had done nothing to earn his respect, and too much already to lose it. You are going to change that.

Instead of defending yourself or making yourself sound pathetic, you just stop nursing the scrape and let the sound of footfalls fill the air. The walk is long, and you find your mind wandering off to agonize over the different ways that this could play out. Many of them do not end well. You squeeze your eyes shut, gulping down a swallow despite the tightness in your throat. When you feel your foot catching on flat ground again, nearly toppling forward, your eyes lurch open. Don’t close your eyes walking down the halls of decrepit old castles, genius. Tripping twice would just be too much, no matter how nervous you are.

He makes a stop a few feet ahead of you, just before a towering, ornate, and no doubt heavy door. The metal handles are scuffed with well use to the point that they are utterly dull and reflect little light. Ancient castle indeed…

“So, this is the entrance?” you ask, catching up to him. You gesture at the door ahead.

He levels you a stare, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth. A yellowed canine, so sharp it would pierce your jugular like a knife through sweet cream, peeks out. You squirm under his glare, those saucer eyes scrutinizing you for a moment.

“More like this,” he says simply, looking pointedly to a slate tile at his feet.

You sigh. You suppose you should’ve inferred that the entrance of a royal spy den is not just a door with no locks or veils or something. You watch as he dislodges the loose tile from the ground with practiced ease, a heavy hunk of stone that reveals beneath it a set of stairs leading down into the ground. The palace they had decided to conceal the den within is no doubt timeworn, but the staircase you look at now seems much newer. The stone is significantly less worn and eroded, save for the dirt that cakes the tops of each step. Wafts of earth and root greet your nose.

You frown at the prospect of heading down without even so much as a torch on the wall. It’s hollow and black down there, leaving you to only imagine where a root or pebble might steal your balance and send you down who even knows how far. “How deep is that staircase?” you ask. The furry, grotesque goblin had already begun descending, pausing at the third step with discernible impatience.

“Oh, just get down here, won’t you?” he grumbles. “This damned stone is heavy.” You observe the utter pitch black of the stairwell for a moment before relenting and descending along with him. You’ve made it this far already, anyway. What’s a staircase if you’re to become a spy? Stone grinding and light weaning to nothingness tickle nerves up your spine as he slides the coverstone back over the entrance.

“I can’t see,” you say, words falling out into the thick, muddy air. Perhaps obvious, but how are you supposed to walk? He curses you out under his breath before he grabs you by the meat of your arm with gnarled, calloused fingers, tugging you forward and down. You protest as you almost slip off the ledge of a step, stumbling down each descending one for a few moments until you come to another stop. The floor here is softer beneath your feet, no longer stone. You do not question him again as you wait for whatever he does in the blackness that you cannot see. It’d do you good to not come off as any more incapable than you already had made yourself look, considering your goals.

Your stomach is tied in such tangled up knots that you don’t know how to act right; how to act like the capable spy that you had painted yourself to be in order to even end up with him leading you down here. You wonder if he is second guessing his decision in even bringing you here. Holding up your head a little higher, you square your shoulders. If you act sure of yourself, you’ll appear that way. That’s all you have.

A resounding pattern of knocks bounces off the dirt walls surrounding you two, and the sound of muffled words spoken follow. A soft yellow light luminates your surroundings as a peephole slides open. You blink your eyes to readjust, taking in your surroundings for the first time since that stone snuffed the light out. A rickety, rotting wood door stands before you, oddly shaped to fit the round, burrowed out dirt hollow. The light filtering in from behind the door disappears when somebody peeks through it. No words are even exchanged before a metal sliding bolt cues the unlocking of the round door, and it swings open. You squint your eyes in the light.

“This is her?” A reedy faerie stands holding the door open, her skin a pale green and with an iridescent sheen to it. The hood from the cloak around her shoulders is tugged over her head, but you can see the way she takes you in even through the shadow it casts.

“Something wrong?” the goblin asks, shoving his way past the long-limbed sprite. You stay put, not sure whether or not they’d like you just barreling your way in behind him.

She scrutinizes you for a moment longer, shrugging. “No,” she answers, lips pursed, “just a bit…” The sprite hesitates on the wording before finishing,“Underwhelming?” She leaves the door to follow him in. You gnaw at your cheeks. You are used to being lackluster—in a world of creatures that are beauty incarnate. Humans could be beautiful… Sure. But it was not the beauty of starless nights for eyes, nor of flower-petal skin, and never hair of twinkling, gold-spun strands. Human beauty could only ever exist in the four-walled prison of facial symmetry and physical attraction. Even the most gritty of the folk had a certain air of ethereal about them, worted and twisted as they may be. You resent them for it; resent the way your skin and hair become dull beside them.

Their little hideout is humble. It smells of old wood, and furniture is minimal. The two of them sit down at a square table to the center of the room, leaving three other seats empty. You mull over whether or not simply taking a seat next to them would be offensive before just shoving your nerves down with a foot long stick and sitting. To convince them that you’re a needed part of their team, you’ve got to act the part. An indelible spy does not wonder whether or not a seat is for them, they know it is theirs. However you may try to play an act, though, you’re sure that they can see how the scars that decorate your fingertips are more from pricks of a sewing needle than they are of blades and combat. The sprite girl tugs her hood off her head, revealing a head of tousled hair. She doesn’t look far off from the insect that she shares her name with, spindly and grass-green. Regarding you, she sits nonchalant and kicked back in the chair, worn boots up and criss-crossed on the table.

“This is the place where you’ll meet us,” she says, addressing you finally. She wiggles a foot as if this conversation is the last she’d like to be having.

You pause inwardly—you had thought this would be some sort of rugged test of skills, not an initiation.

She continues. “You’ll meet the others whenever they—”

You cut her off. “Aren’t you going to ask me about my qualifications?”

She quirks a delicate brow, speaking for her just as well as words might.

“Or, like, test me? Or something?” you continue. The two of them share a look, before breaking out into snorts and giggles. You shift in your seat, frowning. There was nothing funny about your questions.

“We would have never even brought you down here if we didn’t already decide on you,” the sprite girl says, and then gestures at the goblin, “We heard plenty of you from that one.”

The goblin sputters to explain himself, embarrassed how the sprite had made it seem like he was raving.“We needed a human counterpart,” he says, pointing a clawed finger at the sprite girl. “Nobody else was doing the heavy lifting in recruiting. You try and see how it is, then,” he huffs, voice gravelly. “We needed one, and I brought you one.”

“Yeah,” she says, voice softening to a tone reminiscent of soothing a tantruming toddler. “You sure did.” She flexes her booted foot to point in your direction, “But did you bring us a competent one?”

You cross your arms across your chest, narrowing your eyes. “I’m plenty competent,” you say. Sure, you are the servant girl of a busy seamstress faerie, but you need to make something more of yourself in one way or another. You could learn anything, if it meant that. “You don’t have to worry about me running off and telling anybody anything.”

She barks a laugh, as if the notion was ridiculous. “Well, I should know that, because I assume you value your life well enough.” She lets her feet drop off the table, prowling toward you on legs a bit too long for her body, before sliding an ornate dagger from its sheath at her hip and brandishing it to you. “But could you hold your own if someone engages you out in the field?” She then drives the blunt, thick pommel end of it into your chin. Your head snaps back with the force of the strike, and you can feel by the warm trickle of blood that it had busted your chin open.

You look at her, wild-eyed and accusatory. Your jaw aches as you open your mouth to ask, “What was that for?” A trail of thick blood runs down your neck, and she just scoffs.

“Figures.” The sprite sheaths the dagger, dropping back into her seat unceremoniously as if she did not just bash you in the chin.

“I don’t know how to fight yet,” you say, wiping at your neck. You bring your hand up to check the damage, hissing through your teeth as you prod around the gash. You shake your shoulders as if it would shake off the searing pain running up and down your jaw before adding, “But I can learn. I will learn.” The stubby goblin tosses you a rag he had retrieved silently from a drawer, his mouth pulled taut into a line. You wipe up the remnants of the blood, the metallic tang of it finally reaching your nose. You shudder as you press the rag to the wound and hold it there.

“Now, that’s what I’m talking about,” the goblin cracks, his grin toothy. “We weren’t going to find humans who could already fight,” he says, a fur-tipped ear twitching, “but one willing to learn…” He looks at you, and then returns his gaze to the sprite. “We can work with that, Cricket.” When her face stays drawn, he repeats, “We can work with it.” His yellow saucer eyes are serious.

Cricket doesn’t say anything; her grassy eyes simply go distant with thought for a moment. It was true: humans are not brought to the world of Faerie to learn to fight. Or to be anything more than servants, at that. The luckiest ones, like you, are at the very least schooled on reading and faerie histories. Lucky would be an overstatement, though. Nobody stolen from their homes and then forced to accept a reality in a foreign world is genuinely lucky. Despite it, you no longer dream of the life you could’ve had in the human world. It is not your life. It will never be your life. And, considering the look that Cricket and the goblin share, your life is now to be the human counterpart of a royal band of spies.

“Do you know how an oath works?” Cricket asks, pulling out that same embellished dagger and spinning it between two fingers. You hesitate before nodding. You don’t, and she seems to read right through you. She narrows her eyes at you.

“First of all, don’t lie. Never lie. We have to be able to trust each other.” She says, still spinning that glittering dagger utterly nonchalant. “You’ll want our trust when you’re on the field and need your back covered. Not knowing how to officiate an oath is one thing,” she stops spinning the blade to point it at you, “lying to me is another.”

You shake off the embarrassment that crawls up your throat. “I’m sorry. I want you guys to trust me.”

“Trust is especially important with you,” she says. It’s true. Humans can lie blatantly with their mouths. The folk could twist truths to deceive, and bend over backwards to make one thing sound like another, but they could not just lie. In your schooling years, you were taught that a lie is simply against faerie nature. You had laughed at that—if anything seemed to be in faerie nature, it was lying.

“We can start our trust”—she gestures with one finger between you and herself—“off on the right foot with a geas.” Taking your arm that does not hold the rag, she tugs it toward her.

You struggle with the word geas. A geas is a faerie ensorcellment the folk dearly love subjecting humans, who did not know any better, to. They sweet-talk them into it, and when the human was fully ensorcelled, the human becomes a living plaything to make dance unabashedly and kiss the dirt off their boots. It leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

“An oath and a geas are not interchangeable,” you say, wary and preparing to take your arm back. “Which is it?”

“An oath means nothing to a human.” She looks to the goblin for support, “Right or wrong?”

“Leave me out of it.”

Cricket rolls her eyes. “We just have to get some type of way to ensure that I won’t have to tie up loose ends.”

A knock rings through the room, the same rhythmic knock that the goblin had performed on the door. He clambers over to the door and slides the peephole open.

“Decided to show up to do your work today?” he says through the peephole, before sliding the hatch open. You look away from the door before seeing who enters as Cricket grows impatient, spinning your arm so that your palm is facing the roof. She takes her dagger and slides it across the delicate skin. You try to reclaim your hand, but she holds it steady and slides a slit across her own palm.

“Are you guys trying to bleed me for every drop I have?” you protest. You could probably count the amount of wounds you’ve been inflicted with since stepping into the palace on two hands. She clasps your hands, mushing together the wounds still seeping blood.

You had forgotten about the knock at the door until a new voice with a deep and silvery quality to it asks, “Trying to do it before I could get here?” The voice travels from behind you to in front of you, and the man who owns it comes into view. He is relatively tall, towering over the goblin and quite a bit taller than the sprite. His hair is dark, hanging over a pair of sharp eyes that glare daggers at the sprite. You thank all things good that he is not leveling you with that icy smolder. You notice quickly that his ears are the distinct rounded form of a human’s ear.

“This is Taehyun.” She gestures with an exasperated arm. If the roundness of his ears is not already telling, the name is. He’s human. You frown, retracting your hand.

“I thought you guys were looking for a human? That you had none?”

The quickness that they are trying to get a geas over you is already unnerving, but now they are lying about the circumstances of your recruitment?

She gives Taehyun a look that could match the heat of a thousand suns. His face is stony in response to it, utterly unmoved. The stubby goblin does not make so much as a peep.

“Taehyun,” she says while she takes your wounded hand into her own again, “is faerie.”

“What about his ears, then?” You make a gesture around your own ear, one that drags along the round curve of it. Faeries were not born with rounded ears, not the goblins, nor the hobs, nor brownies, not even ones that are the most humanlike in nature. You have seen folk with knives for teeth, skin of boulders, hair from ear to clawed foot, but never rounded ears. It was another intrinsic piece of their nature; what set you apart from them. He was absolutely a human, and they were absolutely not telling you the truth. They had to have spoken their words in a way that made one thing seem like another, spun truths into lies. It was the faerie way. You would not be magically compelled by liars.

Taehyun’s face flashes with the first emotion you had seen since he arrived, but it is muddled and hard to read.

The girl scowls deeper, telling you, “He is not a human.”

Taehyun gets in closer, his eyes venomous. “You know how I feel about that shit.”

You try to decipher whether he meant being human, or the geas, but his next words solve it for you. “And you were going to try and do it before I could say anything.” When she opens her mouth to say something, he cuts her off, “Don’t you say that’s not true.”

She turns to you, decidedly not responding to Taehyun. “I want the geas, because it will make us feel safer. I swear on the King’s life that I will not use it to control you in any way, other than to keep your mouth shut about our operations. You will not hear another thing of it from this day forward, anyway.” Her words are proof enough of her honesty, plain and so obvious in their wording that she could not be twisting her truths around a lie. She means what she says, or else she would not be able to say it. “Would it make you feel better if you were the one to make it, Taehyun? Would you just seal your lips and let us move on from this?” She asks. The other faerie spy, the stubby one, feels the tension as bad as you do, so thick in the air you could choke on it, making himself busy sliding a blade down a sharpening stone.

Taehyun does not respond, his black eyes conveying exactly how he feels about that. You attempt to ease the atmosphere while also catering to your own curiosities. “How is he a faerie, with rounded ears? That doesn’t… exist.”

Taehyun’s eyes flicker at the topic of his ears again. “Well, it seems you don’t know all that you think you do about Faerie then, huh?” he spits before spinning and disappearing down a hall that leads further into the spy den, long legs clad in black striding near silently beneath him. The words crawl under your skin successfully. You could spend your whole life here, and still the folk would see you as foreign. It makes you want to make that geas, to make something of yourself. To be a spy, and make them see that you are so much more than what Nut-hatch told you that you are destined to be; A servant to the superior beings. To make him chew his words, because you know plenty about this foul world, and how to live in it. If anything was true, it was true that you know more about it than him.

You turn back to her, more determination in you now than you even had when you pledged your case to the goblin. “I’ll take the geas. I’ll do whatever it takes to become a competent piece of your team, I swear it. I know my words don’t carry much weight to you, but please, let me show you that I mean them.” Cricket grins, tightening her hand to yours, tilting her head to one side and batting her spiky lashes at you.

“I knew you were a smart girl.” She taps you on the nose, before her expression drops to a more solemn one. The headiness of faerie enchantment tugs at the sides of your vision, turning it wavy and magnified about the edges. You feel it thread through the air, and then spread from your palm to your arm, and then all over, under your skin, like an itch, and in your head, like potent faerie wine. It lasts for a moment’s width longer, before you blink it away. She drops her hand from yours.

“You will not speak of this team, nor its dealings, to anybody I do not authorize, and are, from this exact moment forward, unable to reveal the location of this den.” You shudder under the gravity of knowing that your autonomy is vulnerable and in her hands. Was it ever truly yours to have, though? Faerie glamour and enchantments on humans are unpunishable, and often seen as entertainments. Is a geas permanent? You shove back that worry; it’s too late now.

Gristle whistles a descending tone, finally making himself known again. “We call this Homebase,” he gestures around, and you take in the shoddy ceiling, the make-shift kitchen, and the weapons strewn about every surface. Definitely a spy hideout. “There are a few others for you to meet. They come and go; but you’ll be staying here?”

You nod. He knew about your situation with Nut-hatch already.

“Okay, then. Let’s get you a room.” He hobbles to that hallway Taehyun had stormed down, his gold-embroidered cloak dragging on the floor behind him. You follow, scoping out the scenery.

