#yard flamingo

[enby-art-creations]

Skeleton unicorn flamingo repaint

🦩🦄

[machetelanding]

[giraffeonstilts]

My sister forgot two put away these Halloween Decorations and now we have Seasonal Mingo Riders

[i-am-simply-here]

Autism's so funny sometimes bc why am I looking up where those plastic lawn flamingos started and how they got popular

[draconym]

My elderly neighbor joked the other day that he needed a lawn flamingo like the ones in my yard. Little did he know my housemate and I would buy a matching pair of very large flamingos for both our lawns.

I'm gonna put one on his lawn and see how long it takes him to notice.

[cgclarkphoto]

yard ornament flamingos -  cg photography

[luv2brd]

Pink Flamingo

Enjoy this beautiful Ceramic Talavera Pink Flamingo in your home decor or garden art, or give it to someone you know who loves birds!

This gorgeous, colorful Flamingo Decor weighs approximately 1 pounds, 6 ounces: It's 11" tall x 4" wide x 7" deep .

This talavery pottery was handmade and hand painted in Mexico by skilled potters and ceramicists.

This Mexican Talavera is a special type of majolica earthenware with a white-base glaze.

This Pink Flamingo will look amazing in your home or yard or garden as Flamingo Home Decor or Porch Decor, or Outdoor Decorations.

Handmade Condition means it may contain slight imperfections - photos show details

Handmade Condition means subtle color variations might occur as well

The paints and glaze used in making Talavera pottery are lead-free.

To learn more about the product, click here.

Please check out other Luv2Brd products, here.

[landopoet]

to you, always.

pairing brother's best friend lando x fewtrell!reader

synopsis in which you call lando. and he comes.

warnings 14.8k words of angst, secrecy and brother max.

author���s note heyhey, sorry that i've been gone for a while, life gets a bit hectic and busy at times but i've finally gotten around to finishing this wonderful fic! and i have more fics coming your way soon. hope you enjoy <3

You’re not sure why you’re at this party to begin with. 

Actually, screw that, you knew exactly why— your older brother, Max, made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want you hanging around this specific crowd of people, and you had something to prove. You wanted to show him that you’re no longer the little sister he could push around, you wanted to finally be seen as grown, despite being younger than him.

It was cold outside Mason’s house. Your heels were off, your makeup’s smudged, the girl you came with ran off with some random guy neither of you knew, and you were left stranded in the cold night, somewhere with shitty connection. You tried to call an Uber, but the app won’t work without WiFi and you couldn’t be bothered to go back inside the party to ask for the password. 

Instead, you choose to flick through your contacts, maybe your drunk mind could find someone to drive you home. Mom? No, she’s most likely asleep. Max is an obvious no. You scroll past the random aunts, uncles, cousins, who all live scattered across the world. Then, something sets off in your mind and you find yourself reading Lando’s contact like it was the morning news.

You shut your phone off, sitting down on the curb. Lando. He told you once that he wasn’t your babysitter— like you were too loud, too much, always wanting to tag along with whatever he and your brother were doing. Still, your fingers put in your password and you click his contact again, this time not overthinking calling him.

Maybe it’s because you know he doesn’t care, maybe it’s because you know he’ll come.

The phone rings a few times before he picks up, raspy and tired. “Hello?”

“Lando,” you say, cautiously. 

You give him time to yell at you, to hang up, but he just stays in the silence, waiting for you to speak. “Hello? What’s wrong?”

You sigh. “I’m at Mason’s,” Lando scoffs on the other end. “Can you come get me?” 

Silence. You imagine him sitting on the edge of his bed, jaw tense, chest bare, those goddamn Jack & Jones boxers adorning his hips. Then, there’s movement. “It’s past one in the morning,” he grumbles.

“Yeah, I can still read the time, thanks.” You roll your eyes annoyed. “I knew it’d be stupid to call you, you’re nothing but an arrogant—”

Lando cuts you off, a sharp order coming from his end of the call. “Text me the address.”

“Fuck, I can’t remember,” you drag a hand across your face, ignoring how the cold of the curb slowly seeps in past your short dress and branches out through your skin. “It’s the house in Cherry Hill, the one with the stupid flamingo statue in the front yard.”

“I know it,” he nods, though you can’t see it. “Wait there, don’t go back inside.”

Lando hung up the phone call and pushed a hand through his curls, agitated that he didn’t even hesitate to come get you. He should’ve told you to call someone else, let you sit in the mess you made, but he also knew Mason and parties like that. And how everyone’s eyes naturally gravitated towards you, like you owned every room you walked into. 

He knew what that type of confidence could do, he had seen it happen to you before. And he knows Max would have his head on the front of the Fewtrell residence if he knew Lando refused to help you when you were in need. Or maybe it was just because that irritating warmth in his chest made him crumble every time he was near you. 

It takes half an hour until Lando’s headlights beam on your face. The car slows right next to you. It’s matte black with a booming engine, the one your brother kept hyping up like it was God’s gift to car lovers. Lando leans over the center console to shove the door open. 

The door clicks behind you and seals you in. The cabin is dim, except for the soft glow of the dashboard that casts blue shadows over Lando’s face. His jaw is clenched with every chew of gum he takes as he backs out of Mason’s driveway with one hand on the back of your seat. You can feel the tension in the small space between you two and you feel it even more when Lando finally grazes his eyes over you.

“You’re barefoot.”

His voice is flat, emotionless. 

You look down at your legs, the only thing adding any sort of warmth to them were your thin stockings. “Heels hurt.” 

Lando noticed the way you curled up in the seat, trying your best to keep yourself warm. He rolls his eyes, reaches behind you to the backseat and drops a hoodie in your lap. “Put it on,” he mutters.

You should say something, maybe a snarky remark, but instead you slip it over your head. It smells like him— a mix of lavender detergent, gasoline and Lando’s cologne. It’s big enough that the sleeves fall past the palms of your hands and you curl your fingers in them. “Thanks.”

The car falls quiet for a long while, Lando’s fingers so tightly curled around the steering wheel that it looks like it’s about to snap under the force. You can tell he wants to say something, to yell at you about waking him up, that you’re just some stupid girl who doesn’t know when to stop.

Instead, he sighs and asks, “what the hell were you thinking?”

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see. “Oh, here we go.”

“I’m serious,” his voice is sharp, irritated. “There’s a reason Max didn’t want you at that party.”

“I can handle myself, Lando. It’s just a party.”

Lando lets out a humorless laugh. “Sitting on the curb, alone, with no ride home. You call that handling yourself?”

You don’t answer him anymore, instead continuing to look out the passenger seat window at the streetlights and houses blurring past. You’re not sure what it is, but something feels different about him— he’s not bantering as much, it’s almost like he’s actually worried. 

A few minutes pass before Lando briefly glances at you. “What happened?”

Your eyes glance at his green ones, blinking once before you turn your gaze back outside. You’ve just driven out of the neighbourhoods, so the stars became more evident due to the lack of houses and streetlights. 

“Did someone touch you?” He presses, voice edged with frustration. He continues to chew his gum, his jaw tensing with every bite. 

“Not really.”

Lando exhales through his nose, tilting his head slightly like he’s debating whether to push. He doesn’t. Instead, he mutters, “you’re an idiot.”

You furrow your eyebrows and turn to him. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he shrugs. “Going to some fucker’s party just to prove something to Max. You think he’ll see you as grown just because you disobeyed him?”

You ball your hands into fists. “That’s not what I–”

“Oh, cut the bullshit, yes it is.” He cuts you off, agitated, annoyed, tired. “I’ve known you for years and you’ve been trying to prove yourself to Max since you were, like, twelve.”

You turn your whole body back towards the door, choosing to ignore Lando’s lecture. It’s almost two in the morning, the sky is at its darkest and you’re feeling too tired to argue with him. Still, he continues.

“News flash, acting reckless doesn’t make people respect you. It makes them worried.”

You stare at him, a tiny smirk on your face. “Are you saying… You were worried?”

Lando’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel. “I didn’t say that.”

“No, you totally did.” You let that tiny smirk turn into a full one, still looking at him. “This is huge. Lando Norris—”

He turns to face the driver's door window, biting back a small smile. “Don’t.”

“—worried about me?” 

He exhales through his nose again, running a hand through his curls, eyes still stuck on the road. “I knew I should’ve left you on the curb.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t.” Lando’s eyes look at yours for a second. He can’t handle looking at you for longer, afraid his facade would fade under the weight of your gaze.

“Why’d you come? If I’m such an inconvenience.” 

His car comes to a silent stop in front of your house. His engine is still running, just so the heat would still circulate and warm your feet. “Because you called.” 

There’s no mocking tone to his voice, no bite. Just the raw truth, like a confession.

You glance at his lips, then back up at his eyes. “I thought you hated me.”

“I never hated you.” He says it like it was obvious.

“You act like it.”

His eyebrows furrow. “I don’t hate you.”

You’re not sure what happened, why you suddenly felt so brave. You bite your bottom lip, leaning over the center console, softly grasping his chin so he looks at you. “Prove it.”

Lando’s breath stutters, just for a second. 

“Fuck it,” he mumbles into your mouth, already having pulled you in for a kiss. 