“Do the others not stay here?” you ask. You two continue down that same hall, the smell of underground musk still heavy. That would take you some getting used to.

He grunts in affirmation. “Whoever you met today, stay here. The others dwell elsewhere, for some reason or another.” He stops at a room, and opens the door. The room is ornate in contrast with the other rooms of this place, the bedding plush and made of fine threads. It was not anything overly extravagant, but perfectly fit for a spy of The King. It is better than sleeping in the sweltering-hot attic of Nut-hatch’s cottage, you decide, appreciating the cool and damp air. And here, they decide that you are worthy enough of your own room. That is more than enough for you.

“But, you’ll meet them tomorrow, no doubt. Make this room your own, I’ll fetch some more fitting garments for you,” he gestures down to the simple linen frock you adorn. You feel the odd tickle of embarrassment at the back of your mind. The irony of your attire, while living under the roof of an esteemed seamstress, is hard to ignore. Nut-hatch had always liked to scold you up and down that there is no need to look frilly working a gown shop, while simultaneously being dressed in ribbons and lace. You take a deep breath of linen-scented air, and then release it. And then, you get to making the room your own.

❆

You do your best to plant your booted foot to the ground, to save yourself from anxiously toeing dirt or stone. The clothes they had brought for you were odd and foreign as someone who only wore the most efficient of dresses and leather slippers for the entirety of her life leading up to this moment. The hooded cloak bunches around your neck and shoulders, stifling. The boots at your feet are so heavy and chunky that they chastely kiss the ground when you step. The sensation of pant legs securing your thighs and shins is the most suffocating, and the weight of the weapons secured by straps are heavier than you’d ever expected them to be. And, to top it all off beautifully, your first assignment is with Taehyun. You’re supposed to be heading north, to the land of the Queen, where the folk are Unseelie and said to be the most vicious. You’d already let that thought sink in, though. Now, all you can mull over is spending the trip with Taehyun; the contempt he had regarded you with before he left last night is still fresh in your mind.

Lightweight footsteps approach behind you, and you know it’s Taehyun. He plops a full pack on the ground wordlessly before tugging the hood of his mantle up and over his head. He is, like yesterday, fashioned in a black tunic and a matching doublet, embroidered with silver threads at the lapel and cuffs, a heavy bow strapped to his back. Maybe a bit flashy for days of traveling by foot, but maybe you also have no idea what flashy actually means.

You cross your arms over your chest, before gesturing to the bag you had already packed for yourself. “I packed.”

He sends you a vacant look. “Put that one back,” he tells you. The air is so tense that you consider just doing it, but his tone ruffles your feathers.

“I have stuff that I want to bring in mine.”

He doesn’t respond, his face locked and static.

“Look,” you huff, “I know you don’t respect me yet, but I’m trying my best to become competent, you know?”

“I respect you.” He picks up the pack he brought for you and dusts the bottom off. “You would freeze to the core in the north without the stuff packed in here. Competence is nothing to a corpse.”

You blink at the bluntness of his words and press your mouth into a thin line, before dropping your original bag on the table and slinging the other over your shoulder. You gesture for him to lead the way with a restrained sigh, and he does so without falter.

The beginning of your mission starts off on a lovely foot.

❆

There is plenty of time to mull over what you would be doing in the north as Taehyun leads you through the lushness of the forest. The hum of insects and nearby streams and the cloying scent of summer-warmed bush berries reign supreme. When your stomach begins to rumble for not having eaten all day, you stop by a bush with exceptionally heavy branches and begin picking. The juice of the berries is thick and golden like honey when they mush between your fingers, and it glitters in the odd way that all Faerie fruit does.

“What are you doing?” Taehyun’s voice, thick with contempt, makes you jump and lose a few from your handful of berries. “That is a Goldhip bush,” he says, his brows pinched, “you would die without a sign; just drop dead to the grass.”

Blinking, you drop the rest to the floor, wiping the glazed juices off on your pant leg.

He scoffs, spinning and heading the same way he had been going before you decided to grab fistfuls of, apparently, intensely poisonous berries. You follow him, shaken.

“I had no idea,” you say, mostly to yourself, but he stops, turning on you.

“You can’t afford having no idea out here. Either you step up to your role, or you die.” He gives you a long look before turning back around and stepping over a felled log.

You step over the log as well. “I didn’t really have any reasons to know your poisons in my old life,” you say. Nut-hatch had at least fed you well, and you were never set out scavenging off berries with an empty belly. You set your pace so that you are parallel to him instead of trailing him. “What are the ones I should know?”

He doesn’t even pause to think for a moment. He knows them like the back of his own hand. “Those berries are turned into a liquid extract and dropped into drinks. It doesn’t have a smell, but it tastes sweet. It doesn’t matter by the time you taste it, though; you’re dead.” A chill burrows its way under your skin. You had been so close to death; had you just popped a berry into your mouth, you would be dead right now. You wipe your palms over your thighs to scrub the phantom lingerings of any poisonous berry.

“How would you even avoid being poisoned by that, then?”

“You don’t,” he deadpans. “It’s why you have to watch your surroundings. Always.”

You nod.

“Silver and salt are poison to the folk. It’s good for you; a poison harmless to you but deadly to another, is an asset.” You clasp your hands and thank the sky inwardly at that. It feels like an ah-hah moment to have something over the folk. Small mercies.

“Human poisons don’t work on the folk at all. So, whatever you remember from your old life won’t serve you here.”

Old life? You have no old life. “I was raised here,” you say, keeping the hurt that tugs at your features on a tight leash. “I was in Faerie before I could even walk.”

You watch as his face falters, sunlight filtering through tree leaves dappling his features and highlighting his nose. He is beautiful, like all fae are. He only nods in acknowledgement, but you can tell he tucks the information away.

He presses forward. “Hunter’s Bane is a milled-up tree leaf that makes you useless and fizzes up the drink it’s sprinkled into. It’s not deadly, but the state it leaves you in is. Lachrymose is faerie fruit. It makes a human agreeable. It’s as good as poison.”

The name of the fruit brings back the memory of a boy, a bit older than you, who at a particularly wild revelry was fed faerie fruit, and buttered up by folk who thought it would be exceptionally humorous for the boy to make an audience with the King. Of course, the boy did, spewing nonsense at the foot of the dais, before going to wrap the King in a hug. A guard shot an arrow through his heart. He could not have been older than sixteen. Nut-hatch barred you from any form of revelry after that; she couldn’t spare her hard-raised shop worker over some faerie fruit. You fold the memory up neatly, compacting it so that you can keep it vibrant and alive in your mind. You solidify, in that memory, that Taehyun and every other wretched creature of his kind, would hardly blink twice to see you die such a death.

❆

Taehyun kindles a small but mighty fire with dry twigs and pine needles; they catch quickly and roar into blazing life. You settle onto the ground, propping your back against a gnarled trunk and try to breathe out the ache in your back. You miss the way the mattress back at home base had cradled your body into sleep, and abhor the dirt and foliage that sticks to your pants and palms where they meld with the ground.

Taehyun’s voice, returning from his last round of searching for pine needles, startles you. “Get up.”

You shoot him a look that, hopefully, channels all your exhaustion. “I just sat down,” you tell him, exasperated.

“If you’re hungry, get up,” he says, narrowing his eyes at you. He has ditched his mantle cloak and his doublet, and now is only in his simple black tunic, its sleeves rolled to his elbows. He’s serious, then.

You huff and complain, but stand up and dust off your palms and pants from the needles that stick to them. The especially deep indents itch a bit, and you soothe them as you follow him promptly into the thicker part of the woods.

“Lighten your feet,” Taehyun commands, his voice low, as a third twig snaps under your foot. You wince and try to replicate the lightness of his walk, but it makes no difference. If anything, your gait is more off than before now that you overthink it. Taehyun stops walking, pointing to his feet, before slowly demonstrating his footfalls. “Tense your legs, and keep your weight on your back foot until the other is fully on the ground.”

You oblige, and can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips as it works. Your steps come lighter, and dodging crunching foliage easier. It reminds you of how a stalking beast might make itself light and airy while it watches and hunts.

The two of you continue through the shrubbery and low-hanging branches until Taehyun pauses, placing a finger over his lips. You see it now, too; a plump pheasant that pecks at the foliage, none-the-wiser. Taehyun reaches for his bow, and notches an arrow. He pulls the bowstring taut, centering his shot, and the arrow sings as he lets it fly.

The thud of the arrow piercing the pheasant makes your stomach flip. The pheasant cries, the arrow having pinned its wing and pierced through its stomach, but not killed it instantly. You avert your eyes as the scene burrows under your skin. Your heart sinks heavy like stone in water. Taehyun bounds over to the still squawking bird with hurried steps, and the sound of metal unsheathing is followed by a loud final cry and then silence. You go rigid, nails biting your palm. You do not open your eyes, even as Taehyun announces in a whisper that he spots a second bird. The pheasant’s final cries bounce off the walls of your mind, reverberating and driving a stake into your hurting heart more with each echo.

❆

Taehyun ended up catching two other pheasants on the way back to the temporary campsite. You watch as they roast over the fire, yellow flames licking at their lightly charring bodies. Taehyun takes one off, passing it to you on a stick whittled sharp at the end. You shake your head, queasy at the thought of eating it.

He delivers you nothing but a cold resolve. “Respect its life.” He holds the stick there for you to take once more.

“I’ll throw it up,” you say, shaking your head again and wrapping your arms around your stomach.

He barks a laugh. “This is ridiculous.” He lets the stick drop back over the fire, and you flinch as embers flurry up into the air and narrowly miss you. Attitude flares up in your chest and you go to say something smart-mouthed, but before you can, he continues, “Go back, if you’re just going to become a waste of my time. You think you’re a spy under The King? You’re a spoiled brat who believes life should be handed to her. If you wanted that, this was not the life to choose.”

You reel at the bite in his voice. His words cut right where it hurts. “You think so?” you say, willing back the hot tears that prickle your eyes. They would only prove his case. “You don’t know a thing about me.”

“I know that you don’t know what you’re doing,” he says, standing up. “I know that you’re weak and for some reason think you’re ready for a world that is going to kill you, and that you should probably be on your way back to tell them you were never cut out for this. Save us both the time and effort.”

You’re up to your feet in an eye’s blink, closing the space between you two. “Humans don’t have the privilege of being spoiled brats in your world,” you hiss. The warm sensation of a tear rolling down your cheek has you hoping that he doesn’t notice, and you reach up to wipe it away quickly. You curse being an angry crier. “I’m doing what I can with what I have. Just teach me what I need to learn, and I’ll learn it.”

“Eat the damn pheasant, then.” he urges. Something like a wild, roaring beast in a delicate bauble shop.

You laugh an exhausted laugh. “I’ve never killed something and then eaten it. Just give me some time, yeah?” Your mind urges you to scream that the standards he is holding you to are unfair, that the two of you lived very different lives, and that you are going on this mission regardless of his haughty attitude, but you tidy those emotion-fueled words into something that he might like more.

He goes quiet. You sit for a moment, too, stewing in all your rehashed hurt. It isn’t just that he’s treating you like a burden, or the low-blows he seems to keep opting for. He’s unknowingly cutting down to your deepest worries, rubbing salt in the wound, that maybe you are never going to amount to anything more than a servant girl.

He unsheathes the longsword at his back, getting into a solid stance. “Show me you can be strong, then.” You hesitate. You’ve never so much as swung a sword, and the weight of it is heavier than you’d expect as you unsheathe it. The metal hisses, and the handle of it is solid and plainly decorated in your palm. You replicate his stance, and shift the weight of the sword awkwardly in your hand, trying to find your grip

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you say, palms a bit sweaty against the cold metal, rocking in your stance. He swings hard, and the force of it colliding with your sword jolts you. It flies from your hands. You panic, frozen to the ground as he swings again. Your heart lurches as you realize he isn’t going to pull his swing.

Wind whooshes as his sword stops just by your face. He leaves it there, pointed right at your nose. “Pick it up,” he cocks his head toward your sword. You stare at him, wide-eyed, as you oblige. You both reset your stance, him barking commands every time he finds your stance or swing to be flawed. You accept his criticism with open arms—it is better than disdain painting his features.

You grit your teeth. You’re sheened in sweat, tugging for deep breaths, and your limbs are slow to recover from each blow he sends you. You’re twisting, dodging, and parrying how he tells you, but it's sloppy, and you have to summon your energy from already low reserves for each. His skin is irritatingly free of sweat and of a cold and pristine quality. It only comes to your attention now with your new proximity how much looks like frost twinkles just under his skin.

Your back collides with a tree you had not noticed Taehyun was backing you into, air escaping your lungs in a big whoosh. He gains on you, pressing the long edge of his sword so that it sits mind-numbingly close to your neck. You pulse rushes frantically, heart beating from your chest in a nearly audible thudding. You continue to try and catch your breath. He swoops in so close that his breaths fan over your face. An emotion that you have a hard time reading flickers in his eyes, and then he’s slamming his mouth to yours.

It’s a desperate clashing of teeth and lips. He lets his sword drop from your neck and to the ground, and he takes your face in his callous-roughened hands. Your own find purchase at his shoulders, tugging him closer as if he could be any more so. The sound that escapes you as his hand tangles into the hair at the back of your head and tightens, tugging your head back and pressing in with more fervor, is like none you’ve ever made before.

When he pulls back for air, your vision swims around the edges, and is dappled with stars. He studies your face, and you’re suddenly more conscious than ever of how your cheeks burn and your lips are smeared with his kiss. He takes in your debased state. His eyes have more fire in them than you ever thought you’d see—swirling and ravenous, an innate need clawing to reach the surface . It’s a dizzying mixture of pure headiness and I shouldn’t be doing this. He dives back in, and each nip and lick at your neck is blazing. They electrify your veins and send shockwaves buzzing from the column of your throat and through your chest, zipping up and down every one of your limbs. You’re not even sure that, if Taehyun were to stop holding you fast to the tree, you would be able to stand on your wobbly and unreliable legs.

“Taehyun,” you gasp, your voice sounding not entirely your own. “Taehyun.”

“You piss me off so fucking bad.” He keeps one hand fisted at the back of your head, exposing your neck to him, but the other travels down your body experimentally. “And I have no idea why.”

Your mind wants to reel and dwell on that, but he doesn’t let you. He wanders a hand about the hem of your shirt, and then he dares to go underneath it, and then he trails that cold hand up the plane of your abdomen. Your stomach flips. “Have,”—you gasp—“have you considered that maybe you’re just an asshole?”

He draws back from ravishing your neck to give you a look, his eyes wild and untrained. It feels, for some odd reason, good to break down his impenetrable exterior—to puncture it down to where he is in his basest desires. Maybe it’s because you just need him to see you as something other than useless; to need you so badly that he forgets his contempt for you. He maintains eye contact as his thumb traces the swell of your breast, watches you gasp as he finds your nipple and rolls it under his thumb. His eyes set you ablaze, and he delights in the way you burn.

“What, you’ve got nothing to say to that?” you say, meeting all the intensity of his gaze the best you can. You try to goad him into something; even if anger, so that he’ll soothe the pounding between your thighs. He does not entertain you, just regarding you with that same blistering intensity. Your scalp begins to ache with the relentless tug of his fist, and you whimper, your hands leaving their place in his tunic to grab at his hand.

“You’re every bit the whiny brat I’ve known you to be,” he says. His voice is gravelly, as if even those few words were hard for him to formulate. Just as your chest had adjusted to the chill of his palm, he drags his fingertips back down your abdomen. The pads of his fingers rake over you, your skin prickling and alight.

“And you’ve got every bit of faerie entitlement in you,” you hiss. His hand pauses just above the waistline of your bottoms, and every bit of untamed need carved into his features is dust in the wind within a heartbeat. You reel at the loss of warmth as he pulls away. You try to reach out for him, to tug him back and wipe that awful indifferent look off his face again. But he’s already kicking out the fire and propping himself up against a thick pine tree. Your stomach churns wildly as you set up your own sleeping situation. The silence is worse than any you’ve sat through—it’s charged with words better left unspoken, and heavy with the weight of your hands all over each other seconds ago.