It’s not careful, it’s definitely not gentle— it’s like a flood. Like it’s something he’s been holding back for too long, something he can’t fight anymore. He kisses you urgently, lips warm and insistent, until your lips part just enough for his tongue to brush against yours, tentative at first, then deeper— demanding.

His hand comes up to cup your jaw, fingers pushing past your hair, angling your face the way he wants it. His other hand is still on the wheel, white-knuckled and tense, like he needs something to hold onto before he loses himself completely. 

Your hands slide up his chest, fingers curling around his collar, pulling him closer and closer, but it’s not enough.

Lando groans into your mouth, a low and frustrated sound, and then he’s undoing his seatbelt, undoing yours. The tension snaps, and next thing you know, he’s pulling you over the centre console and into his lap. His hands trail up your thighs, nesting right at the top of your hips as he continues to kiss you. 

He knows he shouldn’t be doing this, you’re his best friend’s little sister, but god has he been waiting for this. Every time he looked at you for too long, he felt a burning heat in his chest that he couldn’t shake no matter how hard he tried. Right now, he’s getting back all the times he wished he could kiss you, but knew he couldn’t. His hands grip you like he’s trying to memorise the feel of your skin under his fingertips.

Your hips softly grind against him as your hands come up to gently cup his jaw and you pull him in closer. Lando kisses you with hunger, chasing your lips as you pull away to catch your breath. You lean back against the steering wheel, careful as to not make a sound. Lando pushes himself up to kiss you again, but he fails to notice his foot on the gas and revs the engine as soon as his lips crash into yours again. 

Both of you freeze, eyes wide like deer caught in headlights. The streetlight casts a soft, golden glow on Lando as you study his face. And then both of you break out into laughter. 

“You think he heard that?” Lando asks when both of you finally calm down and you rest against his chest. 

You shake your head. “No, he’s a heavy sleeper. But I should probably go.”

Lando nods and helps you climb over the center console, eyes never leaving you. You turn back towards him, placing a gentle kiss to his lips, before reaching for the handle and opening the door. Lando stays parked on the side of the road, just until you’re safely inside your house, and when he sees the door close behind you, his engine revs again as his car pulls away. 

You walk downstairs only to be met by the sound of slamming cupboards, you don’t even have to step into the kitchen to know Max is letting out whatever pent up rage he has on the poor wooden furniture. 

Max, as if he could feel your presence, turns around. His eyebrows are set low, eyes studying your face like he’s never seen it before. You just awkwardly weave past him to rummage through the fridge.

He leans back against the kitchen island, arms crossed and voice calm when he asks, “so how was the party you weren’t supposed to go to?”

You softly slam your forehead on one of the shelves in the fridge. “Fuck.” You rub the hurt skin as you turn around to face your brother. “It was fine.”

“Mhm,” he looks down at the ground briefly, before he looks back at you again. Max tries so hard to look intimidating every time he does this, but he just looks like a sad dad and it takes everything in you not to laugh. “And how’d you get home?”

“Well, nowadays we have these awesome things called cars, right?” You motion turning a wheel with your hands, sarcastically. “You kinda just sit in them and then turn the wheel to go different directions, it’s pretty cool.”

“I’m serious,” he says, stone-faced and frustrated. 

“Why does that matter? I’m home safely, aren’t I?” You turn back to the fridge and take out ingredients for a sandwich.

“It matters because I explicitly told you not to go and because I know you, and because I woke up to Lando’s car outside my window at two in the morning.”

You freeze. Shit.

Max narrowed his eyes. “So? Wanna explain that one?”

“I called him for a ride, that’s all.” You’re not even hungry but you’re making a sandwich anyway, just to give yourself something to do and just so you don’t break underneath the weight of your older brother’s intense gaze. 

Max stares at you, jaw clenched.  “Why him?”

You shrug, spreading the mayonnaise on a slice of bread. “I obviously couldn’t call you and everyone I trust was asleep. And because he actually came.”

“He’s not—” He cuts himself off and starts pacing like he needs to burn the frustration from his limbs. “He’s not the guy you call for help. He isn’t good for this sort of thing, for you.”

You pause your movement, raising a brow at him. “You think I can’t handle Lando?”

“I know you can,” he pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s not the point. The point’s that he’s not a guy who gives a shit unless it benefits him in some way. He’s cocky, selfish, he was a dickhead to you for, like, as long as I’ve known him.”

You sigh, looking back to your sandwich. 

Max narrows his eyes at your hesitation. “Don’t tell me there’s something going on.”

“There’s not,” You say it fast, too fast, and you’re gripping the butterknife so hard that your knuckles turn white. 

He tilts his head to the side, eyebrows still drawn together as he connects the dots. “You like him?”

“No.” Lie.

Max shakes his head, running a hand along his jaw as he scoffs like the mere idea of you having feelings for his best friend was some sort of betrayal. “For fucks sake. This is exactly what he does, he gets into your head.”

“People change.” You mumble, not daring to look up at your brother.

Max lets out a humorless chuckle. “Not Lando.” 

You don’t say anything, you can’t. Deep down you know he’s right— Lando’s not the type to do relationships. He doesn’t stick to just one girl, you’ve heard him talk to Max about at least four different girls within the same week. You knew it was so wrong, but last night felt so right.

“I swear to God if—” He takes a deep breath and calms his voice, though it’s still laced with aggression when he says, “if he touches you, if he so much as thinks you’re someone to be played with—”

“Max, nothing happened,” the lie slips past your lips so easily that it scares you. “He drove me home. That’s it.”

He gives you one last glance before picking up his car keys from the basket on the kitchen island and walking towards the front door. He opens it, and just before he leaves, he pokes his head out to look at you again. “I’ll be back late, there’s money on my desk for dinner. Make sure to eat and, for fucks sake, take off that fucking hoodie.”

The door slams shut and you pull the sleeves of Lando’s hoodie into your palms, rubbing them together as if it’ll bring you any sort of comfort. Instead it just makes you more worried— an angry Max is a force to be reckoned with and you pray to whoever’s above that Lando can handle it.

Lando can feel Max’s eyes burning into him, despite being under a car.

They’re in the garage, the scent of motor oil and gasoline lingering in the warm air. Max leans back against a workbench, energy drink in hand, while Lando lays on a mechanic creeper and keeps his hands busy or else he’d be fiddling with his fingers and that’s something Max always notices.

He pulls himself from under the car just enough to reach a hand out. “Wrench.”

Max drops it into his hand with added force. “So, you wanna tell me about last night?”

Lando pulls himself fully from under the car, but just as he tries to get up, he bumps his forehead against the undercarriage. “Fuck,” he rubs the hurt skin as he sits up. “What about it?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Lando.” Max’s jaw tightens. “My sister came home at two in the morning and I woke up to your car outside my house.” 

Lando exhales, getting up from the ground as he wipes his hands on the fabric hanging from his hips. He always worked shirtless with only a flannel tied around his waist and his work jeans on. “She called me for a ride, I picked her up.”

Max tilts his head, accusatory, before taking a sip of his drink. “That’s it?” 

“That’s it.” Lando shrugs, trying his best to hide what he truly feels. He’s fucking terrified of Max, because he knows one wrong word could mean Max socking Lando right in the jaw, no hesitation. 

“She came home in your hoodie,” Max points out. 

Lando lays back down on the mechanic creeper after getting what he needed and goes back under the car. “She was cold,” he says, casually.

“You don’t just give people your hoodie.” 

Lando peeks his head out with a raised brow and a teasing smirk on his face. “What, you jealous or something?”

“You’re not funny.” Max glares at him, unamused.

The curly-haired man disappeared again, working on the suspension system of his older car. “You used to think I was hilarious.”

“Yeah, well, I used to think you weren’t a fucking problem, too.” Max hisses, again pacing the small space of Lando’s garage. “What are you doing, man?”

“What does it look like?” Lando pokes his head out again, confused, wrench in hand.

“It looks like you’re getting too close to my sister.”

Lando clenches his jaw, pulling himself back up from under the car, this time making sure not to hit his head. “I’m not.”

“I don’t buy it.” Max shrugs simply, anger, frustration and betrayal still radiating off of him.

Lando decides he’s done for the day and picks up his tools from the ground, walking over to his workbench. “She needed a ride home, so I drove her home. That’s all.”

Max studies him for a few seconds, trying to find something, anything, beneath the nonchalance that Lando was trying so hard to upkeep. Lando made sure there was nothing at surface level for Max to find.

Because if Max—if anyone— knew that something shifted in Lando that night, that something’s been shifting for way longer than Lando’s willing to admit, Max wouldn’t be standing here making civil conversation— he’d be throwing punches.

“It better fucking be all.” Max hisses again. “You keep your distance. She’s not some random girl you can mess with whenever you please.”

Lando’s stomach twists, like he didn’t already know you were more than just a girl. Lando couldn’t bring himself to say anything other than, “don’t worry, mate. She’s not my type.”

Max doesn’t say anything for a while, just stares at Lando with a look that makes something inside Lando’s chest feel heavy, and walks away.

You’re peacefully scrolling on your phone, watching the newest internet drama, when you hear two knocks on your door, and then another one a few seconds later. You recognised it to be Lando’s knock, the same one he’d do on Max’s door to let him know it was him and not you at his door, back when Max did everything in his power not to spend time with you.