Sleep does not come easy to you, but when it does, you sleep dreamless and weary.

🪶 ⦂ how was thatttt? my first fanfic!! i've been looking forward to doing a high fantasy/faerie fanfic for sooo long. i'm sorry to leave you off like that but.. know that I am plotting, and planning. i'm already working on part 2, so stay tuned!!

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hhh-hemogoblin · 1 year ago

Text

Warmth

Summary: There are several bedrolls but Astarion makes his way to yours. Not for the reasons you'd expect, though. Set at the start of act 2, only a few days after entering the Shadow-Cursed Lands and its lethal climate.

Pairing: Astarion x gn!Reader

Rating: T, no warnings

Word count: 1.4k

Tags: fluff, comfort, pre-relationship, developing feelings, more than friends (?), banter, wholesome, sfw

A/n: So uhh, my hand slipped?? For the purpose of this short and sweet brabble, elves sort of sleep. Yes, Astarion is a diva but what's new?? Any constructive feedback is welcome :)

All was quiet at camp tonight. You'd had dinner. So had Karlach, Wyll, Lae'Zel, Shadowheart and Halsin. Gale had had his fill, courtesy of an old amulet that you knew you'd have no use for. Even Astarion had been fed.

The hunger was sated, at least to some extent, and after a long day of walking, climbing and crouching, you had all agreed to call it a night. Not because you didn't have any ideas for entertainment, but rather because the sheer exhaustion had rendered everyone absolutely useless.

The flames of the campfire were slowly dying, leaving only glowing embers that emitted a last bit of warmth in the cool night. While some retreated to their tents, others had spread their bedrolls out around the campfire, to try to warm themselves up enough to sleep for the night. You had also decided to remain by the fire, hoping to be able to fall asleep despite the crisp breeze.

You snuggled into your bedroll and got comfortable. It barely took any time for you to fall asleep, with Shadowheart's soft and regular snoring breathing soothing you like a lullaby. Your rest was cut short by a sudden chill in your bones. You woke up, freezing, shivering. As you opened your eyes, you saw that the embers had finally died down completely and turned to cold ashes. Everyone around you seemed to be sleeping deeply, a regenerative rest they had well deserved.

Your eyes still felt heavy from awaking so suddenly, your head was drowsy... All you wanted to do was to fall asleep again. Just a few more hours, just to have enough energy on the next day...

But the cold was seeping through the fabric: your nose and ears, your feet, your lower back... Everything felt cold.

Ever since entering the Shadow-cursed Lands, the cold was always hanging in the air: an unnatural feeling gnawing at your bones, clinging to your skin.

You tried to curl up into a ball, to keep all the warmth in one place and avoid the freezing feeling from spreading further. You weren't sure it was working. You tied your shawl closer around your head. You turned, multiple times. You tried to keep your eyes shut, to pretend to sleep. But the cold only grew stronger.

All of a sudden, you felt a hand on your mouth, preventing you from screaming. Even in your shock, you couldn't even gasp. You couldn't see who it was, as they were crouching behind your back. But you knew. Only one person could move so quietly.

His hand, which was usually even cooler than the night air, was almost as warm as your skin. With his other hand, he pulled your shoulder and made you roll on your back. His piercing gaze was anything but calm.

"Shhhh. Don't be scared, it's me. Can I take my hand off? You're not gonna scream now, right? No need to alert the whole camp..."

You simply nodded. Your heart was still racing, but you knew you were safe, it was just Astarion. It might've been racing for other reasons now.

He slowly removed his hand, still scowling.

"Is everything alright?" You asked him. There must've been a reason for this behaviour.

"Can't sleep? Yeah, me neither..."

"Well, I've noticed. I can't sleep either, darling. And you know why? Because you've been tossing and turning and shifting all this time!" he whisper-shouted.

"Do you know how incredibly loud sheets can be, when someone is rolling over in their bed every thirty seconds?!", he added.

Even if you were wide awake now, his obviously rhetorical question didn't earn an answer from you. You just looked at him, dumbfounded.

"Hang on... Are you seriously blaming me for trying to sleep??", you asked him, your tone full of reproach.

"I'm blaming you for making noise and disturbing my slumber!" he retorted.

"Well, Astarion, I'm sorry your ears are so sensitive! As you can see, no one else is awake at this ungodly hour, complaining about how much noise I allegedly make while trying to sleep!!" This time, you were whisper-shouting, eyeing the other companions, who seemed to hear none of what was happening at your bedroll.

Astarion looked around, still brooding. It was true, everyone was sleeping, still. He decided they didn't deserve to be robbed of the rest they so cruelly needed. He sat down next to you.

You sat up, resting on your elbows and looked up to him. He seemed to have regained some composure, he looked... Lost in thoughts, perhaps?

"Look... I'm sorry." You started, once again not knowing what you were apologising for, a recurring theme with him.

A fresh gust of wind made your skin crawl as you tried to cover yourself some more.

"I can't sleep because I'm fucking freezing!"

"Oh, and here I thought you were fighting demons in your head alone again", he answered plainly.

His tone made you feel guilty. You thought that perhaps, he hadn't been able to sleep for other reasons, prior to you waking up.

"Were you?", you asked tentatively.

"No, I wasn't. And if I had been, I wouldn't have talked about it with you! I would've talked with... Uhm... With..." He stopped. Then chuckled to himself.

He was lying again, there was no one. Or so he thought...

"Well, if anything comes up, you can talk to me next time. But maybe not necessarily in the middle of the night. If it can be avoided..." You tried, with a shy smile.

He looked back to you, his eyes less hopeless now, his smile almost earnest.

"So... You're cold right? I know what that's like... Move over, make some space!" He whispered, in a commanding tone.

"What??"

"Well, let me in!" He added, opening the side of your bedroll.

"We won't be suffering from the cold as much if we share our heat", he explained very factually. Gale was starting to rub off on him, you feared.

As you still didn't really react, he added "Don't be coy now, it's not like we haven't been this close before..." The cold from the open blanket, or perhaps his sly grin, made you shiver. And you complied, making space for him under the sheets.

"You'll be able to sleep because you'll be less cold, and I'll finally be able to sleep because your restlessness won't bother me anymore."

"Right. Much better, isn't it?"

He would never have admitted out loud but he was grateful for the warmth. Other than being cold, the nights were lonely and unrelentless lately.

"Good night now, I hope you fall asleep quickly, for both of our sakes!"

You smiled. Astarion was practically insulting you to your face, but you simply smiled. Despite his harsh words, he was still sharing a bedroll with you, after all...

"Good night, Astarion. May some rest help that awful temper of yours", you retorted with a chuckle.

You heard him scoff in the back of your neck but didn't pay it much thought. His body was now sheltering yours and you already felt much more at peace. Perhaps the warmth came from the faint body heat he radiated, perhaps it came from within you: in spite of everything he was and said, you did like having him around...

Quiet as a corpse, Astarion was probably drifting off, or so you hoped. In a last effort to get more comfortable in the tight bedroll, he slinked his arm around you, pulling you slightly closer to him. And so you fell asleep in his arms, rather quickly too.

You woke up as the sun was just starting to rise on the horizon. You opened your eyes and saw that none of your companions had awoken yet.

You looked down towards your hand and saw that Astarion's fingers were laced with yours. You hadn't noticed at all during the night but it instantly made you feel more comfortable. Still, you felt the need to get up.

"Are you awake?" you asked, knowing that he probably was. "I'm going to go eat something now."

"Or you could stay..." He answered in the faintest whisper. He still hadn't let go of your hand. There, as the Morninglord graced the world with his radiance again, you decided that you could, indeed, stay just a little longer, for both of your sakes, and enjoy the comfort of this quiet morning together.

Awesome dividers by @cafekitsune

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 astarion #fanfic #fluff #astarion x reader #wholesome

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thewritetofreespeech · 11 months ago

Note

more protective Aemond + reader please!!

tw: drunk aegon makes poor choices. attempted SA.

It was warm in the garden house. The smooth glass walls keeping it ever summer within the four walls. Though the Keep boasted some of the finest gardens of the land, not all could thrive in the climate (a sentiment you could often agree with) and some had to be housed here, until they were ready.

You had been sent to fetch some of the more fragile blooms for this afternoon’s tea activity with Queen Alicent and Princess Helaena. Flower arranging. You could not think of a duller way to spend the afternoon. But what the Queen wanted, the Queen shall get. An old adage that was becoming increasingly clearer as the King’s days sifted through like sand in front of them. There was a part of you that wondered if all this flower arranging was not some macabre preparation for his funeral.

“There you are.” You turn away from your flowers to look over your shoulder. “I have been—hiccup—looking everywhere for you.” Aegon said. Jovial in nature, even as he nearly missed the first step. He was drunk.

“Well, I have been here most of the afternoon, your grace. Is it not always the last place you look.” You were quick to turn around as you spoke and offered him a polite smile. You know what happened to the last girl in this household who turned their back on Aegon. You wouldn’t be the next.

“Of course! Of course! What fool would I be to keep looking after I found something?” He staggered closer and you stepped back. Or at least you try. The garden shelf behind you was at your back in one step. You had nowhere to go. “But I thought…now would be a lovely time for us to—burp—have a conversation.”

“Certainly, your grace. We can have a conversation. But perhaps later,” ‘when you’re sober’ was on the tip of your tongue but you bite it back, “I need to get these to the Queen & Princess.” ‘your wife’ You were not going to have much tip left of your tongue if you kept biting it like that.

“No, no, no! They’re boring. Stay with me.”

Aegon reached out to grab your arm, but you quickly pulled it away from his grasp. “Please don’t touch me.”

“Oh hoohoo! You’ll be singing a different tune in a minute! They all do.” He reached for you again, with both hands this time, and you battered him away with flailing arms before your hand connected with the side of his face. Aegon stumbled back. His own hand against his face for a moment before he turned back with a wide, wild smile. “You know, it is treason to strike your future king. I shall pardon you though, if you hold still!”

He was on you again and you flail against Aegon as you try to fight him off. He was either too drunk to take this seriously, or he was just toying with you. Pulling at your dress. Swatting your hands away while he laughed maniacally. All the while you told him, “Stop it! Don’t! Let me go!” To afraid to actually shout and for someone to come in here to see what was going on.

You yipped when one of Aegon’s hands accidently connected with the side of your face, then suddenly he was up in the air and out of your space. Still in the room but on the floor. The towering figure of the second prince between you now.

“What the hells Aemond?!” Before Aegon could yell at his brother more, the prince began speaking to him in High Valaryin.

Your education on the tongue was very basic. Only able to pick up a few words like ‘brother’ and ‘get out!’ from the silver tongue. The words magnetic. Spell like, even. And they must have truly been some kind of spell, as Aegon actually tucked tail and ran. “Are you alright?”

You realized that Aemond was talking to you now, and you take a quick measure of yourself. “Yes. As well as can be expected.” Your chastity was intact, if dignity not a little bruise. Your lip was throbbing, but your first kiss was still on them. Your dress & hair was a little mussed, but nothing a quick change and a comb could not fix. All in all, you were fine.

You look to your protector and offer him a meager, “Thank you…for helping me…” Not much in the way of compensation for such gallantry, but it was all you had.

“Hmm..it was nothing.” Aemond replied stoically. Already seeming to have lost interest in you and his effort, now that it was over.

You swallow through the tightness in your throat. How foolish you were to think that his actions meant something for you. Wishful thinking of a naïve young woman. He was simply doing his duty, or what any decent man would do, and it just made you love him more. You had been in love with Aemond nearly since the first moment you met when you came to court. Quick to decide that Aegon’s rakish smile was something to be avoided and drawn to the quite allure of his brother. Try as you might, however, you couldn’t crack him. Aemond seemed content to keep you, and everyone, at arm’s length. There were days when you felt like giving up and just wallowing in despair of a lost love that never flowered.

But you were stubborn. And you made your decision. You had to have a man like that. You would accept no others. Especially not after such a daring rescue.

“I should…talk to her grace….”

“No. Don’t do that.” Your head jerked up at Aemond’s quick snap. “Do not say anything. Just leave it be.”

“But if Aegon tells—“He isn’t going to tell anyone.” He interjected. “He wouldn’t want people to know that he was beaten by a girl and his little brother.”

You supposed that was true. Aegon seemed to care about very little. But his pride? That was something he would not have tarnished for him. “You would really stand against your brother on this?”

Aemond looked at you. He then removed his glove and in two strides was directly in front of you. “I’ve stood against my brother for less important things.” You held your breath as Aemond’s thumb came up to the corner of your mouth. Gently brushing the blood away that was beading up to the surface.

It was strange. Mere moments ago, you had been begging a man not to touch you. Now your entire body was singing ‘touch me! touch me! touch me!’. The words bottle up tight in your chest. Desperate to come out and tell him that & everything. But they just can’t!

“You should get cleaned up. Before anyone sees you.”

His words break the spell between you as you blink. Realizing you were still in the garden house, and you had to meet the Queen & princess shortly. “But…if I change, I’ll be late. Her grace cannot abide lateness.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Aemond offered immediately. Surprising you. “Go.”

You nod once, then slip past him and head for the door. Breathing fresh air and flowers, and suddenly you hate the smell. You want to be back where you were. Surrounded by Aemond’s scent and the smell of leather & mineral oil from his blades.

“Aemond,” you called once you reached the door. Turning back towards him and willing that vault in your chest to open up, but all that comes out is, “I…thank you again.”

You run away from your chambers. Embarrassed. Disappointed in yourself. Frustrated that that was your moment and you were too craven to say anything!

And now you were running late!

Part ii - Aemond's perspective

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nemisuki · 4 months ago

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For The Future

Synopsis || A blonde apologizing for his mistakes to heal past wounds.

᧔o᧓ || katsuki bakugo x f!reader, she/her pronouns, pure fluff, past angst, no smut, short oneshot, deku mentioned, bkg pov, his redemption arc, bkg lore, emotional, can be platonic or romance, up to interpretation, he’s just a lil guy, 804 word count

Openly loving a person wasn't something that came easily for him.

It was the little things that caught everyone's attention, the hidden meaning behind every action he takes, clarification that the boy does care.

He's gotten better with time, his previous anger mellowing out, the heart once filled with self loath – forming misdirected fury towards those around him – now on a road to healing and acceptance.

Throughout his life, he's had the blessing to be surrounded by those who welcomed him and his complex personality.

But she stood out to him.

The girl who stayed by his side since childhood, a piece of the trio puzzle along with him and Izuku, who always stood in the middle – being the glue who put a stop to things when it went too far – the one who never chose a side.

He didn't know how she did it all those years.

Putting up with his superiority complex, the unjustified suffering he brought onto them both.

Izuku left UA a few days later – though thanks to everyone's efforts, he returned shortly – causing the blonde to finally muster up the courage to say the apology that the boy deserved.

He knows it wont make up for the pain of the past, the shadows forever going to haunt him til the day he takes his last breath, but he made a vow to himself.

A vow to protect their future and to make up for the former.

Nevertheless, one more person needed an apology, however she seemed to hold no grudge against him... just like Izuku.

The blonde could only dream of catching up to them, both warm and shining like the sun, someone he wished he could've been like in the past.

But for now, the only way to move forward is to confess his previous wrong doings.

Which leads him to seek her out – the same night when deku returns to the dorms – following her figure as she heads to the balcony for fresh air.

The last obstacle to face.

He slowly approaches and drapes his open sweater over her shoulders, a thankful smile appearing on her face as he leans over the railing, looking at the night sky above.

Through his peripheral vision, he notices the way she melts in the warm fabric, letting out a breath that could be seen due to the cold climate.

A small exhale that has the words exiting his mouth before he could chicken out.

"...'m sorry."

Even he was shocked at the soft tone coming from him of all people, unaware he could speak in such a way, a testament to his vulnerability and sincerity.

Or maybe it was just because it was y/n.

His gaze slowly lands back on her face, meeting her eyes that seem to soften the more he looks at her.

"I know."

The way she speaks is so gentle, it almost has him reaching out to make sure she's real.