You get up from your bed, feeling how Lando’s hoodie falls down to your mid-thighs when you stand, and open the door. Your eyes widen when it is, in fact, Lando that’s knocking. You grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull him inside your room, peeking your head out to check if anyone saw him. Thankfully, the coast is clear. 

“Are you crazy?” You shut the door behind yourself and turn to look at the curly-haired brunette in your room. “You could’ve got caught.”

Lando steps closer, hands finding their place on your waist while his lips make home at the cusp of your shoulder and neck. “Had to see you,” he mumbles between sloppy kisses to your skin.

Your breath shudders. “Max is downstairs.”

“He’s on a call, ordering food. I have maybe five minutes.”

You push him away, a questioning look on your face. “And you thought the best use of those five minutes was to sneak into my room?” 

Lando grins. “Obviously.”

You shake your head, trying to fight the smile as Lando leans in. “You’re insane,” you mumble against his lips. 

“I’m starting to think you like that about me.”

His hands trail up your thighs, under the hoodie—his hoodie—and up your bare belly. He’s trying to not rush you, to take time and explore this with you. It’s new, for the both of you, and Lando would hate himself if he ruined it just because he’s so eager to have you.

Your back is pressed against the door and you’re softly mumbling sweet nothings into Lando’s mouth when you hear footsteps nearing up the stairs. Both of you freeze, unsure of what to do. Your eyes quickly scan over your room and you immediately shove Lando towards your closet door when you land your gaze on it. Once he’s all hidden, you quickly jump onto your bed, cover yourself with your blanket and try to act as casual as possible.

There’s a knock at your door and then Max peeks his head inside. “You good?”

“Yeah?” You lift your head, resting it against your palm as you lean on your elbow. “Why?”

Max does a quick once-over of your room. “Thought I heard voices.”

“Oh, it’s probably just my phone,” you pick it up from underneath you and wave it in the air. “Do you remember that one super annoying couple?”

Max leans against your doorframe, curious. “Yeah?” He studied the look on your face as you typed something into your phone. “Wait, no way. Did they break up?”

He’s now stepping into your room, sitting down at the foot of your bed as he patiently waits for you to show him. “Fucking finally,” Max laughs when the video ends. “I gotta tell Lando, we made a bet on how long they’ll last, and he lost.”

“Aw, Lando had faith in those two?” You tilt your head to the side, briefly glancing at the closet as you fail at holding back your giggle. “That’s unusual.”

“I know right? That guy barely has faith in anything.” Max gets back up and starts walking out of your room. “Oh, by the way, have you seen him?”

“Hm?” You glance back up from your phone. “Oh, Lando? Is he over?”

“Yeah, we’re watching the race downstairs.” 

“I didn’t know,” you shrug. “Haven’t seen him.”

Max looks at you with narrowed eyes, like he wants to ask something but doesn’t bother. “Alright. We ordered food, come down in 10 if you want some.”

“Cool, thanks.” You shout to him as he closes the door behind himself. You wait another ten seconds before quietly making your way to the closet.

Lando stood in the corner of it, arms folded, scowling. “You owe me for this,” he mutters.

You snort. “Apparently you owe Max, too.”

“Hey, in my defence, the guy talked to me about marrying her and I was rooting for him.” He steps out of the closet, hands immediately on you again.

You giggle, feeling him kiss your neck. “Next time, let’s not make out with my brother ten feet away.

Lando leans in, lips brushing your ear. “Next time, I’m locking the door.”

It’s been a long day at university and you were feeling tired.

What’s worse is that you had to go study for an upcoming test and couldn’t afford to skip another day, so you lazily stepped down the stairs at the front of the facility and heaved a sigh, looking down at your phone. Suddenly, it buzzed with a notification from someone you didn’t expect to hear from.

Lando: Look up.

You lift your eyes, confused, and that’s when you see his sleek, black car, him leaning against the side of it with a soft smile on his face when you see him. He opens his arms and you carefully run across the street to envelop him in a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I could drive you home.” He pressed his lips to your forehead. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer to walk.”

You playfully slap his arm and place your head back on his chest. “Thank you,” you mutter. 

The drive to your house is quiet, but not awkward. Lando can tell you’re tired from school and he softly places his hand on your thigh, kneading the skin to try and comfort you in the only way he knew how. You could tell he was trying his best to show his affection to you in ways he wasn’t used to– the other day, he called you late at night and asked how your day went, intently listening to every detail you told him. He memorised your coffee order from that time and bought you coffee, that’s now peacefully sitting on your desk, in your room, as you and Lando make out on your bed.

“When does Max get home?” Lando asks, hastily, between kisses to your exposed chest. 

Your fingers are palming the curls at the base of his neck as Lando leaves faint hickeys along your breast. “He said later tonight.”

Lando continues to trail kisses down your torso, pausing at the waistband of your sweatpants. He looks up at you without a word, but as if to ask if it’s okay for him to go further, to not hold back in fear of breaking you. You reach down and untie the drawstring of your pants, watching as Lando’s fingers gently hook underneath the waistband and pull your sweatpants down, fully off of your body. 

You feel bare, exposed, but it’s not intimidating like you thought it’d be. Lando was gentle with you, placing soft bites followed by tender kisses to your thighs, inching closer to where you needed him the most. Your hips buckled upwards, urging Lando to do something to help the ache between your legs.

Just as he’s hooking his fingers under the waistband of your pink underwear, you hear the front door open. Lando immediately rises to his feet and bolts across the hall to Max’s room, pretending that he was waiting for him there to begin with. You lift your head confused and hear Max climbing up the stairs. You manage to shut the door before he reaches it and you rest with your back against it. 

“You in there?” Max knocks once on your door and you hold your breath.

You quickly pick up whatever clothes you can find on your floor and tug them on before opening your bedroom door, face flushed. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“What’s Lando’s car doing in the driveway?” He crosses his arms over his chest, looking at you with suspicion riddled across his features. 

“Oh,” you swallow, harshly. “Uh, I don’t know. He’s in your room if you want to ask him yourself.”

Max gives you a narrow-eyed look, trying to notice anything odd about your appearance. He peeks his head into the crevice of your door and looks around your room, before walking away and you finally let out the breath you were holding, shutting the door behind yourself.

Meanwhile, Lando was sprawled out onto the couch in Max’s room, scrolling through his phone. When Max walked in, Lando sat up. “Hey, you ready to go?”

“Go where?” Max furrows his brows and when Lando mimics a drinking action, Max remembers. “Fuck, the party.”

A few hours later, Lando found himself nursing a glass bottle of non-alcoholic beer on the couch in Lauren’s home.

Lauren was a mutual friend of yours too, so when Max offered you to join him and Lando, you happily agreed. Although, you didn’t account for how hard it’d be not to blab to Lauren about you and Lando’s newly found feelings. She’s telling you something about her current boyfriend, who you failed to find in the crowd, but pretended like you did. In reality, you were looking at Lando. You were admiring the way his black t-shirt hugged his skin tighter around his biceps, the way his curls poked out of his maroon cap and the way the lights from the other rooms cast a perfect shadow on his side-profile.

Meanwhile, he tried his best not to look at you, because Max was right across from him and turning his head would mean Max would follow suit. Instead, Lando watches the other people in the room. He makes the grave mistake of looking at this one girl, Madeline, twice within a few minutes and she took it as a sign to seat herself next to him.

“Hey,” she bites her bottom lip, holding back a smile. “Don’t think we’ve officially met, I’m Madeline.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Lando gives her a faux smile and turns back to reading the label on his beer bottle. It seemed to be much more interesting to look at than the girl touching his arm. 

Madeline tilts her head with a laugh. “I won’t get to hear your name?” 

Lando briefly looks up at Max, who’s standing across the room and urging Lando to smoothly talk his way into Madeline’s pants. He rolls his eyes and looks away, again. “Lando,” he grumbles.

“Lando,” she repeats, seductive. “Nice name.” 

Lando gives her a side-eyed look. “…thanks?” 

She bites her bottom lip again, trying to lure him in, throwing the bait but Lando isn’t biting. He’s uninterested, because each time he looks at Madeline, his eyes drift to the girl standing in the room behind her— you. You’re talking to Lauren, laughing at something she said as you nurse your red solo cup. 

When Madeline leans in, so close to Lando’s ear that her breath fanning against his skin makes it erupt in goosebumps, he feels nauseous. “Wanna go upstairs? There’s a condom in the drawer with your name on it.”

By this point, Max has come close enough to hear the conversation and nudges Lando’s shoulder when he notices the hesitation. Lando looks up at his friend with a confused look. Max’s eyes flicker between Lando and Madeline when he says, “I’ll save your seat for you.”

Madeline smiles at Max’s attempt to help before softly hooking her finger under Lando’s chin and turning him to face her. “So?”

Lando snorts at the thought that just flashed in his mind. “Y’know, Max’s name is also on most condoms, why don’t you take him upstairs instead?”

Lando watches as Madeline grimaces, looking at the two guys before mumbling something incoherent and walking away. The curly-haired man’s eyes immediately fall to you, leaving Max under the impression that Lando’s watching Madeline walk away. 

When Lando looks back at Max, he’s met with a scowl. “What?” He shrugs his shoulders and raises his hands, ready to defend himself against Max’s judgement.