She takes a step closer to him, making his stare waver and direct it elsewhere.

"I just-"

His whole body tenses as she tippy toes, wrapping her arms around his neck as she holds him close, mumbling near his ear as he stands completely still.

"I knew you'd come back to us kacchan."

The words she whispers makes his eyes widen, the familiar nickname bringing back memories of the past – their childhood selves playing in the playground before the idea of being the best clouded his judgement – a feeling of nostalgia washing over him.

He's broken out of his mini daydream as he feels her body tremble against him, small droplets hitting his shoulder and neck as she sniffles.

"...I'm so happy."

Her grip on him only tightens, as if not planning to let him go anytime soon.

And after a few seconds of silence, he slowly wraps his arms around her waist, his hand rubbing small circles in hopes to ease her tears.

Tears of past pain, present joy and future hope.

His eyes shut close as he takes it all in, reminding himself just how much trouble he's caused, how much harder he needs to work.

How much better he’ll be for them.

For her.

"Sorry I'm late."

She shakes her head in response, pulling back slightly to look at him, her eyes slightly puffy from her cries.

He hesitantly lifts a hand, wiping away the stray teardrops trickling down her cheeks.

Though he intends to pull away, she lifts her own hand up, resting it against his to keep it there.

"Welcome home."

An emotional but warm smile forms on her face, staring right at him as he processes her words.

Home huh?

He huffs in response, fighting off the urge to react to her cheesy self but is deemed unsuccessful, a subtle smile miraculously dusting his features.

"Uhn, im back."

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

a/n ||| i was supposed to write a funny one yet we ended up with this, i just love his redemption arc. i think it was beautifully written and his apology to izuku made me ugly cry. this was kinda rushed so apologies... I was working on this edit of bkg, shoto and deku on my insta (shameless promo mwahaha) also welcome qyuin to the tagged list below omg much love!!!! tags ||| @leleyro @zaiban2989 @qyuin ໒꒰ྀི ´๑ ̫๑` ꒱ྀིა

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marticoresims · 4 months ago

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My Rotational Gameplay System

Hi! There's a video on my channel about how I play rotationally, but some info there is outdated. I figured a post can always be edited, so it's a better way to share how I play The Sims 2.

What is rotational gameplay?

Playing rotationally means that you play multiple households for the same number of days, jumping from one to the other in rounds. This way, you keep the households even, have story progression in all of them, and then you can make them interact, intertwine and merge into new families, not leaving any playable Sim behind.

If you play two-three households and leave the rest unplayed, that's also rotational gameplay. There's no right or wrong way to play The Sims 2!

Setting up the neighborhood

First of all, stealth hoods. I don't want all the same Sims appearing in my family bin over and over, so I made the stealth hoods empty. This tutorial shows how to do it, but it's actually more simple than that – just go into those folders and delete all files in 'Characters'. DO NOT do it in the Documents directory!

Second, I think of which subhoods make sense for this neighborhood. I hardly ever add Downtown. Vacation destinations depend on what I need, I usually add one during gameplay if I'm planning a vacation (which is rare). I like to have one, max two university hoods, especially if they include pre-made Sims. And Bluewater Village is completely redundant, but I sometimes make my own shopping district as an extra area. For example, in my Pleasantview 2.0 I made "Goth Square" that is kind of like a downtown district with apartment buildings, restaurants, clubs etc.

Sometimes I'll tinker with seasons, e.g. Strangetown seems like warm climate, so I might turn off winter in it. Riverblossom Hills must stay default, though.

Basics and keeping track

One round is 4 days for most of my neighborhoods. Some people do it by days of the week or seasons in-game, but I can't be bothered synchronizing my neighborhood after someone moves out and it's again a summer Monday for them. If it's Thursday in the middle of winter in another household at the same time, I really don't mind.

I'm an old school gal when it comes to taking notes to keep track of played days. I have a paper notebook with the grid pattern and mark rounds as squares – each line is one day. I have a whole list of families named by last names mostly, but if a last name repeats (which is often), I either sign them with one of the Sims' first name or their last name + initials. For example, in Riverblossom Hills I have families named Roth (for the "main" Roth family still living in the original house) and Roth LF (Roth – Larch & Fiona).

These days, I use erasable pens in my notes, so no crossing out if a family merges with another or changes its name. For marking days, I still like to use a simple pencil. For side notes (such as planning someone's career or matchmaking) I either use sticky notes or draw a special square and use the erasable pens again to take easily erasable notes. If there's no space on the page anymore, I move onto another. I always keep the old pages, though! I have them pinned in the back of the notebook. Also, I only use notebooks that have tabs of different colors and each neighborhood has its color. Blue for Pleasantview, green for Strangetown, purple for Veronaville, orange for Riverblossom Hills etc. I like to match pen colors to it as well. Yes, I do have ideasthaesia.

For more "serious" neighborhoods I have an additional document on my PC in table form where I plan out the storytelling. I pretty much only have it for my Youtube let's play neighborhoods like Townieville. Fun fact: I have two separate notebooks for "work neighborhoods" and "private neighborhoods". The work one is in smaller format 😂

Here's a fragment of my Townieville notes (the Bendett-LeTourneau family takes too much space when spelled out lol):

As for aging, I made my own custom lifespan that mimics real life years (1 day = 1 year). However, I only age up Sims at "1 day away" (aka the orthodox way) when they're babies and teenagers. Babies because I want them to be 1 year old as toddlers (only Nopke somehow figured out a way to make the baby stage actually 1 day), and teenagers to give them time to attend college. In all the other stages, I wait until the last minute for them to age up on their own. I would never remember to age them up manually or throw parties, also the 1 extra day would make it difficult for me to count their age. That results in the elder stage starting at "57 days old", but I count it as 60 years old. I like to know how old my Sims are for context, that's all.

Population

My limit for one neighborhood is 16 families. If there's more, one round takes forever and I lose interest. In my old Pleasantview, I finally managed to lower the number of families from 24 to 18 and still going. It feels great! So, as you see, I can't do an uberhood/megahood.

To stop my neighborhood from expanding too much, I simply don't make too many kids. I have pretty strict rules that are based on aspirations: Family+Family is 3 kids, Family+Other is 2 kids, Other+Other is 1 kid. If both Sims have family as a secondary aspiration (and I remember that they do), I'll make them have two. It has been working pretty well, but I'm open to changes in the future. Sometimes I will even impregnate a Sim with InSimenator instead of naturally to make sure it's not twins.

I mark every birth on a certain day as a dot and letter (B/G – boy/girl) and plan newborns in advance to have babies be born at a similar time and with balanced genders, so I can match them later. Of course I do have same-sex couples and big-age-difference couples as well. It all comes out when the babies get older, but synchronizing births creates a solid basis. Usually there are no more than 4 kids born in one round.

I love townies, but I avoid bringing them into the neighborhood as much as I can (it expands the population). If two playables are not related and have the potential to be together, I'll tinker with their chemistry to make it happen. I have this mod to help me avoid marrying second-cousins, even if it's not really that big a deal in real life. I do follow chemistry very much in matchmaking though, so if there's any decision to be made between two Sims, I'll always go for the one with the higher chemistry (sort by chemistry and choose the one that appears first – even if the bolts are the same, they are sorted by points).

Wants & Fears

I like to say that I play half-wants-based. I especially like to use wants to avoid having only wealthy families. How? Only if they roll a want of getting a skill point, I'll prioritize career skill points and let them get promoted. Otherwise, they might stay at the same level for years and do other things instead such as hobbies. Even if their lifetime want is the top of a career – the Sims are responsible for progressing in their careers. I don't lock the skill wants either, only the promotion ones if a promotion is guaranteed. But keep in mind that I use mods for no friends needed for careers and less often promotions (I changed it to 85%). That way, some Sims struggle financially, some just have enough to pay the bills, some accumulate money very slowly, and some become rich fast. It's true that it's fortune Sims that usually reach the top of their careers, knowledge Sims are second place, but isn't that actually realistic? If a Sim's lifetime want is anything other than a career, I realize they won't get everyday wants regarding that LTW (unless it's a knowledge Sim with "Max out 7 skills"), so I will push them towards it, but still, not every Sim completes their lifetime want. Also, I use 50 New LTWs and Slower LTA Gain. Homework works a similar way. Since, without mods, your Sims are either failing or having an A+, I use the School Grade Mod for more grade variations, but also base doing homework on the child or teen's wants. If they have any wants about education (private school, college, fear to go to school because of bad grades), they do their homework that day. Also, on weekends I make them catch up on homework if they're not busy.

I do like to listen to what my Sims want to do, but if the want is ridiculous (like wanting to get married to 3 Sims at once for Romance Sims on dates), I'll ignore it. I only use wants or lack thereof for more variety and less decision-making. I use a lot of mods that change wants as well, such as Fewer Hobby Wants. What about pets? If more than half of the household has corresponding wants to get a pet, I'll get them one.

Decisions

Deciding makes me anxious. I want gameplay to be fun and the Sims to be their own people. That's why I have certain rules for choosing aspirations and careers. Here's my entire calculator that saves me in choosing careers. For aspirations, I only use the calculator sometimes if I'm not sure, but usually I look at the Sim's personality and can easily see their aspiration based on traits. Obviously I make exceptions to that rule, I WILL have a grouchy Family Sim from time to time. But I do that only if I feel a certain vibe, so no decision is needed either, I just know this Sim will be the exception. Sometimes, I make exceptions to also differentiate Sims from their parents, as personality is genetic for the most part, so it's likely for two Knowledge Sims to “produce” another Knowledge Sim and I'd like to avoid repetition. Especially with Family Sims, as with my population system it might lead to one family dominating the neighborhood. Family+Family having 3 kids and all of them with the Family aspiration? Not on my watch!

In families of more than one child, how do I decide who moves out and who stays home as an adult? If there are no other factors influencing it, the youngest child stays because the older ones moving out will create the space for the next generation. But it varies based on what housing situation the potential partner has. Oh, yeah, I don't play with elders only, that's boring.

How do I decide who changes their name at marriage? These days, I like to keep the OG last names, so if there's a townie marrying into a pre-made family, I'll keep the pre-made family's name. Gender doesn't matter. If it's two pre-mades getting married, I decide based on how many other Sims there are with that last name (do the Sims have siblings?). It's real tactical work sometimes. If I want to keep both, a hyphenated name is always an option too.

Random events

Not a lot of random events happen in my game. Mostly it's just Sims cheating. I have ACR's risky woohoo set to zero most of the time. I do have some mods that make Sims' lives more risky like more dangerous fires (this version is edited to work with the fire safety skill) or death by childbirth. But if someone dies untimely, they die. Especially if they've already had kids (which sounds cruel lol, but my gameplay is based on legacy and genetic continuity). I also ignore chance cards because they make my game too hectic, and my Sims don't get promoted too much, so I don't need the difficulty. I'll only click on them (randomly without reading) if a family is exceptionally boring.

University

One round is 4 days, that means 4 years, so I guess it would make sense to play the "empty nest" once the offspring is in college. But I don't do that. College is frozen time. In my game, the teenager stage is 9 days – from 13 to 22. It would be too short if I treated university as passing time, as 22 is when US college students graduate. So, I mark a dot with the letter C whenever someone is "1 day away" and ready for college. It's often for the future more than the past, as I like to send a few Sims at once (you know, the babies marked 22 days earlier), so I plan ahead and need to know how many days left. I also send them to college according to their age (even if I don't have to do that with frozen time, it's fun to do), so if there's 2 years difference between Sims, one of them will be a Freshman when the other one is already a Junior. Also, not everyone goes to college! It's wants-based, again. If the teen has the want to go to college the very last morning of their teen stage, they go immediately. And again, exceptions. Sometimes I'll lock in the college want because I just can't imagine that Sim not going to college. I have the No Memory Uneducated mod to stop Sims who didn't want to go to college from crying about it. My university gameplay is the most strictly wants-based, to avoid having all Sims graduate with honors. Don't have a want to gain skill points, but fear academic probation? We're doing bare minimum. That kinda thing. The only want I lock in is "Make Dean's List" because it's pretty rare, and without it I was ending up with 3.2 GPA for every single Sim. This want means we're doing everything to get the highest grade possible.

Supernatural Sims

I'm not a fan of supernatural in The Sims (unless it's Planet Alades). The only occult I absolutely LOVE is ALIEN. I will have aliens in nearly every neighborhood. No Multi PT mod needed. PlantSims are cool too, but only in neighborhoods where they appear from the start. Very rarely do I let my Sims become werewolves, or especially vampires and zombies. If a Sim doesn't age, I don't see a point in playing them. Best regards to all the 'aging off' Simmers out there 😆

That's all! Now I can stop rambling about it in my let's plays and just send you guys to this post if you have questions. Phew!

#sims2 #thesims2 #sims 2 gameplay

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ren-cerati · 2 months ago

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This is all @astro-nomaly 's fault I can never follow through with my evil plans of withholding information because im a chronic yapper 💔

This is an original book im writing, it's called Memento Mori (The first book in the Dethéian Chronicles)

@highbookwormofthecentury @mother-spore-missa @flirty-anon and please tag anyone else who might be interested! I consider this some of my top tier work despite being old and needing edits and it would be so cool to have a little community of people who are as ill about my ocs as I am :3

|~◇~◇~|

0. After Death

Eliott

It all began when I died.

One is often inclined to believe that death, in and of itself, is the end. I, speaking from personal experience, can confirm confidently that it most certainly is not.

Before we continue, you should know of a few things.

For one, my name is Elliott. Since this tale is mostly about me, you should have something to call me by.

Second, I am technically deceased. Quite unfortunate, really. Actually for that matter, it sucks.

Third, The story you are about to read is like a disjointed symphony. Made of shattered vials of ink spilling on tattered and torn pages lost in a world of imagination and darkness.

Fourth- Do not trust Cerati. Or perhaps do, I have no place to tell you not to.

I’ll tell you the story of my life. It is one made up of curious things- things often found unfathomable to even the ones holding the script that recounts the story of mine and this world.

A little info on how exactly I met my demise.

When I died, it wasn’t a climatic war-torn scene with gore on the ground and screams in the whirling chaos of battle.

It wasn’t an epic sacrifice, taking a blade for someone I loved.

I died in a damn hospital coughing up blood.

(A/N: this is a fucking page break.)

1. The Awakening

Elliott

Someone screams out a name. Voices whisper in my head. I cannot breathe. I am drowning in an endless abyss, the waters closing over my head.

Who am I?

Inky darkness invades my lungs. I struggle, trying to claw to the surface. The voices whisper more urgently, and I feel a relentless pounding in my head.

Who am I?

I must be dying.

I don’t want to die.

Who am I?

I kick and thrash and fight.

Until I feel something shift, and everything spirals, and I am unable to tell up from down. Something breaks, something opens.

And suddenly, I know it. It rushes to my mind; a reclaimed memory.

Elliott.

I sit up. I’m not drowning anymore; and sweet air rushes into my lungs.

Panting, I drink it in greedily. I rub at my eyes, vision blurry.

I’m sitting in a field. A field of flowers. Swarms of vivid colors everywhere I look. My vision clears, and names start to flood my mind. Daisies. Tulips. Poppies. Snapdragons. Marigolds. The plantlife in front of me is named, in a sudden whirl.

I look at my hands. Pale. Shaking. I curl my fingers into a fist, fingernails digging into my palm.

I’m alive.

“Eugh. Where…Am I?” I can hardly hear what must be my voice. My ears are ringing.

The sun beats down on me gently, warm and pleasant. I look up.

My eyes narrow. Something feels wrong.

The three suns in the sky hang high above me. I push down the feeling of wrongness in my gut and try to think.

Should there be three suns?

Nothing comes to mind except for my own name. It’s my name, Elliott. I hold onto it. I don’t want it to slip my mind, so I chant a mantra in my head.

Elliott. Eliott. Eliott.

My name.

I look around. The flowers sprawl for miles in every direction, the blue sky stretching on the horizon. It’s eerily silent, no sound but the feather-light breeze brushing past my ears.

I stand up. My arms and legs feel tingly and weak, and I nearly trip over my own feet.