Max sits down on the coffee table in front of Lando, quoting something Lando had said months ago. “Oh, I’d tap that.” He puts on an accent that mimics Lando’s one, but in a way that’s clearly mocking his best friend’s words. 

Lando pinches the bridge of his nose, not sure how to get himself out of this one. “That was ages ago.”

“Isn’t she, like, the epitome of your type?” Max recalls another thing Lando had said late at night in his garage. Lando had, in fact, said that Madeline was exactly his type, but that was back before he tapped into his feelings for you. 

Lando shrugs before he takes another swig of his beer. “Not anymore.”

Max gives him one last look, clearly confused by how Lando could reject Madeline, of all people. “You’re fucking weird, dude,” he says over the neck of his beer bottle and walks away to find something else to drink. 

It’s a few minutes before Lando decides that it’s safe to move from his seat, making a beeline to where he last saw you. The kitchen is empty of your presence, only the faint smell of your perfume lingering in the air. He pulls out his phone to text you and just as he clicks on your contact, he hears familiar laughter coming from the next room. 

He finds you leaning against the doorframe to the dining room, still talking to the girl from before. Lauren locks eyes with Lando and nudges towards him with her chin while looking at you. “I’ll see you later,” she squeezes your elbow and walks away. 

You feel Lando’s touch on your skin before he even gets the chance to talk. It’s darker in this room, less people, higher chances of getting caught— but that’s what makes it more exciting. 

You turn around, back to the nearest wall as Lando leans against the doorframe, mimicking you just moments ago. He crosses his arms over his chest, biceps bulging and drawing your attention. “Smooth move earlier,” you mutter with a little teasing glint in your eye. 

He huffed a laugh. “She was being persistent.”

“Thought she was your type?” You ask, trying to sound casual but it comes out more desperate than intended. Lando gave you a look, small smile and raised eyebrows, as he took a swig of his drink.

After a moment of him checking you out, he mutters, “not anymore.”

“Yeah?” You looked at him with a raised brow. “What’s your type then?”

Lando steps closer to you, hand immediately cupped against your jaw, fingers between your hair as he pulls you in. “I think we both know.” 

His breath fans over your face as he leans in to kiss you, his free hand placing the empty beer bottle on the fireplace next to you. Just as his lips are about to touch yours, someone slams the bathroom door and both of you jump at the sound. 

Both of you turn to look at the direction of the sound, only to be met with a guy stumbling out of the room. Lando drops his head as a laugh of relief leaves his lips. 

He looks around again, cautious, alert. Then, when his green eyes focus on your face again, his pupils dilate just the smallest bit, but you notice it. Lando nudges his head behind him, “meet me out back in ten?”

You nod, biting your bottom lip and he walks off, disappearing somewhere between the drunk crowd of people. 

The ten minutes before you sneak out to see Lando go by slower than anticipated. To pass the time, you decided to tour the house, as if you’ve never been there before— you loiter around the hallways, admiring everything picture and painting on the wall. 

“Oh, hey,” Max’s voice startles you just as you start looking for where the door to the backyard is. “Have you seen Lando?” 

“No?” You furrow your brows, trying to act as confused and offended as possible. “Why would I have seen him?” 

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Anyway, if you see him, tell him to check his damn phone.” 

You watch your brother storm off, heading upstairs and when he’s out of your line of sight, you bolt towards the living room. You squeeze past the numerous people in your way and try your best to find the door to the backyard. 

When you finally step out into the night, the cold air hitting your arms as soon as you do, Lando’s leaning against the wall by the door, in the shadow. 

“You sure no one followed you?” Lando reaches out his hand and you take it, following him behind the side of the house. 

You scoff, “you think I don’t know how to sneak around by now?”

He presses you against the wall, lips immediately on your neck. “Touche.”

The night envelops you two in a blanket of darkness, coolth and risk. Lando kisses down your neck to your shoulder, leaving mild hickeys that’ll go away in a few hours. When his lips find home on yours again, you let your fingers get lost in the curls at the nape of his neck and he pulls you in closer with a gentle hand on your jaw. 

There’s a rustling at the door to the backyard but neither of you are bothered enough to pause and check what it is. It’s only when Max’s voice cuts through the night that both of you halt your movements. “Oh, there you are.”

Lando turns to face Max, using his body to shield you from your brother while they talk. “Yeah? Kinda busy here, mate.”

“I was just gonna ask if you could get my sister home later, I’m going out with Mason for a few hours.” Max spins his house keys on his finger before throwing them towards Lando, and the curly-haired man in front of you catches it with no problem. “You can crash on the couch in my room if you want.”

“Alright, see you.” Lando says with an urgency in his voice that Max takes as a sign. Your brother winks at Lando before disappearing back inside the house. “Christ,” Lando rests his head on your shoulder as he takes a few breaths, adrenaline pumping through his veins at what could’ve gone so wrong so quickly.

“Did he see?” You ask, cautiously glaring over the corner of the house to check if Max was truly gone.

Lando pulled away, his face perfectly illuminated from the left side by the glowing porch light and fairy-lights that adorned the fence behind him. “I hope not or else I’m a dead man.”

“If it makes you feel better, you’d be a handsome corpse.” 

The walk back to your home is short, the cold night enveloping you in a secure sense of calm. 

Lando’s warm hand in yours kept you grounded, meanwhile the stars in the sky built your hope up. Your house comes into view and Lando swings the keys in his hand, whistling a tune only he knew the melody of. 

He unlocked the door and as soon as you heard it click shut, his lips were on yours. You barely made it up the stairs and into your bedroom, tumbling over each other and giggling at the mumbled curse words falling from his lips. 

Once in your room, Lando doesn’t bother to close the door. He’s too focused on how good his hands feel on your hips, how your soft whimpers vibrate in your throat before escaping through the space in your kiss and how long he’s been waiting for this moment. 

It all happens in a blur— one second you’re at your bedroom door, the next you’re laying with your back pressed against your mattress, Lando hovering above you, trailing kisses down your shoulder as he unzips the jacket he gave you and pulls it off your body. 

You’re exposed, nervous and unable to speak when Lando suckles on the skin atop your ribs. His lips burn into each crevice of your flesh, hands heating your hips as they envelop the skin, eyelids closed shut with fluttering eyelashes on his cheeks. 

Lando kisses you like he’s worshipping you— he’s gentle, cautious, exploring your body like it’s a temple and he’s blessed to be allowed to even look at you. 

His tongue runs along the space between your breasts, peppering kisses as he wraps them around your neck, trails them along your jaw until he reaches your lips. Lando kisses you with urgency, with hunger and deep-seated yearning that etched itself into your bones. 

You felt how badly he needed you, how large his hunger had grown, how intensely his craving for you radiated off of his tan skin. 

He’s sloppily kissing your lips, fingers inching closer to the waistband of your panties when he pulls away. “Tell me to stop and I will.” 

“Don’t stop,” you breathe against his lips, barely managing to get a word out before he’s tugging them off of you. 

Both of you are so enveloped in each other, so caught up in the moment, that neither of you notice him in the doorway. 

“What the actual fuck are you doing?” Max’s voice trembles through the room. Lando pulls away from you, eyes wide and glossy, lips parted in a gasp. The hands you had tangled in his curls were desperately trying to find something to cover your body with. You landed on the jacket Lando pulled off of you earlier. 

You’re too focused on not breaking into tears that you don’t notice how close Lando and Max are standing. 

“Tell me this isn’t happening. Tell me you weren’t fucking my sister.” Max’s rageful tone lumbers a fire in his chest that’s only growing bigger with each second he watches the scene in front of him— you, pulling the jacket closer to yourself as you try to get decent and Lando standing shirtless in front of Max, lips puffy from kissing you. It makes Max’s blood boil. 

Lando runs a hand through his hair, taking a breath like he’s trying to come up with something to say— like there’s anything he could say that would make this better. “Max—“

“No, don’t say my fucking name like you haven’t crossed every boundary I’ve set.” Max pushes Lando’s chest.

You watch the fight unfold— Max’s eyes burning into Lando’s, betrayal, anger and hurt painted all over his face. Lando was standing calmly, alarmed but he kept it at bay. 

Lando doesn’t hold back. “I love her.”

The breath in your throat catches and tears prick your eyes as soon as the words leave his lips. Max freezes for a second, long enough for the words to land, hard and heavy. And then—

He swings. Hard.

The punch lands square on Lando’s jaw with a sickening crack. You gasp, standing to your feet almost immediately, but Lando barely stumbles— he wipes the blood from the corner from his mouth and stands upright, rolling his shoulders. 

“You think that makes it better?” Max says. “You think loving her gives you the right to sneak around like this? And you couldn’t come to me? Not a single fucking word.” 

“You wouldn’t have understood,” Lando’s breath is steady, voice sharp. “You never would’ve let me. I was trying to protect what we have.” 

“We?” Max huffs out a humorless laugh. “What about her? You think she needs some arrogant asshole sneaking her around like a fucking coward?” 

“I’m not a coward.” Lando exhales through his nose. “And I’d take a hundred more punches from you than hide this for another day.” 

Max’s fist twitches, like he’s going to hit Lando again, but he doesn’t. His eyes snap to you. “And you just let him? Him, of all fucking peop—“

“She didn’t let me do anything.” Lando cuts in, his tone harsher now that the blame shifted to you. “She chose me just like I chose her. So if you’re going to hate someone, hate me, but leave her out of this.” 