Something in my throat tastes vile. Vertigo suddenly hits, and I fall. I cough, dry heaving as something tries to force itself from my throat.

I finally hack something out, and watch as blood drips from my mouth to the daisies below.

Ah. That probably isn't good. I wipe the blood from my mouth and grimace.

I push myself up, and when I don't feel as if I'm about to keel over on the spot, I start to walk. I don't know why, but I don't want to sit in the flowers and cough my blood and guts onto the ground. So I may as well do something, right?

I don't know where I'm going. I don't know if this strange field ever ends.

I try to recall something. Anything. Elliott. My name. But who am I? Where am I? Where did I come from, what happened?

What's going on?

Information slips through my mind, blurry and untouchable. Places without names and people without faces. When I think of the last thing I can recall after…waking up? I can only picture the blank whiteness of fluorescent lights and pale walls.

There are things I know. Cars, roads, people, animals. There's no date or time or location or anything defining I can find but my name.

There is no sense of being. Nothing.

I keep walking. The flowers come up to my knees, sometimes wrapping themselves around my ankles and making me stumble and fall.

I curse, the words leaving my lips easily. My voice is unfamiliar to my own ears. I nearly startle at the sound.

I look to the horizon. Perhaps if I walk far enough, I'll find something that will help me make sense of whatever is going on. I continue my walk.

Eventually, I find a stream. My throat is parched, so without really thinking, I drop to my knees and cup the water in my palms. It's clear, bright, and cold. I think somewhere in the back of my mind that I just have to hope that the water is safe to drink. The bed of the stream is white sand and small, multicolored rocks. No fish dance in the shallows, no bugs swarm the water.

This place feels similar to a dream. It feels too perfect. It's not familiar, nothing in my mind clicks with recognition except the names of some of the flowers.

When I'm done drinking, I look below me. A wavering reflection floats on top of the water, indistinct and blurry. I peer closer, making out maroon eyes, a pale face, and short brown hair, a mess of cowlicks and curls. Something on my cheek, dark and spiraling. I peer closer.

And promptly faceplant into the stream.

The swears that escape my mouth seem instinctual, the obscenities forming in my head and being spat out bitterly. I push myself up, soaked. I shake like a dog, and sigh.

I continue my wandering, wading through the stream and hoping that the suns will warm me before nightfall. The breeze seems to grow stronger, and I shiver as I walk resolutely into the distance.

At dusk, I see the blurry shape of mountains and trees in the distance. My muscles scream exhaustion, and my mind is no less fuzzy than it was earlier, but when I draw nearer, I can even see a line of smoke rising into the sky, dark against the oranges and reds and pinks and yellows of the setting suns.

Smoke means a fire. A fire means people. And, as my stomach decides to add, people means food.

I pause at my wording. People need food to survive, so they likely have it on hand.

I phrased my thought as if I was about to eat people. That's weird.

I wouldn't do that?

But then again, I don't know myself. Perhaps I was a cannibal and forgot about it.

I push away these thoughts, trying not to question why they now seem to come quickly into my mind, insistent and probing.

While there could be people at the source of the smoke, what's saying that they'll be friendly?

I should be more wary. I don't know who I am, where I am, or anything else. An age-old saying flits into my mind briefly, ‘Stranger Danger’ , the phrase that is used to warn children of those they meet in unsavory places.

My head pounds. Thinking too hard about what I half know makes vicious and sharp pangs stab into my head from all directions, killing my train of thought.

Whatever. Whatever.

I take a moment to breathe. If there are people at the source of the fire, maybe they can help me. I think I need help. I probably need help. Help sounds like a great idea.

Waking up alone in a field without your memory qualifies as needing help, right?

Something cracks under my foot. I startle, and jump back.

Dry. Old. Ancient.

I look down.

At my feet rest a broken ribcage, bones cracked and crumbling. The bones are pitch black, and soot rests around them. I catch my breath. Okay, creepy. But everything's okay.

At least, that's what I think.

Until the bones start to crackle and move on their own.

That definitely is not great.

Fucking screw that actually, what the fuck is going on-

I step further back. My heart pounds in my chest, and I can hear each desperate beat.

The bones crackle and twist as by some dark magic they start to connect to one another. Being pulled from the ground itself.

Crick. Crack. Crackle.

And the skeleton pulls itself up,flowers still entwined around its creaking joints. It stands, and I can't move. I am frozen in place, unable to even blink.

It turns to me. Its eyes are blank, empty, white. Blood and black sludge leaks from its bones, plopping gently against the flowers. I watch, transfixed.

It opens its mouth. It's jaw opens slowly, revealing white and gray crumbling teeth. The blood-sludge leaks from its mouth like a fountain, and I feel my stomach constrict.

It starts to shamble towards me, and I can finally move. My heart thunders in my ears, thump, thump, thump.

And it's like the temperature has dropped to zero, and I can't think. A shiver runs through my body, and it's as if the world has stopped turning.

Step back.

Watch as it takes a step in turn.

Step back.

It's getting too close.

I need to run.

Step back.

It's right there.

Step back.

I stand eye to eye with the creature, and I can see myself reflected all too clearly in the white emptiness. A blurry red figure with brightly gleaming maroon eyes. Shaking, trembling, scared. A small animal standing face to face with a deadly carnivore. It looks at me as if I’m its dinner for tonight. A cracked hand moves slowly closer.

I must run.

And I'm only just then gathering the feeling back into my legs to sprint away, when the creature lunges forward and swipes at me. I raise my arms to protect myself on instinct.

I shriek when I feel my skin being torn, the flesh being stripped from my wrist. I see blood fly through the air, and I finally decide to stop standing here , and run.

As I tear through the field, I can hear more things unearthing themselves from underneath the flowers. One breaks through the earth and latches on to my ankle, and I kick and stomp and struggle until I can tear my ankle from its grasp. I can feel blood trickle down my heel, and wince in pain and disgust.

And I run. I run as fast as I can, a breakneck sprint. My breath is too short, my lungs try desperately to drink in cool night air. I feel sweat trickle down my skin, and when thunder booms and lightning flashes across the sky, I feel the rain as well.

I manage to evade the creatures until I trip over something sticking out from the soil. It's another skeleton, crouched on the ground. It turns to me, neck rotating three hundred and sixty degrees. I want to throw up. I try to get up, but the mud is slick, and I take far too much time to even get my feet under me.

Run.

And I see more creatures close in from each side, mouths twisted into a leering grin, and I watch blood drip onto the ground. I watch them lurch forward, bones twisting and hoisting themselves together to move towards me. I stare at the blood as it pools at their feet. I can finally get a good look at them, and if it's possible, my fear only intensifies when I see the still desperately beating hearts skewered on their exposed ribs.

I suppose more of that will come from me in a moment. That isn't really cool.

The rain pours down. I'm standing, but I'm shivering, I'm cold, and I can't run anymore, my ankle erupting into furious, red hot pain. My wrist feels numb, but I check. And, yeah. That amount of blood probably isn't good for me. The wound seems to be scabbing over already, though. Is that good? Or bad?

I glare at the creatures.

“What do you want, eh?”

I bite out furiously. One of the creatures nearest to me tilts its head, and clicks its teeth together. I grit my teeth.

“Leave me alone! Get away, shoo, you stupid bone sacks!”

The creature must decide it's tired of hearing me yap, and I do sound pathetic anyway. Hmm, maybe I should be screaming. Such a thing would be reasonable in a situation such as this. Before I can decide on my next course of action, it jumps forward and tries to clamp its jaws down on my leg. I jump back, and I hear the clack of teeth behind me as well. I swear, and panic makes me tremble, and I can't maneuver myself away-

Bang.

The creatures turn. One looks dumbstruck, mouth opening and closing in confusion. Its head rests on the ground, while the body waves its arms around, trying to find the head.

Bang.

Bang bang bang.

I see bullets whistle through the air, taking down a creature at a time quickly and effectively. In mere seconds, each one searches for its own head.

I search for the source of the bullets. And there, a little ways off, a shadowy figure fights three of the still standing skeletons, kicking and twirling and dodging. I watch as the figure jumps up and flips through the air, landing smoothly on their feet as they swipe the feet of one of the creatures out from underneath it.

And then I'm looking up into harsh eyes, flickering between a beige yellow and hazel green.

I blink. The first thing that hits me is how severe they are, sharper than broken glass.

#Memento Mori: Dethéian Chronicles #MMDC #original work #original character #writers on tumblr #chapter one #MM Elliott #oc #do not repost ill hunt you down and rip out your organs #memento mori #wip #not exactly but to be edited #fun fact this story has had three rewrites of the (i wasnt happy with the last two and could never get past meeting a certain character)

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cervidaewasteland · 5 months ago

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To Someone From A Warm Climate: Chapter One

A joy, hard learned in winter

A/N: I had the idea for this literally this morning and somehow got a whole chapter written and edited in three hours. Yay me

Summary: You live in a small town in Oregon, working most days at the library and selling farm goods at the market every Wednesday. Your life is quiet for the most part, following the same routine and usually content staying at home with your chickens and your garden. One week in early May, however, you meet someone, and suddenly you begin to consider giving dating a try after years of choosing to live on your own.

Warnings: f!reader

Word Count: 2,856

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, part seven

Early morning, May first. You had a lot of work to do.

Your alarm sounded at five in the morning, and groggily, you reached over to shut it off. Sitting up and running a hand through your hair, you glanced out the window. Early morning light was peaking through the curtains, the sun just barely beginning to rise. With a grin, you got out of bed, padding down the hall to the kitchen.

After getting yourself a hot mug of coffee, you pulled on the fluffiest robe you could find and stepped out onto the back porch. You lived almost in the middle of the forest, down gravelly backroads and just up the hill from the river. Your property wasn’t too big, but it was enough to house your chickens and the garden you loved so dearly. You’d had to cut down a lot of the trees in the back to make room for it all, but you had left whatever you could, a small bit of the forest still fenced in behind your house. Every so often when you’d go out at night, you’d see a group of deer, cautiously trying to break into the greenhouse. You always left whatever you didn’t use out for them, even though you knew you weren’t supposed to. With all the mountain lions around, you couldn’t help but feel bad for them.

You sat down at the table on the back patio, covered by the pergola you had built the year before. You had gotten sick of how icy the concrete got with nothing to shield it from the rain. You stayed out there for a while, watching the sun rise and sipping your coffee, every once in a while hearing a rustle in the trees or the singing of birds. You enjoyed your quiet mornings. For a little while you didn’t have to worry about anything, and you could just relax and enjoy the world around you.

Once you were awake enough, you went back inside, starting to make your way through the list of things you had to do today. It was the first day of the market for this year, which was always stressful. You’d have to get used to going out every week again—you couldn’t really just not go, you’d already paid for your spot and the market gave you about 40% of your income. So you took a shower and dried your hair and got dressed, deciding not to put on any makeup. You’d only get annoyed with it, and it was a little windy anyway—you didn’t want to deal with your hair getting caught in your lip gloss every two seconds. And then you started to gather up everything you needed—several baked goods you had prepared earlier that week, boxes and boxes of eggs, fresh fruit and veggies, and the stickers you had made a habit of bringing along with you for any young children you might encounter. You took a minute to make sure you hadn’t forgotten anything before loading it all up into the car and digging around the closet for your coat, scarf, and gloves.

A couple minutes later, once you were absolutely sure you had everything, you left, pulling out of the gravelly driveway and onto the dusty forest road that led out into town. It was currently eight in the morning, and you had to be ready by eleven, and it was a forty minute drive to the city. You’d probably be there on time. You hoped. You ended up pulling into the parking lot at almost nine, which gave you two hours. You were sure you’d be ready before eleven. Probably.

As you got out of the car, you were approached by a sprightly woman with bright red hair. Your best friend, Cherry. She pulled you into a squeezing hug before you could register what was going on, and you let out an oomph. She laughed, pulling away.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you! I texted you a couple weeks ago and you never got back to me.” She pouted, almost immediately beginning to help you grab your things from the car. You had always been the reclusive type, never really wanting to make plans or go out anywhere. You preferred your quiet life at home. You didn’t mind Cherry, though. Despite her spirited personality, she really was sweet.

“Thanks,” you said softly, grabbing the last of the boxes and kicking the door closed. “Sorry for not responding. I must not have seen it.”

She shrugged, smiling at you as you both walked to the spot you had booked for the next few weeks. “No hard feelings. I knew you’d probably be busy getting ready and stuff. I was just gonna see if you wanted to go get drinks with me and a few of my friends this weekend.”

You let out a breath, quiet for a moment as you tried to think up a response. “I don’t really drink that often,” you finally said, both of you reaching the tent where you were meant to set up. You were good friends with one of the guys who ran the market, so he had offered to start setting up before you got there, meaning you hadn’t been forced to somehow fit a table in your car and carry it from the parking lot on your own. Cherry continued to chat with you as you both set up—more at you than with you, really, but you didn’t mind. She stayed for a little while after you finished, but eventually made some excuse and left. She had gotten bored, though she would never admit that to you. She was the kind of person who always needed something exciting to keep her attention or she’d be tempted to simply move on. You didn’t mind it. You figured if she could excuse your tendency to ignore her calls, you could excuse her habit of not wanting to sit with you for hours on end while you hoped someone would take interest in something you were selling.

As soon as it hit eleven, it was busy. You had expected it to be—the first day was always busy—but it was especially bad this time. Good for business, though—you were completely sold out of eggs and blackberries within twenty minutes. By twelve thirty, it had started to slow down a little. It was still crowded, but you could see past the groups of people now to the field across the lot.

You had been spaced out for a while, staring blankly at the grass, but were quickly snapped out of your daze when a man approached your table. You looked up, slapping on a grin and trying to seem friendly.

“Hi! How are you doing?” You had always hated this part—greeting everyone who came up to you, trying to seem like you weren’t a total jerk. What were you even supposed to say? “How can I help you?” just felt too mechanical.

“Well, hello there.” He grinned at you, and you caught the slight accent in his voice. Actually, it wasn’t really slight. It was pretty prominent. You couldn’t quite place where it was from, though. Europe somewhere, definitely. “Those strawberries look lovely.” You glance down to where he gestured—the one container of strawberries you hadn’t sold yet. He was right, they did look lovely. You had been especially proud of those ones. You nodded, looking back up at him.

“Thank you. I can’t say the same for the rest of the batch, you’ve got no idea how many I had to give to the chickens.” He chuckled slightly, and you smiled, pleased that your quip had landed.

“How much for them?” He reached to pull his wallet out of his back pocket.

“Six dollars.”

The man smiled and handed you a ten, grabbing the strawberries from the table. “I won’t make you make change, don’t worry.”

“Well, that’s very generous of you.” You hesitantly tucked the bill away in the lockbox you kept the rest of the money in. “Does the kind donor have a name?”

“Andrew,” he adjusted his sunglasses as he took a step back, and your chest ached at the thought of him leaving. Which was entirely ridiculous. You’d just met him.

“Well, Andrew. Thank you very much. It means a lot to me.”

“Thank you for the wonderful strawberries. Will you be here next week? I might just have to come back for more.”

You nodded, grinning. “I sure will. I’ll be waiting.”

For the next two hours, you couldn’t focus at all on trying to be friendly to customers. Your mind was stuck on how charming he had been. It had been longer than you could place since you had dated anyone in any capacity, and you’d never had any want to. Now, though… Now you weren’t so sure. When it came time to pack up, you were eager to get home, antsy to throw yourself into your chores to distract from the way your heart was racing.

You got home at a little past four, and immediately you got busy. You still needed to tend to the chickens, making sure they had enough water and food. As you walked out to the coop, you heard the familiar quacking of the one duck you did own. There had been a couple others, but they had been killed by a stray cat that kept getting into the coop a few months before. You had taken a few days to reinforce everything, and there had been no further incidents, but the duck had become rather clingy. He waited at the gate as you stepped inside, following you around while you checked for eggs and made sure everything was in order.

After tending to the chickens, you watered the plants and trimmed the lawn, pulling out a few weeds on the way. When you had finished all your chores and were still aching for something to do, you changed into a pair of swim shorts and an old tshirt and walked down the forest trail to the river. The path was a bit swampy, snow still lingering and melting into the soft earth, but you didn’t mind getting a little muddy. You’d be in the water soon anyway. You felt a little more at peace as you reached the riverbank, golden sunlight beaming down from the clear blue sky, warming your skin despite the cold breeze that blew across the meadow. You stepped down into the shallow water, hissing at first from the icy temperature but quickly adjusting. Eventually, you were fully submerged, sitting criss cross on the soft riverbed, the water up to your chest. Luckily, the river wasn’t moving too quickly, the current just slow enough for you to not have to put effort into keeping yourself from losing your footing.

You let your eyes fall shut, enjoying the feeling of the water flowing past you, the sound of the birds in the trees, the rustle of the deer treading through the underbrush. You felt at peace when you were out in the woods, like nothing else mattered. Like the only person in the world was you.

☽⭒✵⭒☾

It wasn’t until the sun started to set that you got out of the water, hurrying to get home before the pink-orange sky faded into inky midnight blue. You were shivering by the time you made it back to your house, quickly running down the hall to your room to get into dry clothes, dripping water behind you the whole way there.

You realized how hungry you were as soon as you were warm and dry again. Too tired to cook, you heated up leftovers from the night before, curling up on the couch and putting on a sitcom to watch while you ate, hoping to drown out the noise in your head that had quickly returned. You couldn’t seem to keep your thoughts away from Andrew for very long. Something about the way he smiled felt so warm. Familiar in a way you couldn’t put your finger on.

You went to bed early, leaving your window open just slightly to let in the quiet sound of crickets chirping and wind blowing through the trees.

☽⭒✵⭒☾

The next morning, your alarm went off—later this time, seven instead of five. On days you weren’t at the market, you worked from ten to six at the library, a job that you absolutely loved. One of the things you enjoyed about living in a small town was how peaceful it always was. You were able to spend a lot of your time reading, and when you did have to organize books you enjoyed that too. It was such a simple task, something mundane that you could do without much focus. You were sure that you’d never want another job. You were happy where you were.

The drive to work was quiet as usual, a lot of the town still waking up. You spotted a deer in the trees on your way down the forest road you lived on, which you decided to take as a sign of good luck.

The week dragged on for the most part. You did about the same thing every day—yard work, taking care of the chickens, sitting by the river, going to work. You were anxious for Wednesday to come. You were hoping that Andrew had meant it when he said he’d come back.

When the day finally arrived for you to drive back into the city for the market, you were practically shaking with excitement. Cherry wasn’t there to greet you this time, but you didn’t really mind. It took two trips to get your things over to the table, but you were too excited to care. You set up quicker than you ever had, and you ended up with half an hour of time to kill before the market opened. You doodled mindlessly in your notebook while you waited, staring at the grass and watching as butterflies flew by every once in a while.

As soon as people began to show up, your eyes were scanning the crowds for Andrew. It wasn’t as busy as it was the week before, but you were still too occupied with customers to look too hard. You made sure to be especially nice, hoping that the universe would send you good karma in return.

Just as you had finished waving goodbye to a girl who looked to be around seven, there was a tap on the table in front of you. You looked up, meeting Andrew's eyes, and you swore your heart skipped a beat. No sunglasses this time. You could fully see his face. The kind smile on his lips, the way his eyes shimmered under the sunlight. You didn’t say anything, throat suddenly dry, so he spoke instead.

“Strawberries this week?” You nodded, shaking your head slightly as you reached under the table.

“You get the last box again. They seem to be popular this year.” He smiled at you as you set them on the table. “I’m not letting you pay for them. You paid nearly double last week.”

“No chance.” He pulled out his wallet and tried to hand you a folded up bill—he attempted to hide the number on it, but you caught a glimpse of the ten.

“I’m not letting you pay me that much. Really. It would feel ingenuine.”

“I promise I’m being entirely genuine.” He smirked, sliding the cash across the table to you.

“Andrew, I’m not going to accept it.”

“Fine then. Would you let me take you to dinner? Just to make up for it, of course.”

You stared at him for a moment, a little stunned. “That’s ridiculous. You have nothing to make up for.”

“Is that a no then?”

“No!” Your face went red at how desperate you sounded. “I mean, you know-” You sighed, looking down at the table. “Yeah, I- I’d like that. That would be nice.”

“Well then. Perfect.” He grabbed the money off the table and tucked it back in his wallet. “Would it be okay if I got your phone number? Just so I’ll know when to pick you up, of course.” You nodded, still flustered, and tore a piece of paper out of your notebook, scribbling down your number and handing it to him.

“Thank you,” you said softly. “This is really sweet of you.”

“It’s the least I could do. These strawberries really are lovely.” He shot you one last smile before he walked away, leaving you dazed and confused.

You were still spaced out on your drive back home a couple hours later, trying to make sense of all that had happened. A totally gorgeous man you had never seen before had taken such a liking to your, honestly mediocre, strawberries that he had insisted on taking you out to dinner. You couldn’t remember when the last time you had been asked out was, let alone by someone so perfectly charming and polite. And you had said yes, without even thinking about it.

What had you gotten yourself into?

Masterlist

#hozier x reader #me when I write #series #tsfawc #my posts #f!reader

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nickssidewitch · 1 year ago

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Is It Destiny?

Destiny, an upcoming YouTuber, meets Matt Sturniolo in a café in New York City. They part ways after their brief encounter there, but keep up with each other online. What will happen when they meet up in person again for the first time in months?

Warnings: Fluff, Meet-Cute, Smut (SoftDom!Matt x Sub!OC), First Orgasm, dry-humping/grinding, Oral (Male-Receiving) w/ deepthroating

(And yes, the Layla in this fic is the same Layla of my previous fic, “Chris’s Dilemma” as this is technically a chapter 2 of a series I plan on writing!! 🥰)

***

New York’s colder than what Destiny remembered of it. The gray, fuzzy sky blew a sharp, chilly breeze that pricked the skin of her face every time it brushed against her.

She was there from Florida– a big difference in climate to New York– for a Creator Summit that YouTube was hosting, one that she had attended for a few years now. It proved to be a great networking event for her and many other creators. She’d already met so many good friends and coworkers there, so she decided she should give this year a go.

Among those she had met was her best friend Layla, who has been a close companion of hers since the very first time she went to the Creator Summit.

Layla at the time was a creator on the rise, gaining popularity with her makeup tutorials, travel vlogs, and fashion hauls, while Destiny was simply a consumer of Layla and other creators’ content, deliberating on whether or not she should join the industry as well. While walking through the streets of Miami, where her first Creator’s Summit was held, she stumbled upon Layla vlogging her own experience for her channel. And after the two shared their greetings, they’d become inseparable since.

The second Summit that Destiny attended was where she met two other friends, Dawn and Malia. Dawn was a full-time musician and part-time YouTuber, and she was set to perform for both days of the Summit, which was why Destiny was there a week earlier. Malia, a sports journalist who was the wife of one of the biggest soccer players in the world, occasionally made her own Youtube videos as well. They all would hang out together from then on, forming their own little group that not only they loved, but the fans loved as well.

As she walked down the bustling pavements of the loud and proud city, she came across a little coffee shop. It was genuinely little: not more than 20 chairs, two at each table, and some content patrons enjoying their drinks as they sat at each one. Some were on their computers, a couple of what looked like college or highschool students were probably having small conversations about the latest school gossip, and a cute elderly couple sat with what Des believed to be their granddaughter. It was such a small and intimate community in this café, and Des was happy to join them, even if only for about 15 minutes, to escape the chilly autumn winds and the rush hour of the city.

She walked up to the line and waited her turn, looking up at the menu options to figure out what drink best suited her mood for now. The problem, however, was that Destiny was quite an indecisive person. Whenever she was presented with options of anything, she never had any idea to come up with a final answer, and would usually depend on someone else’s response. A curse, indeed.

Almost as if they could sense this exhausting personality trait of Des’s, a voice spoke up beside her. “I personally like the cinnamon cappuccino,” it suggested.

Destiny looked over at where the voice was coming from; it was a young man, seemingly around the same age as her, with short brunette hair, striking blue eyes that laid under hooded eyelids. His thin lips were a cute shade of baby pink that arched in a warm smile at her. She looked down at his hands— his attractive, veiny hands adorned with the prettiest rings and tattoos— and noticed him holding a small cup of what she would assume was the cappuccino he suggested to her.

“Oh, th- thank you,” was all that Des could manage to reply with. Her brain was still processing what was happening. That man is too pretty to be interacting with me, she thought to herself. She truly didn’t believe it.

“No problem!” He said with the same warm and pretty smile on his lips. His voice was subtle in his suggestion– not overenthusiastic or pushy– yet it was so charming and approachable. He took a sip of his beverage and licked his lips before speaking again. “It seemed like it was your first time here, so I just wanted to help you out somehow.”

“Oh, well, thank you for that,” Des chuckled and continued, “It is my first time here actually. I lived in New York for a little bit, but relocated to Florida with my family. Last time I was here was around 10 years ago, and this café wasn’t here at the time.” She walked up one spot in the line as it was nearing her time to place her order, but the man walked up with her, almost as if he came to the café with her. Usually Des would have an issue with this— some random man walking up to her out of nowhere and starting a random conversation— but something about this man made her feel comfortable. He intrigued her, not just appearance-wise, but something about his aura. So, she didn’t mind his actions at all.

“Oh, Florida? The weather must be a huge shock for you, then,” The man laughed to himself. “Why come to New York in the winter? The aesthetics? Or you wanted to do some free cryotherapy?”

Des laughed and made another step closer to the café employee. “Nah, I’m here for…” She paused as she thought about how to word this– she didn't want to seem like another one of those pompous influencer girls. As the lightbulb lit up in her head, she smiled and continued with her answer, “For a work event.”

“A work event, huh?” The man inquired. Des noticed a smile creep up on his lips and she swore she could hear a small chuckle escape. Did he catch onto her vagueness? “I don’t wanna seem like a creep, but does it have to do with YouTube stuff?”

Shit. He got me.

Des responded, “Um, yeah. It’s YouTube stuff. A little summit for creators”.

“Oh, I’m aware of the event,” he reassured her with a slyness to his voice, almost like he was familiar with the event (he was, obviously). “I’m Matt,” the boy introduced himself, extending his hand for Des to shake it. The warm and welcoming smile never left his lips. “I noticed I didn’t really introduce myself. My bad.”

Des shook Matt’s hand, but the moment their hands touched, it felt like her knees started to wobble. His hand… wow. The skin was so soft and warm. She could finally feel the veins that she noticed when she first looked at them. The rings adorned on his fingers were cold to the touch, causing her to wince internally. Her mind started to wander into places it probably shouldn’t wander the first time you meet someone— things of a rather erotic nature— but she quickly caught herself and managed to utter, “My name’s Destiny, but people call me Des for short.”

He repeated her name to himself, “Destiny?”, and a smile appeared on his lips. “I love that name. It suits you. Really pretty.”

Des’s cheeks grew warm and a tinted darker brown as her brain processed Matt calling both her and her name pretty. Did he know he was a pretty boy? She should tell him? Should she? Would that be weird? Who cares? Maybe he would be flattered. Or maybe he wouldn’t? Maybe he-

“So, you mentioned you were here for the Creator Summit?” He asked, interrupting her thoughts. Des nodded, and Matt chuckled to himself before continuing. “I’ve been there with my brothers, since we’re creators. It’s a good event. Lots of nice people there. You can meet creators old and new. It’s a great way to network.”

“Yeah, it’s not my first time going there actually,” a smile began to beam on her face as she thought of her first two times there, and memories of her, Layla, Dawn, and Malia meeting popped up in her mind. “I met some of my closest friends there a couple of years ago.”

“Aw, that’s really sweet,” Matt took a sip of his own hot cocoa before continuing, “Maybe you’ll make more friends this year.”

There was a beat of silence between the two of them as they both took their respective times deliberating on what to say next. And then Matt offered something that Des would have never believed.

“Maybe we can be friends?” He asked, before his brain caught up with what he was saying, causing him to clear his throat and follow with a nervous chuckle. He clarified, “Not just ‘creator friends’, but maybe something more?”

Des’s heart didn’t skip beats this time; she could have sworn it fully stopped beating for 5 seconds. She noticed a blush appear on Matt’s face before she averted her eyes from him.

Matt noticed her look away for a bit, and he made his eyes travel to find hers again, wanting to decipher if she was weirded out by the question or if she was just thinking about it. He did word it kind of weirdly, but maybe she didn’t take it that way.

Her next words confirmed the latter. “Sure. We can be friends,” she finally answered with a smile on her face, and Matt was relieved.

The more Matt studied her face, the more he noticed how cute of a nervous wreck she was. The way her cheeks seemed to grow more of a rosy undertone, the slight tremble of her hand as she held her coffee cup, the way she would never give him direct eye contact unless he manually brought his eyes to hers. He could understand it though; meeting new people is always difficult.

“Cool!” He said, and with that, it was time for Des to order her drink. “One medium cup of your cinnamon cappuccino, please,” Matt could hear her order, and he was warmed by her actually taking up his suggestion.

Des finally finished with her order and stood by the side of the counter as she waited for her drink. “So, ‘friends’,” She uttered to herself and looked towards Matt, who heard what she said and nodded in agreement.

“Yep, friends,” he returned. “And since we’re friends, maybe we can keep in touch?” Matt caught his words and realized how weird he must have sounded. So, he followed it up by saying, “I mean, you don’t have to give me your number or anything. E-mail is fine. Or something else; I don’t know,” all followed by a nervous laugh and trembling hands.

Des chuckled for a bit before she silenced herself, not wanting to seem like she was laughing at him or his obvious nervousness (she knew she probably came across as obviously nervous in his eyes). “Well, I never heard of friends exchanging emails; that’s more of an associate or coworker thing.” She heard Matt start to laugh, which gave her an okay to release the chuckles she kept to herself aloud alongside him. It was cute to see him flustered, but she appreciated him not wanting to seem too forward.

“Oh yeah, true. I just didn’t want to seem like I was pressuring you to give me your number or contacts or anything. I know how that could feel,” Matt reassured her, but he could tell by her body language that she seemed comfortable at the moment. Her smile was soft and warm, not forcing any teeth to fake her happiness. She wasn’t a loud talker, similar to him, and their auras just seemed to mesh so well together.

“I’ll give you my number and my Instagram,” she said as she pulled her phone out from her backpack.

Des took a sip of her cappuccino. The smooth and decadent flavor of the drink mixed with the presence of Matt as this moment soothed her in the midst of the New York pandemonium.

“So, where’re you going after this?” Matt asked her curiously.

Destiny took another sip of her drink. “I’m going back to my hotel,” she answered. “I heard it’s gonna rain later, and I know New York gets dark and kinda hectic when it rains.”

Matt laughed, “Yeah, it’s kinda like Massachusetts, where I’m from.” He drank his coffee and continued, “Everyone’s just in a rush to escape the weather.” Another minute of silence passed before he spoke up again. “Do you want me to walk you back to your hotel? I’m not busy right now, and I know the streets can kinda get confusing with the crowds and everything.”

Des blushed and stammered as her brain processed his question. “Um, well, I mean I don’t know- I don’t want to put you in the middle of all of that, too.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m kind of used to it by now, trust me,” he insisted, and he was indeed used to it, his mind flashing images of the crowds of fans that would follow him and his brothers in big cities like this. “I can help you carry your bag.” He directed his eyes to her backpack sitting on the chair next to hers.

Des blushed. “Oh, well, thanks so much, Matt,” she said with a genuine smile. She didn’t expect him to be so… chivalrous. It was attractive, but just not she was used to when it came to men.

The two got up from their seats, Matt lifting up the bag and her carrying her coffee, and left the small shop. He held the door open for her, as he knew a gentleman should.

Matt adjusted the strap of Destiny’s backpack as the weight tensed on his shoulder. He really didn’t mind carrying it for her though; she was worth the hassle. Des walked in front of him, leading the way as he happily followed. As he continued to walk behind her, he could smell sweet fragrances passing him by; the scents of the oils in her hair mixed with her perfume blended well together.