The silence that follows is deafening. 

You’re standing, tears falling down your cheeks. Lando’s still bleeding down his chin, but he doesn’t care— all he cares about now is that Max doesn’t lash out on you for no reason. 

Max’s eyes flicker between the two of you. They’re filled with fury, betrayal, hurt. But mostly confusion. 

Lando reaches his hand out to you as he speaks again, “I didn’t come here to hurt you. But I won’t apologise for loving her.” 

His heart is pounding. He didn’t expect to confess to both the Fewtrell siblings in one night. 

Max just stares at him, jaw clenched so hard like it might snap. “Get out,” he finally said. Not shouting, not loud, just final.

Lando glances at you for permission, fear flashing across his face as if he was asking if this was it. You nod slowly, squeezing his hand three times— one for each word of i love you. “Just give me a moment, okay?” 

He nods, muttering a quiet okay and watches as you lead Max out of your room into the hallway.

 

And now it’s just the two of you. The Max Storm isn’t over, but it hangs above you like a calm thundercloud now. You knew he couldn’t be as upset with you as he pretended to be. 

You saw past his furrowed brows and deep inside, somewhere between his ribcage, was the same boy you grew alongside with, collecting rocks and sticks to make a mud cake. 

Max doesn’t say anything for a while. He just stands there, eyes closed, head resting against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Do you remember the treehouse?” You test the waters, standing across from him with your back against the wall. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. 

Max sighs. “What about it?” 

“I used to hide out there when you were upset with me.” You admit. “All the heart carvings were me. But the stars on the floor of it were Lando.”

Max’s head snaps up, eyes reading your face. “What?” 

“Yeah,” you laugh a little. “He found me there when looking for you and I was crying. I was like, I dunno, thirteen or fourteen. He climbed up without a word, sat down next to me and started carving.” 

“Why is this relevant?” 

You sigh. “He’s not an arrogant asshole to me when we’re alone.”

“That’s not-“ Max drops his hands, his shoulders sinking. “You’re my sister. I’m supposed to protect you.” 

Your bottom lip quivers as you try your best to keep your composure and to not crack under the weight of your brother’s anger. “I didn’t need you to protect me from him. He listens to me, he– he waits. He’s different, Max, and you just refuse to see it.”

Max runs both his hands down his face, turning his eyes towards the hallway— he can’t get himself to look at you. “Do you love him?”

You inhale sharply, the question catching you off guard. And then, softly, as if you’d crumble as soon as you said it: “Yes.”

That’s what breaks him. Not the intimacy, not the secrecy, but the quiet, unshakeable truth in your affirmation of the one thing he was always most scared of.

He nods once, not shaking the intimidating older brother demeanor, even though he knows you see right through it. “You’re serious about him.”

“I am.” You bite the inside of your cheek, anxiety coursing through your veins faster than the adrenaline of being caught by your brother, in bed with his best friend.

“And him?” Max nods his head towards the door, clenching his jaw at the indirect mention of Lando. “He better be serious about you, too, or else I swear to–”

“He is,” you finish before he can even start threatening Lando. “He’s more serious than I imagined. Maybe even more serious than me. You just– You have to give him a chance, Max.”

Your brother just stands there, a shell of himself compared to how excited he was earlier this evening, at Mason’s party. You worry this will affect your relationship, both with Lando and with Max, and you can’t help but break into a quiet cry. 

You use the sleeve to wipe away a tear off your jaw. “Do you… Do you hate me?”

Max’s shoulders immediately drop, his voice softer. “I could never hate you.”

You swallow hard, nodding your head. “I’m sorry it happened this way.”

He lets out a sad laugh. “Yeah, didn’t expect to lose my best friend tonight.”

You immediately reach out to touch Max’s arm, about to open your mouth to try and better the situation between them, but before you can even mumble a word, Max is pulling away and walking down the stairs. “I need time. I’ll be at Mason’s.” He says as he steps down the last stair, and you stand at the top of them, listening.

The front door closes shut. There’s no slam, just a quiet close of the red, wooden door. It somehow breaks you more than if he had slammed it shut.

Lando waits patiently on your bed, using his T-shirt as a wipe, trying his best to get the drying blood off of his chin. When the door to your bedroom opens, his eyes immediately flash to you and he can tell it didn’t go well. 

Lando closes the distance between you two almost immediately, discarding his bloody shirt to the floor as his arms wrap around you, warm, like home. “Are you okay?” He murmurs against your hair.

You nod with your face still pressed against his chest, fingers curling around him and settling on being lazily draped on his waist. “I will be. Are you?”

His chest rises underneath you, the events of that night hanging heavy in the air around you. “Took a punch to the jaw from my best friend, so… Not exactly my best night. But you’re here with me, that’s all I need.” 

You pull away enough to look up at him, enough to notice the purpling bruise on his jaw and the split in his lip. Guilt coils itself deep inside your stomach. “I’m so sorry,” you whisper, tears pricking your eyes again. 

“Don’t,” he cups your jaw, thumb softly caressing your skin before he pulls you close again, his cheek resting against the crown of your head. “You don’t have to apologise, not for any of it.”

After a few deep breaths and another two minutes of just standing there, holding each other, you pull away. Lando’s heart breaks at the tear stains on your cheeks, but you ignore his sad expression and mutter, “let me clean you up.” 

Lando stands in front of you as you sit on the cupboard, next to the sink, his hands on either side of your spread legs as he stands between them. 

You’re dabbing a cotton pad soaked in antiseptic onto the cut on his lip. “Hold still,” you order him and he raises a brow. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

You give him a look. “Not the time.”

“Okay,” you dab the cotton against his lip again and he winces in pain, but stays still. “Fuck, it stings.”

“Well, you did get punched.” You point out the obvious, shaking your head with disappointment. “You’re such an idiot.”

The irony of your words doesn’t get lost on Lando— he said the same thing to you months ago, when he drove you home from the party. 

“I know,” he shrugs. “Worth it though.” 

“Yeah?” You ask, a little bit in disbelief. “Getting punched by my brother is worth it?”

Lando puts his hands on your waist, sending shivers up your spine. “If it meant I get to be with you, I’d let him punch me a million times more.”

You roll your eyes, biting back a smile as you continue working on cleaning him up. “You’re lucky I haven’t punched you myself.” 

“Fair,” he grins and tries his best to hold as still as he can. His fingers dig into your skin as a way to keep himself at bay, and with the weight of his touch, you weren’t sure if he was holding back just because of the pain anymore. 

A moment passes— one in which Lando can’t stop looking at your focused face and you try your best not to get too flustered because of it. Your brain has been running a mile a minute since Max caught you and it only now had time to process what actually happened.

“You said you loved me.” You say, cautiously, like you’re scared he’ll tell you he didn’t mean it. That was your biggest worry at that moment— Lando just saying things, not knowing if he meant it. 

“Yeah,” he says it so casually, like his words were weightless. “I did.” 

You halt your movements, dropping your hands into your lap as you look anywhere but at him. “Did you mean it or was it something you said to calm Max down?” 

Lando laughs a little. “If I wanted to calm him down, I wouldn’t have said that.” 

You bite your bottom lip with anxiety and nod, “right.” 

He narrows his eyes, pushing his palms onto the counter as his head dips a bit to see you better. “I meant it,” he says after a moment. “It might’ve not been the ideal way to tell you, but it’s true.”

You place your head on his shoulder, still not looking up at him. The drawstring of his sweatpants gets pulled into your grasp as you fidget with it, not sure if you should ask this, but you do. “How long have you known?”

“I don’t know,” his voice is soft, as if he was afraid of being heard. “It just kinda snuck up on me one day and hasn’t left me ever since.”

You nod, pulling yourself up to continue working on his lip. “Okay.”

“That’s all you’re gonna say?” Lando tilts his head to the side, much like a small, confused puppy would. 

“It’s a lot to process,” you shrug, eyes so focused on his lips that you don’t notice his eyes so glued on your face. “I need a minute.”

“That’s okay.” He smiles, hands finding their place on your hips again. “Take your time, I’m not going anywhere.”

“And you should probably not say that around Max anymore.”

Lando licks his lips with a laugh. “Duly noted. You gonna kiss me or keep playing nurse?”

You raise a brow, finally looking at him— his green eyes are no longer hinting at the sadness of the fight he had with Max and rather a glint of something brighter shines in them, something you’ve noticed only happens when he’s looking at you. 

“Let the lip heal first.” You kiss his cheek but Lando won’t settle for that. 

He cups your chin, softly yet firmly turning you to look at him. “Fuck the lip, I want to kiss my girl.” 

That’s when it comes. 

The moment you two had been dreaming of, yet every time it got close, something got in the way. Lando’s hands traveled from your hips to your jacket, unzipping it to reveal your bare body again. 

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he mumbled against your lips, ignoring the stinging of the cut on his bottom one. No amount of injury would keep him away from you. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, drawing him in closer. The way he kissed you was addicting— with every passing second it felt like his lips became more of a lifeline for you, like if he were to pull away right now, you’d feel a part of you go missing. 

Your nails softly traced formless shapes in his scalp, sending shivers down his spine as his lips left hickeys beside the ones he had decorated you with earlier. 