They both finally stopped and looked up at the marquee of the building which read “The Maximilian”. “Well, this is my hotel,” Des said.

Matt smiled and handed her the backpack. Their hands brushed against each other’s, causing Matt’s heart to skip a beat and Des’s breath to hitch. They weren’t expecting that brief touch, but it seemed as if it was fate’s doing, as if the divine had used invisible magnets in the pair’s hands that attracted them to each other.

Des let out a small chuckle as she regained her composure. “It was nice meeting you, Matt!” She said with a smile, and the man could have sworn his knees were nearly jelly as he heard her goodbye.

Matt smiled back. “You, too. I’ll text you, trust me,” he added the last part with the utmost sincerity. He hoped that she trusted him with that.

“I know you will,” Des said as her mouth just went with the flow of the moment, flirting with the man without even consulting with her brain first. Matt chuckled and began to wave goodbye as she walked into the hotel.

Des rushed to her room and quickly shut the door as she jumped onto her bed. She was like a giddy, giggly nerdy kid who just got the cool, popular boy’s attention at school, flailing her legs around excitedly and screaming into her pillow. Was she excited about talking to a cute boy? Yes. Was she also fighting for her life and having a lowkey panic attack because she spoke to a cute boy? Also yes. Was the screaming and kicking her feet up a mixture of the two emotions? Absolutely. And what happened a few minutes later set her off even more.

Ding! An unsaved number texted her, and the text read, “Hey, it’s me, Matt! It was nice to talk to you today! Enjoy that coffee. Hopefully we can talk again soon!” followed by a smiley face.

“Fuck me,” Des uttered to herself in disbelief of what she had gotten herself into.

***

Throughout the next 5 months, Matt and Des had been talking to each other on and off, sometimes about their growing Youtube careers, other times about casual things like their hobbies and their families. They would mainly text each other, but as they got more comfortable with each other, texts turned to Discord calls while playing Fortnite or silly little Roblox horror games, and silly littles games became late-night Facetime calls while doing their nighttime routines or while snuggled up in their beds. There were some nights where one would catch the other fallen asleep during the call. You know, the stuff friends do.

Matt would usually talk to her at night, but throughout the day he would find himself sending her little memes or even photos of things that reminded him of her. His brothers didn’t really know all the details. In fact, they virtually didn’t know anything other than the fact that they’d notice Matt sneaking texts underneath the table whenever they would eat together, that he’d get distracted on his phone when they filmed car videos, or that Matt was a bit more enthusiastic about waking up in the morning, sometimes even waking up earlier than the two of them, which was uncommon for him. It was weird, but at least they could acknowledge he seemed more up in spirits.

Destiny’s friends would ask her about the guy she was talking to, but she wouldn’t make it a big deal. “We’re not even dating,” she would say as an excuse, which was reasonable, of course. She didn’t feel it was appropriate to introduce them to someone she wasn’t even sure she would be romantically involved with. She didn’t want to get her hopes up to the point where a rejection would physically and mentally destroy her. She would, however, give them little details about him such as how he was a YouTuber, or that he had siblings, or how they met at the Creator’s Summit in New York. They would have little investigations (especially Layla) about who the mystery man could be. But up to this point, they still haven’t figured him out, which was great for Des.

Des and Matt’s friendship was working very well, even with the physical distances between them; Destiny living in Florida and Matt constantly traveling between California and Massachusetts. But that’s the thing: their relationship was long distance, and long-distance relationships can only go so far before the proximity becomes a problem. Des decided to bring it up one night during one of their FaceTime calls, stuttering her way through her part of the conversation as she tried to find the best wording for her suggestion to reunite with him in person. She was going to LA anyway to stay with her friends for a half-vlog-half-vacation trip, so she thought it would be nice to meet up with him, even just for a day or two.

Matt laid in bed as he received the information, seemingly calm if one looked at him from a distance, but his heart was actually pounding out of his chest. A heap of questions began to rush through his brain. She wanted to meet up with me? Oh my god, what does that mean? As friends or like… Oh gosh.

He simply nodded his head and gave her a promising smile. “Of course. I think it’s about time we hung out in real life again. We said we’d be more than just content or online friends, right?” His cheeks heated up as he heard Des’s cute little giggle from across the screen.

“Yeah, you’re right,” she replied. “So, I’ll text you all the details of my flight and my schedule and everything.”

“Okay, sure,” he said. As his anxiety grew, there were more thoughts. Fuck, is she coming to my house? Do I have to go to where she’s staying?

“It’s 2 AM already? Damn, I’m gonna go to sleep. I’m supposed to go to the nail salon with Dawn tomorrow.”

“Aw, okay. It was nice talking to you. Goodnight! Love y-” Matt quickly bit his lip as he heard the last two words about to slip from his mouth. Hopefully, she didn’t hear me.

“What’d you say?” Des asked. Thank God she had a genuine look of confusion on her face, and Matt mentally wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“I was saying ‘Goodnight and sweet dreams’”, he answered as he played off his Freudian slip. “The phone must’ve glitched.”

Des smiled. “Oh okay! Goodnight to you, too, Matt.” And the call ended.

And even more thoughts rolled in. Oh my God, what if I embarrass myself around her like I almost did? Does she even really wanna see me, or is she just saying that to be nice? What clothes do I wea-

“Matt!” A voice said, and a knock coming from his door snapped Matt back to reality. He realized it was Nick.

“Yeah?” he called back out.

“Is my charger in your room?” Nick opened Matt’s door a bit to speak to him more directly. “I texted you about it, but you didn’t answer, so I had to make this long ass, unnecessary trip all the way from my room to yours to ask you.”

Matt brushed off the shade and jolted to look around his bedroom and grabbed Nick’s charger as he noticed it on his nightstand. “Yeah, I got it. Hold on,” he said as he got up and walked over to his bedroom door, handing Nick the charger through the crack he had open.

“Thanks,” Nick expressed, before he saw the look on Matt’s face. “Are you good? You look pale… paler than usual,” he continued. He was joking with him, but there was a genuine concern there.

Matt raised his eyebrow at his brother. He knew why Nick would say that, but he had to deflect somehow. “I’m good! Don’t worry about it.” He feigned a smile.

“Well, that makes me worry.” Nick refuted.

“Well, I said don’t worry about it,” Matt snapped back, before sighing as he realized he was getting tense. “Trust me, I’m fine, Nick.”

“Okay…” Nick said with a hint of hesitation. “Well, goodnight. And keep your notifications on, please? I hate walking back and forth.”

Matt nodded and watched Nick walk off before shutting his door. A wave of relief caused him to sigh before walking towards his closet and taking a look inside. He analyzed each shirt and pants on the hangers and racks, leaving him with just one thought.

I guess I gotta prepare from now…

***

The door to Des’s place swung open and she looked around, taking in the view of the interior of the house she was staying in for the week. She was finally in LA for her little vacation trip with her friends, and thank God she was able to rent her own place for the time being.

As she finished getting herself settled in (and by finished I mean putting her luggage to the side until she remembers to unpack later), she decided to let everyone know of her arrival, including Matt. She laid onto her bed and texted him “I’m in LA right now! Just arrived this morning” with a little heart face emoji as the cherry on top. She placed her phone on her nightstand and connected it to her charger as she went into the bathroom for a quick shower to wash herself off.

***

Matt looked at his phone as it sat on the stand attached to the Desboard of his car, the ding interrupting his focus as he continued to drive home. He had just finished having a meeting about a book he was working on, one that discussed anxiety and mental health from both a personal and professional perspective. He had been working on this book as a secret kept from his fans for about ten months now, constantly holding meetings with co-writers and editors, as well as doing interviews with therapists of all kinds.

Matt tapped onto his phone and it revealed a message from Destiny which read “I’m in LA right now! Just arrived this morning” with a smiley heart face emoji. His heart jumped as he started to think about what his life will be like this week with her finally being in close proximity to him. They made a promise that they would hang out for some time while she was here for the rest of the month, he just had to figure out when and where exactly.

Luckily, he had some days where he wouldn’t be having book meetings. But, he had to figure out how to designate time away from Nick and Chris. He really didn’t want to, but he felt that he had to. He and Des weren’t technically dating, technically not even real-life friends outside of the half-hour they spent in that coffee shop in New York. Bringing her up out of nowhere to his brothers would make them confused, but hiding her from them also felt like a crime. He couldn’t risk it though.

As Matt arrived home, he quickly texted Des his itinerary for the week and called her, a smile never leaving his face as he began to suggest things that the two of them could do together. He told her about a cute crêperia where they had “the best crêpes he has ever had”, and about a little botanical garden that he recently went to with his brothers and his friend Madi. In the back of his mind, he could get her a special flower there? He chuckled as he thought of the millions of ways to express his gratitude for her coming all the way to LA wanting to spend time with him in the midst of her busy schedule. But… were they dates? Honestly…

He wasn’t even sure yet. Here came the self-doubt.

***

Today was their first day meeting in-person since their time at the café in New York.

Matt waited outside of a brunch place he had suggested for the two of them to eat. He kept his eyes peeled for Destiny; he didn’t want to miss a second with her.

After a few minutes of aimlessly scrolling through his phone to pass the time, he finally heard a familiar cute voice from his right side. “Hey!!” Matt turned and looked at Des holding her hand out for a shake. Almost as if his body reacted involuntarily, his arms wrapped around her body for a hug.

Des was startled at first, but his touch and the warmth of his body instantly calmed her. The two shared a tight embrace before Matt pulled away to look at her, all of her. “How’ve you been?”

She noticed his eyes on her, almost like he was examining her, which would make sense since their first time seeing their whole bodies in person after a while. “I’ve been well!” she answered with a smile, the same smile that almost made Matt want to fall to his knees back at the coffee shop where they first met.

“Yeah?” Matt asked rhetorically. But, the way he said it… something about it made Des’s heart jump. And not only her heart had that reaction; Des shifted her position a bit as she felt the bundle of nerves between her legs pulse. Her brain did its best to shove those nasty thoughts in a vault and lock it as she nodded her head and asked back, “How’ve you been?”

Matt answered, “I’m good. But, even better now that you’re here.” He smiled, causing Des to let out a small titter, not knowing how to really respond to that. The Generation Z jumped out and came to her rescue, following the small nervous chuckle with a “same”.

Matt chuckled back and said, “Well, we should head inside. I hope you’re hungry, ‘cause you’re gonna want to eat everything off this place’s menu.” Matt’s face lit up as he saw Des laugh at his joke. This girl really knew how to make his heart flutter without even trying. And with that, he placed his hand on her upper back, swung the door open, and escorted her into the building. He swore he could feel her breath hitch as he touched her.

***

Their little date went well. They spoke to each other with the same energy as they would usually do over the phone. It was face-to-face now though, which added an extra layer of intimacy amongst them. They started to notice things about each other, especially in their body language, that they had never noticed before, since those months on FaceTime they pretty much always saw each other from the chest up with the usual “fit checks” being the only full-body exceptions.

Every moment Des would glance up at him, he would already have his eyes on her, then would quickly look away as he realized she caught him. She noticed that he never looked at his phone other than to check a phone call from his brother Chris, giving her the green flag that he actually paid full attention to her. She saw how he would bite his lip every time she shifted herself in her seat, and how he would stroke his hand through his hair whenever she complimented him, a sort of nervous tick. It was cute.

Matt was just as observant. He would watch the way she ate her food from the moment she picked it up with a fork, to the way she would chew, to the way she would swallow and wipe her mouth in case anything was on her lips. He noticed her fidget in her seat, especially when she was being complimented or praised. She would even shift sometimes when he would crack a little teasing joke at her. It was cute.

How the fuck would they both get through the rest of the week if they kept studying each other like this?

***

To answer the question, it went pretty well despite Des and Matt being in their heads about it. They checked off every box they had planned in their joint itinerary, with Matt showing her in some of his favorite places in LA, and Des happily following along, happy to learn more about the area, Matt himself, and their personal dynamics together.

The final stop for this week was Matt’s office where he’d met up with book editors and publishers before. He had a meeting earlier that day and everyone had left, so he knew he could take her here. It would be perfect: no distractions, no people walking in to disturb the flow, he could show her around and give her the inside scoop about his project, and he didn’t have to worry about being around her with fans or anyone watching their every move. And the added bonus of him still wearing his semi-professional office clothes. Just perfect.

He walked her around the office, showing her concept boards and first drafts, and told her about his book. As he spoke, he noticed the way her face would light up. Did she like the book that much? Or did she like the fact that he liked making it?

They finally finished the tour, and now they’re sitting on the gray couch in the room together, wondering what to do next.

“It’s been nice to spend this week hanging out with you,” Matt said, the satisfaction in his tone aligning with the words he spoke. “I just really love your energy.”

Des’s heart skipped a beat as she registered his words. Love my energy? she asked herself. “We only met in person for at most 30 minutes in that café,” she said with a laugh, and then continued, “And now we’ve only spent a week sneaking around together. What’s there to love?”

Matt’s body shifted, spreading his legs in a more relaxed stance as he felt himself get a bit tense. She was right, he could admit to himself. It’s only been a week of talking to someone face to face for the second time ever and he’s making such a bold claim. But, he meant what he said, and explained, “I mean, you’re just such a sweetheart for one. You actually sit and listen when I speak, compared to other influencers I’ve met. With a lot of them, you can just see them thinking about how to turn a conversation we’re having into content for their next TikTok or YouTube video.” He paused as he noticed her doe-like eyes looking right at him, taking in every word, before continuing, “You can see it in their eyes: just ideas and thoughts flooding their brains, blurring their vision. But with you, when I look at your eyes, they’re so big and bright and clear. It’s like you’re listening not only with your ears, but with your eyes, too. They’re so… so beautiful.”

Des’s heart stopped. Literally stopped. Beautiful?...

BEAUTIFUL?

She quickly mentally slapped herself to get back to reality after that word stopped her in her tracks. “Oh, um, thank you, Matt.” She smiled anxiously, and she noticed Matt glance down at her lips.

Matt’s legs spread a bit more as he could feel something coming on (more like something turning on…). He watched as Des bit her lip and shifted herself on her side of the couch. She was having the same reaction as him.

“Des, I’m serious,” he added onto his previous statements. “You’re beautiful. Not just looks-wise. Your personality… I just-” he bit his lip, his brain stopping him from continuing.

It was like his brain and his heart were fighting for dominance. Would it be logical for him to express his deeper feelings to her now? Or does he say “fuck logic– I’m just gonna tell her I love her”?

But there was a third opponent in this internal battle– and it wasn’t even internal. Matt kept his legs spread, trying his best to make his dick comfortable. He wasn’t getting a boner on purpose (he swears!), but Destiny was just too gorgeous. Her aura and her presence around him just made him get flustered, and ultimately, sexually frustrated.

He was just a man. Insert shrug here.

Matt patted the spot on the couch next to him and gestured over at Des for her to come beside him, and Des obliged, scooting up next to him until their thighs met.

At this point, they were looking into each other’s eyes, as if some force made them physically bound to stare at each other. Matt continued his confession telling Des, “I just wanna let you know, I really like you. I know we said we would be more than creator friends– which we are!” He paused to think about his next words. He absolutely did not want to fuck up this moment because of his anxious, misspeaking tongue. He sighed to relieve himself a bit and spoke again, “I know we’re friends and we’ve only been friends for some months now, and we’ve only hung out in person for a week and a day in total, but I feel something with you. It’s not just platonic.” He stopped himself from saying anything more for the moment because he really wanted to study her reaction. He knew that actions spoke louder than words, and that was very true in his and Des’s circumstances since they were both not the most outspoken people. The best way for him to really gauge Des’s thoughts was just by watching her.

He could see Des’s eyes wide and trance-like. They were staring into his own, but not actually looking at him at the moment. She was listening to him— the same way he told her that she truly listened to him with her eyes. And she was processing everything. Well, he did just admit his wholehearted more than platonic feelings for her, so it would make sense. He continued his admission, adding “I think I’m in love with you. I’m falling for you pretty hard. And it’s confusing since it’s so sudden, but I really wanna… try things out with you.”

Des bit her lip and shifted in her seat. Another nervous snicker, followed by an “Um..” made the somewhat hopeful look on Matt’s face start to dissolve. Did she not like what he said? Was she weirded out by him? Fuck… what if the feelings weren’t mutual? Or worse- what if she didn’t want to be his friend anymore?

“Matt?” Des’s voice interrupted the man’s thoughts. His eyebrows rose as his eyes jumped between her lips and her eyes, in some way to decipher what she was going to say next.

Des herself was also trying to decipher what she would say next. She wanted to immediately jump in Matt’s lap and kiss him. She wanted to just say “yes, yes, yes!” with pure excitement. She wanted to even satisfy him with her body, sealing the deal of any sort of romantic and sexual relationship. She wished she was just that type of spontaneous girl who could just love and accept him– all of him– with open arms.

But, she wasn’t. And she was well aware of it. All of her thoughts and feelings began to flood her brain, her mouth didn’t even know what words to form next. So, her eyes decided to take the reins.

Tears formed at the corner of her eyes, which juxtaposed the smile on her face. Were they tears of joy? She wished they were simply that: tears of joy. But, they weren’t. They were a mix of different feelings: a culmination of anxiety, fear, embarrassment, and joy that overwhelmed her. And her body just decided to release them all in the form of crying.

Matt saw her begin to sob, watched as her chest heaved in excess, how the tears just ran down her face without any force or strain, how little whimpers escaped her throat, and it absolutely devastated him. Des wasn’t just crying, she was having a nervous breakdown, a panic attack, a reaction his body was familiar with. He instantly coiled his arms around her, rubbing on her back to bring her back to some sort of tranquility. He let go of her after a few seconds, not wanting to make her feel claustrophobic, and placed his forehead against hers. It was like his body didn’t want to fully let go of her– it wanted to stay close and help her feel better. So, he began to start breathing, 4 seconds of an inhale, 4 seconds to hold his breath, 4 seconds of an exhale, and 4 seconds to hold once again, repeating the process intentionally to let Des follow at some point.

Des picked up on his breathing technique as her arms around him felt his respiration through his back. She began to follow his process, and after some time, it calmed her down. Matt and Destiny’s eyes met again as she looked up at him, and that’s when she wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace. It was her way of showing gratitude without a “thank you”, for words were not needed in that moment. All they needed was serenity. All they needed was each other; they were each other’s serenity.

As the moment continued and their comfort levels increased, Matt noticed Des getting closer to him, like she was trying to get on top of him. He helped her with this motion, getting her on top of his lap, and held her. His body cradled hers, not wanting to let go. If he could hold her like this forever, he would. Her aura, what he imagined was a light, fairy pink, blended with his sky blue to create the most beautiful shade of lavender. It looked like the way the sky would have a purple hue whenever the sun went down. A sunset— that’s what they were. She was the sun; shining more brightly than any other star in the universe. His world seemed to revolve around her. He was the Moon— one would only notice him if they looked up at the sky, and even then they probably wouldn’t see him at his full potential. Those mere, almost fleeting moments where the Sun and Moon would meet in the sky— their first meeting at the café in New York, the phone calls and texts they shared, and this whole full week of them being together in-person— created these beautiful colors of red, orange, and purple. And that’s what this blooming relationship between Matt and Des was: the purple hue of the sunset, where the Sun and Moon would enjoy each other’s company before they bid adieu to one another. The Sun’s light would still bask on him in the night, and on some days one could point out the glow that the Sun left on him even on their busiest days.

Des clung to Matt like a koala, with her legs wrapped around his waist, and her arms around his neck. The two enjoyed each other’s warmth for a few more moments, truly engraving this moment in their bodies and minds. Des took it upon herself to make the next big move, to hammer a nail in their relationship.

Her lips pressed against his suddenly. Whether it was out of passion, comfort, or anything else, she didn’t quite know. But something about Matt helping her out of that state of vulnerability allowed her to break open her seal and release the spontaneity that she didn’t even know she had within herself.

Matt didn’t hesitate to reciprocate, following the movements of her lips with his own. She tasted the way he expected her to taste– like the mocha-flavored lip gloss she applied onto her lips after every meal they shared. It was divine and matched with her sweet, decadent composure. He knew at that moment that he wanted more of her, right here, right now.

Matt released his mouth from hers before any further actions– before a tongue slipped in, before a nip at a lip, before a whimper or moan could be emitted. He needed some sort of rite of passage, so he gazed into her eyes to ask his next question. Or rather, suggest something to her. “Des, I wanna do more with you… I wanna make you feel good.”

Destiny smiled softly at his disclosure, and nodded her head slowly. “O-Okay,” she stuttered. She knew what he meant, of course. He wanted to shift this to a more passionate atmosphere. She wanted it too, she couldn’t lie, and her desire rose as Matt leaned in to kiss her forehead.

The man’s arms massaged her shoulders a bit before starting to slowly inch down the sides of her body. His hands stopped above her hips, and he looked into her eyes again for a subtle consent to touch her there. Des nodded and smiled before looking down to figure out what he would do next.

His hands finally placed themselves on her pelvis and began to massage her. He wanted her to feel comfortable with this new boundary being crossed, and by the way she started to lean into his body and place her head in the crook of his neck, he could tell that she was.

That’s when he began to guide her hips to rock back and forth on top of him. The instant relief flowed through his body, causing Matt to sigh. He could hear a small whimper come from Destiny’s mouth as she, too, began to feel him against her.

He continued to guide her, keeping the pace slow, yet pressed her into his lap more to increase the friction. Matt swore he could feel Des’s mound through her pants, which motivated him to please her. Grunts and moans were all Matt could let out at the moment; the dirty talk would have to come later once he was out of his trance.

Des’s head was fully in between Matt’s neck and shoulder. She kept her arms around his neck to stabilize her upper body, while her lower half was being fully controlled by him. She began to spill moans from her mouth as he pressed her into him more, and the best part was that she didn’t feel the need to conceal them. She loved this feeling, not only because he was pleasing himself and her, but because he felt comfortable enough in the relationship to want to try something like this. They were on the same page, and this was just the cherry on top.

Matt’s grip onto Des’s hips suddenly loosened, and the grinding stopped. He was getting close, but he didn’t want to just use her body like a toy (at least not so early in their sexual relationship). He wanted to really feel her. He wanted her to use him for her own pleasure. “You wanna ride me, pretty girl?”

Gulp. Des removed her head from the crook of his neck and looked at him. She swallowed a lump in her throat before nodding her head, trying to fix herself onto Matt’s lap in a way she thought would help her perform to the best of her abilities. The thing is, her abilities… weren’t quite able. It’s not like she hadn’t ridden something before– if the pillow adjacent to hers on her bed counted as something. But, an actual human man? Not a part of her resumé. She finally sat herself down, but hesitated with commencing her next moves.

“Have you ever done this before?” Matt asked curiously, although by the lack of movement she gave from her end and the awkward position she sat in on his lap, he could already tell the answer.

Confirming his suspicions, Des shook her head and lowered it. Was she ashamed?

Matt placed his fingers on her jaw and brought her head back up to face him, making sure her eyes were aligned with his. His lips curved to form a smile, one that was hopefully reassuring for her. “It’s alright, Des. It’s normal. It’s okay. If you ever wanna stop, just pinch me or bite me or just say no. I’ll be fine,” he paused to kiss her forehead, “We will be fine. Okay, pretty girl?”

A blush appeared on Des’s cheeks, and she nodded, giving him a kiss back onto his cheek. Matt then helped to adjust the girl on his lap, making sure both him and her were comfortable with their positions. He grasped her hips and then her ass, but made sure to keep eye contact with her, studying the microexpressions on her face in case she ever gave a sign of discomfort. Then, Des began to rock her hips back and forth, mimicking Matt’s earlier guidance. The pleasure between her legs came back again as she felt him through his pants, rubbing against her sweet spot.

Matt bit his lip and threw his head back as the pleasure he felt shot up his spine. His Destiny, his gorgeous girl, was on his lap, riding him through his pants.

He groaned as Destiny continued her movements, the urge of throwing his head back again quickly diminishing as he began to plant kisses against her ear and the back of it. He could hear her little sweet whimpers of ecstasy in his own ear, and it drove him to lift his own hips up to collide with her rotating hips. His groin met with hers with such force that the vibrations of impact flowed through the two of their bodies, causing their soft pants and whimpers to grow into louder moans. If dry-humping caused them to have these sorts of reactions, one could only imagine what penetration would make them feel like.

Matt knew that the sounds of friction against their clothing mixed with their moans wasn’t enough to complete the symphony. He needed to add one more piece. So, his lips began to twitch as his brain transferred sweet-nothings to whisper to the girl on his lap. “There you go, baby… That feels good?” He murmured, the softness of his voice contrasting with some undertone of a rasp that sent shockwaves through Des’s ear all the way to her pussy. The pulse at her clit quickened and the wet spot in her panties quickly flooded the entire area. She nodded and threw her head back, making Matt lean over and grab her to keep her from falling backward. This new position created a delicious angle for Matt to begin thrusting his hips with more intention, almost to the point where he looked like he was actually fucking her. “I know, baby, you’re feeling good. Good girl…”, he stated while he stared into her eyes, furrowing his eyebrows as his own stomach started to churn with pleasure.

Des’s moans started to become more sporadic the closer she got to her orgasm. Matt took the opportunity to reach one of his hands down to her mound and begin rubbing at it, his finger doing its best to find where he believed her clit to be. He felt something, similar to the feeling of the tip of a nose, and knew that he hit the jackpot, so he began to rub at that spot the best he could through her pants.

The feeling of the moment finally caught up to Des and she felt herself begin to unravel. Her body began to shake as she orgasmed, almost making her fall out of Matt’s grasp.

Matt pulled her body close, wrapping his arms around her waist with a grip tight enough to contain her trembling, but soft enough to give her some sort of comfort. He softly cooed at her, whispering small shushes and giving her small pecks of his lips by the temple of her head. “It’s okay, honey,” he whispered into her ear. “You’re okay. I’m right here. It’s just me, okay?”

Des brought her head between his neck and his shoulder as her body shook with the intensity of her orgasm. It was embarrassing for her. She knew it shouldn’t have been. Matt probably wouldn’t care if that’s how her body reacted to pleasure. But what if he did?

Almost as if he had heard her worries through telepathy, he uttered, “No, no, no it’s okay to shake. Shaking’s normal.”

“I’ve never done that before,” Des admitted, causing Matt to cock his head. She clarified, “I’ve never cum before… especially not with someone else.”

Matt kissed her temple and began to rub her back. He didn’t have a problem with her admission at all. “You feel good though, right?” She nodded, and he continued. “That’s all that matters,” he stated with a sincere and heartwarming smile.

Her warm chestnut eyes looked into his icy blues, the contrast between them being highlighted by the bright sparks of ecstasy that they now both shared post-orgasm. Des was normally intimidated by eye contact, but with Matt she felt… comfortable. Safe. Trust.

And that trust is what gave her the confidence to make this request.

“Matt… if you’re still up for it,” she paused to swallow the lump of saliva that nearly stopped her from getting her words out then continued, “Can I suck you off?”

Matt was indeed up for it. He didn’t have an orgasm from their grinding session, which he was initially thankful for because he didn’t ruin his pants. But with Des’s request, he was now double-thankful for not cumming. He could now enjoy a blowjob from his favorite person without the fear of him (or his dick) being overstimulated or overwhelmed.

“It’s okay, you can do whatever you want. Whatever feels comfortable. I wouldn’t ever force you to do anything,” He replied. In his own mind he added, I could force my dick down your throat… with consent though-

His thoughts were stopped as he watched Des get on her knees between his legs, looking up at him with those doe-eyes. Those same fucking doe-eyes that got him hard in the first place were now looking up at him, yearning for his dick.

“Fuck,” He mumbled, and he pulled his pants down to help her get started. Her soft, warm hands pulled down his boxers, causing his erection to spring out in its precum-coated, red-tipped glory. It was desperate for some relief, something more than just a couple rubs through fabric— it needed a warm and wet cavern to dump its release inside of.

The way her eyes looked at his dick could have cum right then. But he held his composure, and pet her head as he watched one of her hands wrap around his shaft. Matt chuckled as he noticed her trying to jerk him off. “You have to lube it up; I don’t have any foreskin, sweetheart,” he said with a laugh.

Des laughed as well as she realized her mistake. “Oh, right,” she told him. Noticing the pre-cum began to slide from his tip, she used some to wipe onto him, and Matt winced at the contact. He bit his lip as he watched her stroke his cock, and when her eyes met his, he, again, did his best not to cum all over her face.

Des finally knew it was time to do what she yearned for. So, she bent her head down and released some saliva onto his tip, then used her hand to coat it all around his dick. When she was ready, she wrapped her lips around him, and began to suck.

“Ah, shit..,” Matt groaned. He leaned his head into the back of the couch, truly living in this moment– the moment that his girl Destiny was finally making direct contact with his dick. It was purely heaven.

Des brought her head up and down his length, doing her best to get as much surface area as she could. When she got comfortable and noticed Matt’s face of bliss, she brought herself as far down his dick as she could and began to suck from there.

Matt’s hand grabbed the back of her head, however he didn’t tug on her hair; he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable or in any sort of pain. He wanted his girl to truly enjoy herself— He knew he was. “Your lips… oh, shit,” was all that he could even conjure out of his own lips.

Des chuckled, causing vibrations to move through his cock all the way up his spine, making his brain receive all the pleasure from those feelings. The girl continued to do her best to suck him deeply, not quite deepthroating, but still getting deep enough to feel him at the back of her throat. It was surprisingly pleasurable for her, and the proof was in her panties as her clit throbbed the way it did when she rode him.

“Fuck, you feel so good, Destiny,” he moaned out, jutting his hips. He tried his best not to overpower her— he really did.

But, she just felt too damn good.

“Des, I want to go deeper, are you okay with that, sweetheart?”

He heard (and felt) an “Uh-huh” come from her mouth, and he immediately took action.

His hips bucked in her mouth with haste, the tip hitting the back of her throat which caused her to make the most disgustingly beautiful noises. “Good girl,” he stated through grunts, “good fucking girl. You’re taking me so well, baby.” He stopped speaking to listen to her noises. They were cute gags with little gaps in between each stroke of his cock, both from the impact of his dick’s rhythm inside of her, but also from her trying to keep herself alive with short and quick breaths through her nose. He had heard those sounds in porn before, yes. But with Des? That was something else. She wasn’t just some personal pornstar for him, she was like his doll. And although this was their first time together, he loved to play with her, and he anticipated the many more times he could play with her again, the many more possibilities of getting nastier with her, the many more times be could be romantic and soft with her, the many more times he could just simply be with her.

“Fuck, Destiny, I’m so close,” he moaned out, and his feet planted themselves on the ground as he did his best to restrain himself from cumming too early while still thrusting into her mouth.

Des didn’t respond simply because her throat was occupied with being thrusted into. Her hands held onto his thighs as his thrusts got faster, and she knew he was getting closer to an orgasm.

And finally, with a couple more thrusts and some praises, he finally released, closing his eyes and groaning proudly. But, he noticed that she might not be comfortable with him ejaculating inside of her mouth, so he pulled out to minimize the chances. He looked down at her and noticed that some did end up in her mouth, while the rest landed on her cheeks and nose.

But, Des didn’t care about any of that. She fully accepted it all, and leaned her mouth back onto his dick to suck the residue from his tip. This stunned Matt, but he didn’t question it since she looked too damn good doing it. Des smiled and licked her lips as she finished. “You taste nice,” she complimented him.

Matt laughed and petted her head and brought his hand down to hold her jaw and caress her cheek. “Oh yeah? I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

Des cocked her head to the side as she questioned what he meant mentally. Matt noticed and continued, “For when I taste you!” He grinned as he continued, “I know you’re probably gonna taste better than me.”

Des smiled and blushed. He wanted to taste me? She asked herself.

Yes, he wanted to taste her! And not only taste her– he wanted to touch her, tease her, make her cum around him, choke, gag, bite, kiss, spit, swallow, everything. He wanted to do every single damn thing to her.

But, that would have to be for next time.

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