His hands settle on your thighs, slowly inching closer and when he triggers a spot on your skin that was particularly sensitive to his touch, your knees try to close but hit his hips instead. He pulled you closer to the edge of the sink, his hold on you so careful like he might break you. 

His lips are still on your neck when he mutters, “wrap your legs around me.” 

You do as told, wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck as he picks you up, carrying you across the hall to your bedroom. He lays you on the bed again— the door shut this time— wasting no time as he unties his sweatpants. 

You don’t notice him reach over to the drawer of your nightstand, taking out the condom he slipped in from his jacket right when Max came into your room. All hell would’ve broken loose if it had somehow fallen out of the jacket when you wore it. 

You feel him pressing against you and another second passes before you’re gasping at him pushing into you, filling you up. “I know,” he coos, lips softly peppering kisses down your jaw. “You can take it.”

Lando stills his hips for a second, not moving as you take time to adjust. The excitement and anticipation grows so big in your belly that it jolts your hips slightly upwards, making Lando groan at the feeling. 

“I’ll move a bit, yeah?” He looks into your eyes, pushing away the hair that fell messily onto your forehead. 

You nod your head and he pulls out. Immediately, you feel the need for more, for him. When Lando pushes his tip past your folds again, setting a slow rhythm, you whimper softly against his mouth. Lando can’t help but moan quietly, the feeling of your walls around his cock being better than he ever imagined. 

Those nights of his hand wrapped around his length, your name spilling from his lips as he came undone on his own chest were nothing like having you— a whimpering mess— underneath him. 

He speeds up just the smallest bit, adding more force to his thrusts, and rolls his hips anytime they make contact with yours. The sound of skin-on-skin contact and shy moans fills the room. 

Lando’s necklace dangles in your face and, for some odd reason, it turns you on even more. Your hips jut against his and you mutter, “faster.”

The sound of your voice when he’s thrusting into you made Lando come closer to the edge. He speeds up again, fingers digging so deeply into your hips that he was sure would leave a mark. 

You gasp at the feeling of him pulling your hips up towards him with every thrust, your eyes squeezed shut as your mouth parted, loud moans bouncing off the walls of the room. 

“You look so pretty like this,” he kissed your jaw, softly biting down on the skin to earn more pretty sounds from you.

Every word you try to say gets drowned out by your moans or muted by Lando kissing you, and then you feel the pleasure build up so quickly that you’re unable to tell him when you come undone. Lando felt your walls pulse around him tighter and knew to keep the pace, thrusting into you as deeply as he could. 

“Look at me,” he ordered, eyes already looking at your closed ones. When your pupils meet his, you feel him reach down between your bodies and gently rub your clit. “Y’gonna cum on my cock, baby? Hm?”

Tears prick your eyes as Lando speeds up the tiniest amount, drilling into you with all he’s got as his right middle finger draws circles on your aching bud. And then, with a breathy moan, Lando feels you come undone. 

He thrusts a little more, reaching for his high with his lips pressed to your shoulder. You feel a warmth inside you before Lando stills. 

The next few minutes are of you two just laying in each other's embrace, not moving— aside from your fingers in Lando’s hair and his fingers drawing circles on your hips— and simply soaking in the calm after the storm.

It’s been two days since Max’s knuckles made friends with Lando’s jaw.

Mason found it quite funny— he never really liked Lando to begin with, so hearing that he fucked up in Max’s eyes made him that much more motivated to add fuel to the fire. He sat on the couch in his living room, watching as Max played some video game on the playstation. 

Another twenty minutes of uninterrupted gameplay passes before Max’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He’s so focused on the game that he doesn’t even check who’s calling, assumes it’s you, and presses the green button before putting the device up to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Lando’s voice cuts through Max’s focus on the game. He immediately pauses it, rage building in his chest. 

Max takes a breath, trying to calm down before answering. “What do you want?” 

“I’m thinking of breaking up with her.” 

Max feels his heart drop to his heels. He’s what? 

On the other end of the call, Lando’s got his head in his hands as his phone lays atop his knee. He’s in his car, the already small space getting even smaller as his shallow exhales fill the air. 

He’s parked outside your house where, just five minutes ago, he left you peacefully sleeping.  

Over the last two days he had spent with you— all the slow dancing in the kitchen, the breaths bouncing off each other’s faces from being so close in the morning, the moments where his hands traversed your body like it was land unknown to anyone else but him— Lando realised that maybe he could do this forever. 

And that scared him. 

He’s always been a free man— going wherever he pleases whenever he wants, having no responsibility for anyone else other than himself— but now there’s you. 

Lando’s life feels like it’s split into two parts. The part before you seems free, fun, inviting yet gloomy. Like there’s an essential element of it that’s just missing, thus making his existence in that time seem like exactly that— existing. 

The part after you, though, that part is what’s so new yet scary to him. Rather than existing through his days, he lives them because of you. 

It’s a lot more domestic, this life— waking up in tangled sheets, making and burning pancakes in the morning as soft music spills from the speakers, sitting tangled on the couch as you read a book and Lando played a game on Max’s console. He’s not sure what happened for it to feel so wrong when everything was going so well. 

This morning, Lando watched you sleep. So serene, solemn and still. Your bare chest rose and fell with steady breaths, soft snores lingering at the back of your throat every once in a while. 

He stayed like that— propped up on his elbow, eyes tracing over every inch of your face— until the weight in his chest felt like his ribs were breaking. 

As he was getting dressed, he questioned it. He loves you— hell, he’s loved you for years, but he was too stupid to realise it sooner— and he knows you’re the girl he wants, so why is he running?

He’s quietly making his way down the stairs when he realises that maybe Max was right. Max made it clear that Lando wasn’t the guy for you, that you deserve much better, and while Lando disagreed with it before, he feels like it’s true.

He spent the majority of his later teens and early adulthood with more women than he could count on one hand, not a single one of them made him question his feelings, because there weren’t any. 

But now, with you sleeping soundly upstairs and him standing by the open front door, Lando realises that maybe somewhere in the middle of your blooming relationship, he got too caught up in the delusion to face reality— you deserve someone who won’t walk out on you while you’re asleep. 

For the past five minutes, Lando sat in the driver's seat, clutching the wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white. He didn’t want to call Max about this, but he was the only person in the world that Lando trusted and it was worth a shot. 

“You what?” Max’s voice rang in Lando’s ears. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” 

“You were right, I– I’m not the guy for her.” Lando’s voice sounded so flat that it made Max worried, just the tiniest bit. “She deserves better.”

“Mate, if it’s about what I said, I’ll fucking get over it eventually.” Max is now pacing around Mason’s living room while the blond man just watches him, a glimmer of hope in his eye that Max failed to catch. “But her? She’ll never get over you, Lando.”

“You don’t know that, Max.”

Max inhales sharply, as if he was just about to spew a string of insults at Lando but chose to take the calmer approach. “I do know that, she’s so fucking in love with you that it makes me sick. Do you realise how much you walking out will fuck her up?”

“I thought that’s what you wanted,” Lando’s starting his car now, still hesitant to turn the key. “It’s what’s best for her.”

“Since when do you decide that?” Max huffs a humorless laugh. “At least just talk to her, dude. I’ll get over you two dating but what I won’t forgive you for is walking out on both of us.” 

“Bye, Max.” Lando inhales a deep breath and before his best friend can speak again, he’s ending the call.

The smell of cinnamon, bananas and something burning hits Max’s nose the second he opens the front door to his house. He steps into the kitchen slowly, eyes scanning the mess— flour dusted across the countertops like snow, dishes cluttering the sink, you aggressively mixing something in a big, blue bowl. 

“What are you doing?” 

You halt your movements, turning around to Max with the fakest smile he’s ever seen from you. “Baking. Banana bread, you want some?” 

Max watches as you pull out the banana bread— that looks more like a chunk of coal— out of the oven. “Nah, I’ll pass.” 

He knew not to push, not to ask because, in reality, he shouldn’t even care. You betrayed him as much as Lando did, but you’re his little sister and Max would be damned if he let you set the house on fire with your baking. 

Max took a seat at one of the stools, eyes intently watching you. You never baked, not unless you were trying to occupy your mind by occupying your hands. 

“I talked to Lando,” he says casually, like he didn’t hate the guy. 

He notices the halt in your movements, the knife stilling in the burnt loaf. “Cool,” you shrug. 

“He said he’s ending things with you.” 

“And why do you think that is, Max?” You slam the knife down onto the counter with enough force to make Max jolt. “You got into his head.”

“I didn’t mean for him to take that shit seriously.” Your brother runs a hand down his face. “I was angry, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I wanted him to leave you.” 

“You punched him, that’s not something to take lightly.” You say, a little quieter this time, a little more hurt. 

Max notices the silent glimmer of a plea in your eyes, like you’re asking him what you should do. “You should talk to him.” 

“And say what?” Your voice breaks as tears begin to roll down your cheeks, shoulders dropping. “He left me, Max, he le-“ 

A loud sob echoes in the kitchen and Max’s arms are around you immediately. He caresses your back, softly kissing your head as his arms squeeze you tighter. 

“He’s at the garage, probably hasn’t left all day.” He mutters. “I’m not telling you to go fix it, but if you want answers, that’s where you’ll get them.” 

Max watches your face as you pull away and wipe your tears with your sleeve. “Okay.” 

“Go, I’ll clean up your mess.” Max gives your shoulders a soft squeeze and turns to the lump of coal you called banana bread. 

Lando’s garage had always been his hideout. 

The lights were always on too late and, even from across the street, you could see a sliver of fluorescent glow bleeding out through the cracked garage door. 

You were parked at the end of his driveway. The air, thick and way too warm, smelled like motor oil and rubber, and it reminded you of simpler days— your legs dangling off the workbench while your boyfriend tinkered with something, grease smudging his fingers and face. 

The door was already cracked open, your favourite song quietly playing from the bluetooth speaker at the corner of the room. 

Lando was bent over the engine of one of the cars, back towards you, elbow deep in whatever he was messing with. He didn’t need to turn to know it was you who came in. 

“You left while I was sleeping.” Your voice shook the calmness of his garage— his sanctuary— and he felt it in his bones. “You left and didn’t say anything. You talked to Max instead of me.” 

Lando pulls his hands out of the engine bay and reaches for a nearby rag, wiping his fingers slowly and methodically, giving himself something to focus on before he breaks. 

“I didn’t know what to say.” He finally turns to face you, though his eyes stay glued to the ground. He catches a glimpse of your pink crocs and it makes him smile, just barely. 

“You knew what to say to the guy that punched you and not your girlfriend?” Your voice cracked with a quiet sob. “Do you know what it felt like to hear from my brother that you wanted to end things with me?”

“Listen, I’m sorry,” he draws in a deep breath before continuing. “I’m sorry I disappeared, okay? I just- I didn’t know how to handle it. I needed space to think.” 

“About what?” You bit your bottom lip to stop it from shaking. “About whether or not I’m worth staying for?”

“No,” the word left his lips with urgency, eyes finally looking up at yours. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. 

The silence stretched, the music still playing from the corner of the room like it didn’t care that hearts broke in this room. 

Lando exhaled slowly. “I’m scared.” He didn’t wait for you to ask why. “I’ve never had a good thing like this, I’m scared I’ll fuck it up and ruin it.” 

“You won’t.”

He huffs a sigh of frustration. “You don’t know that.” 

You step a little closer, inching towards the wall Lando built up around himself,  a frail attempt to hide his feelings. Lando raises his eyes from the ground to— finally— look at your face. 

“I know that you’re trying,” your voice cuts through the sharp silence. “I know that I noticed all the things you did for me.”

“What?” Lando blinked. 

“I noticed,” you repeated. “You probably thought I didn’t, but I never mentioned it because I thought you’d stop doing them.” 

You reach out to take his hand, rough and warm, in yours. He didn’t pull away, just looked at you— sad, scared, waiting.

“I noticed how you remembered stupid details about me. I noticed how you’d text me when you couldn’t sleep and pretend it was about something random, when you were trying to subtly let me in. I noticed how you got quieter when overwhelmed, how you’d hold back things you wanted to say. I saw all of that. I see you, Lando.” 

Lando’s grasp on your hand tightened, like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered. He looked up at you. Like your words were light he didn’t know he could stand in. 

“I tried,” he whispered, voice gentle and soft in the way he’d never spoken before— like every word he says drops to the ground with added weight. 

“I know you did,” you nod, eyes teary and locked into his face. “And I loved every bit of it. All the good and the bad. I wasn’t waiting for some perfect version of you, I just want you. The scared and the happy.” 

A silence stretched in the air. Then, he exhaled shakily and spoke again. 

“It’s like… The more I care, the worse I get at this. Like I’m holding something fragile and don’t know how to stop myself from dropping it.” 

“You’re not going to drop me. You don’t have to protect me from you. I choose you and I choose this.” 

He pulled his hand away gently, eyes focusing on anything  other than your face. His jaw clenched, voice low when he mumbled, “I think I need a break.” 

“A break?” 

“Not because I don’t love you,” he quickly added, looking at you with wide eyes before dropping his shoulders. “I do, God, I love you. I love you so much I don’t know what to do with it.” 

You don’t say anything— not a sound— tears falling from your eyes as you gave him a small, bittersweet smile.

Lando watched as you stepped closer, bringing your hands up to his cheeks. You pulled him in close enough to press your lips against the sweaty surface of his forehead, giving a gentle see you later, neither of you sure of when the later is. 

Then, you turned on your heel and stepped out into the night, leaving Lando in his sanctuary of motor oil and gasoline.

The next few weeks feel like they’re moving in slow motion. It’s cruel how grief stretches time.

You kept expecting to wake up one day and feel fine, but it didn’t work like that.

You still reached for your phone some mornings, typing out something before remembering you weren’t talking. The playlist he made for you kept playing on repeat in your earbuds, his hoodie adorned your torso, sleeves pulled over your hands so at least some part of him was still holding you.

You caught yourself looking for him in the small things— when you’d walk out of university, eyes flickering to see if his car was there; when you’d walk downstairs and half-hope he was playing a game with Max; when you’d hear a word or phrase he’d often use and whip your head around to catch a glimpse of him, but he was never there.

It’s like living with a phantom limb– he wasn’t there, yet everything still remembered him.

Your best friends didn't push, Max didn’t mention him. But the silence— the kind that only fills the room after something’s broken and no one knows how to sweep it up— spoke for you.

In the meanwhile, Lando was coping in the only way he knew how.

He skipped hang outs with friends, ditched parties, just to work longer hours in his garage. Stayed until the heater shut off on its own and his hands were numb from the cold. He didn’t talk to anyone for those weeks. He just drowned himself in tasks— changing oil, fixing brakes, changing tires— anything that kept his hands busy and allowed his mind to work on autopilot. 

His phone remained quiet. Once or twice, he clicked on your contact just to see the photo of you two. Thought about sending a voice memo or a meme— something friendly, something you’d tease him for— but he always backed out at the last minute. 

Lando could hide in the garage all he wanted, but one thing remained true: he missed you like hell.

He missed the way you’d talk to him, like he wasn’t something broken. Missed how you’d be his escape from reality, much more than his garage ever was. Missed how easy it had started to feel, until he complicated it.

He kept seeing you everywhere or maybe he was just finding any excuse to take a moment to stop and think of you. He’d catch himself standing in the cereal aisle, staring at the brand you liked most. Or outside a bakery, reading the chalkboard sign that said banana bread in funky script, thinking of how he’d come downstairs in the morning to find you baking it.

Lando tried his best not to feel it— the regret, the grief, the overwhelming love.

Yet, despite his best efforts, he found himself staring at his lockscreen, a picture of the two of you on it. You were asleep tucked into his side, so serene and peaceful that he couldn’t help but snap a picture. He did this on nights he couldn’t sleep.

It was already two in the morning and his mind was running wild, he could’ve sworn he hallucinated a message from you. He checked his phone again, seeing the message and just as he’s about to click on it, your contact pops up on his screen.

Lando doesn’t hesitate to answer, pressing the green button immediately. “Hello?”

On the other end, you’re locked in a bathroom at Mason’s house, mascara running down your cheeks, dress hitched way too high up your thighs. You didn’t anticipate this night to go so wrong when all you were trying to do is move on from wallowing at home.

The party, at some point, became too much. Too many people, too much noise, too many bodies brushing past you like you didn’t exist— except for the one who did notice you and in all the wrong ways. 

Mason caught you in the hallway, snaking an arm around your waist as he led you upstairs to his bedroom. You thought he was being nice, like he had been for the past few weeks. It was only when he started softly caressing your thighs, face inching closer to yours, that you realised his intentions. He didn’t stop, even when you were pushing and screaming at him to go away. 

You found a pause in his movements, kicked him somewhere that distracted him long enough for you to run out of the room and lock yourself in the nearest bathroom. Your fingers trembled when you opened your phone.

There were people you could’ve called. People who would answer and help. But you didn’t want people, only him.

When the phone rang once, then twice, you started doubting your choice of calling him. But then, his voice cuts through the chaos in your mind and silences it all with just one word. 

His voice was rough with surprise, tired, laced with something so familiar yet so distant. 

You didn’t mean to cry again, but it spilled out of you without warning. “I— fuck, sorry. I shouldn’t have called.”

“Wait— hey, no— what’s wrong?” Lando sat up in his bed, alarmed by the trembling of your voice. “Where are you?”

“At a party,” you mumbled, wiping your tears uselessly. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

“I’m glad you called me,” he answered, no hesitation. “I’m coming to get you, text me the address?”

“No, I shouldn’t have called. I— I’m sorry.”

“Give me the address.” Lando says more sternly. You read it out and he repeated it back, like he was memorising it. “Stay there. You don’t have to explain a thing to me, just stay in that room and don’t open the door unless it’s me, okay?”

Then the line went dead.

You sunk to the floor, phone in your lap, arms around your knees. The minutes stretched painfully. Music blared, people walked by, someone knocked once but you told them to fuck off without even glancing at the door.

Then, barely ten minutes since the call ended, you hear a knock. Softer, rhythmic, familiar.

“It’s me,” he yelled over the music. You opened the door and there he was— messy haired, hoodie half-zipped, cheeks flushed like he ran the whole way there.

Lando saw your mascara-streaked face and something in him cracked open. He didn’t ask, not immediately. He just shut the door behind himself, reaching a hand out as if to ask for permission to touch you. And when he pulled you into him, arms shielding you, you let yourself break. 

“I’m so fucking sorry,” you mumbled into his, now tear and mascara stained, hoodie. “I shouldn’t have called you, it’s too soon, I’m–”

“Stop,” his voice was quiet, but firm. He took your face into his hands, guiding your eyes towards him. “You called, I came. I always will.”

“I didn’t wanna be a burden.”

He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. “You’re not. Not ever.”

Lando tucked you back into his chest again, hand on the back of your head like he’s anchoring you there. “Don’t worry about too soon or too late, I’m here for you. Doesn’t matter when or where.”

You nodded, inhaling shaky breaths until the ache in your chest became small enough to handle. Lando’s eyes traced your face when you pulled away, thumbs softly wiping the mascara from under your eyes. “Who did this to you?”

You bit your lip, not wanting to say anything. But Lando knew you. He knew how to read you, how to understand what you wanted to say even without words. “Mason?” A nod from you was all it took for Lando to mumble for you to stay there as he burst out the door.

The kitchen was buzzing— music hummed low, drinks were being poured, someone laughed too loudly over the sound of ice cracking in the glass. 

Lando stormed in like a force of nature, his shoulders tense and jaw clenched, a fury in his eyes no one had ever seen before, not even Max. 

Lando didn’t look around at the people in the small space. He moved straight to the kitchen counter, like a bloodhound drawn to the scent of something rotten. 

Mason was there, laughing, surrounded by people too excited for the shots being poured to notice the storm. But Max did. The second he saw Lando, he knew something was up. 

“Lando—“ Max’s callout was too late. Lando had already grabbed Mason by the collar and slammed him face-first into the marble. 

The music abruptly stopped, Mason’s yell echoing in the still air. “What the fuck?”

Lando pulled him back and threw him against the fridge with a bone-rattling bang, the bottle of vodka from Mason’s hands clattering to the ground and breaking at their feet. 

“You sick son of a bitch,” Lando snarled, pressing his forearm against Mason’s throat. “You don’t fucking know when to stop, do you?” 

Mason coughed, struggling. “What the fuck are you on about?”

By now, Max had shoved forward and tried to pry Lando off. “Hey, man—“

“You know exactly what,” Lando spat, eyes not once leaving Mason’s face. “You wanna tell Max what you did to his sister? Why she called me crying and couldn’t even say your name without breaking into a sob?”

Max froze. “What?” 

“She didn’t say no,” Mason tried to defend himself, wide eyed and panicked. “She didn’t say anything— She didn’t stop me.”

Lando punched him. Knuckles to cheekbone, sharp and brutal. Mason’s head whipped to the side with a force strong enough to bring him to the ground, blood already blooming from his lip. 

The whole room stood frozen. Lando hovered over the recovering Mason, before shoving him to the ground with his knee between Mason’s shoulder blades. 

“If I hear that you touched her again or even looked her way, you won’t be just bleeding.” Lando promises. 

Then he leaves, as quickly and quietly as he arrived. Mason’s left on the floor with a fuming Max while Lando finds his way back to you, knuckles bleeding and heart racing triple. 

The cold marble of your kitchen islands spreads coolth along your thighs, grounding you to the present, although your thoughts are elsewhere entirely. The kitchen light buzzing above you doesn’t help with the lingering headache from the party or the ghost of Mason’s hands still roaming your body.

You got home ten minutes ago. 

Lando stands beside you, the heat from his body bleeding into the silence like wildfire, even as he zones out into nothing. His eyes seem so far away, jaw clenched with uncontrollable fury.

“Your knuckles are bleeding,” you murmur, barely a whisper. He doesn’t answer, simply stretches out and closes his fist again, before tucking it into his pocket, like he can hide the violence and anger of tonight. 

He looked wrecked, not just from the fight, but from feeling— jaw clenched, lips tight, eyes narrowed in on the wooden floor. 

“I shouldn’t have called you,” you whispered. “It was selfish and too soon, and I didn’t know what else to do.” 

“Stop,” he said immediately, voice too gentle for how rough and broken he looked. He closed the distance between you, and like testing the waters, he placed a hand on the counter beside you. “Don’t ever apologise for needing me. I’ll always come when you call.”

The dam broke a little at that, tears pricking your eyes. Lando’s finger twitched like he wanted to reach for you, but didn’t know if he could. So you reached for him first— fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie as you pressed your forehead into his shoulder. 

Lando melted around you instantly, arms winding around your waist, pulling you in, holding you against him like you were fragile and precious, and his. 

Neither of you moved for a long time. The house was silent, apart from your quiet gasps for air once in a while. Your heartbeat matched the steady thrum of his and you finally felt like everything was slowly becoming okay again. 

Eventually, Lando pulled away just enough to see your face, but kept you close enough for his fingers to still steadily warm your waist. “Can I clean this up?” He lifted his right hand, nudging his chin towards his knuckles. You nodded. 

He led you to the bathroom and sat against the bathtub’s edge, watching as you hastily looked for the first aid kit. You knelt in front of him, gently cleaning the dried up blood from his knuckles and skin. He hissed once the antiseptic touched an open wound. You didn’t apologise, just looked up and met his eyes, already watching you. “Why?”

Lando turned his head to the side with a questioning hum, “what?”

“You didn’t have to go that far,” you mutter, lowering your eyes to his hand again. “We could’ve just gone home.”

“I did have to,” he shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“You didn’t even think twice, you just went there and…” your voice was quiet, like you’re ashamed. 

“No,” he speaks again, “because it’s you.”

The quiet that settled in didn’t feel heavy anymore— it felt like home again. In the words Lando spoke and the tenderness of your fingers on his wounds, gentle and careful, both of you found your place again. Like two halves of one whole. You were the better half of him and he— of you.

The sun rose outside your bedroom window as Lando lay against your chest and you held him close, with a tight yet tender grip, like he’d disappear if you let go of him again.

“I’m glad you called me tonight,” Lando muttered, lips pressed to your bare chest. “I’m not sure how much longer I would have waited before talking to you again.”

“It was eating me alive,” you admit. “The not knowing whether this was it, whether you’d still want me whenever I saw you next. But I’m glad you do.”

“I always will,” the certainty in his voice, spoken like he knew what he’d feel for the rest of his life, made your heart skip a beat. “Thank you for calling me, again.”

You look down at him, your smile soft and bittersweet.

“Thank you for coming, again.” 

“To you, always.”

[cowboy-corpse]

[geddyqueer]

tidbit tuesday

since the people asked. idk how quickly i'll finish this but here's some 8x17 reaction fic:

"I was homeless," Buck says, as the light turns green. "When I was younger."

He feels, rather than sees, Tommy's gaze linger on him briefly before he takes his foot off the brake. "When you were traveling?"

"Yeah. And for a while in LA, too. Like—I was sleeping inside, but I didn't have a mailing address for a long time. And then I was couchsitting. And then I lived with five other guys, and then I squatted at Abby's for a few months after she ghosted me."

Tommy releases a long breath at that. "The green apartment?"

"Yeah," Buck says.

"Did you ever find a pair of black Chelsea boots? Size 12? In a closet or something? I never got those back from her."

Buck turns to look at him. He's focused very hard on the road. "Were they Red Wings?"

Tommy nods.

"Yeah," Buck says. He remembers the way they were molded to someone else's feet, the way they chafed at his ankle bone, but that they carried him along through the loneliest days back then. "I wore them into the ground."

He realizes, as Tommy bursts out laughing, as he bursts out laughing too, that this is the first time they've actually talked about Abby since the night they broke up. Not like they've had time, in the intervening months. Maybe they'll have time now.

"I'm glad someone was wearing them," Tommy says, when he finally catches his breath. "I'm glad it was you."

He turns onto Bedford Street and slows down.

"The loft was the first place I ever lived that was really mine," Buck says. "Other than the old Jeep, I guess. I lived in that for a couple years. Sometimes I'd find short term rentals, but usually I just slept in the car."

Tommy's hand makes its way across the center console, open and inviting, and Buck slots his hand into it. They're pulling into the long stretch of empty street parking in front of the next house, now. It doesn't look like Eddie's here, but Tommy leaves the driveway empty anyway.

"This place felt like mine for a little while. Not—not anymore."

"Whatever I can do to make my house feel like home, Evan," Tommy says. "For as long as you want to live there. Even if it's just a week, or for—I don't know. Just say the word and I'll do it, okay?"

"What if I want a bunch of flamingos in the front yard?"

"Plastic ones, I hope," Tommy says. "I can't afford to put in a flamingo pond right now."

"But you would do that?"

"If I had the money, and you really wanted it, then yes," Tommy says.

"I don't think I want a flamingo pond," Buck tells him. "Not right now, at least."

"We can table it," Tommy says, and he gets out of the truck.

Buck sighs, and squares his shoulders, and heads once more unto the breach.

[cherrychilli]

18+ Eddie Munson x F! reader, established relationship, oral sex (m receiving), performing sex acts with food Summary: Eddie makes an unusual request when watching you eat your favorite candy gives him an idea WC: 2.7K

A/N: I've got a serious sweet tooth and with it being spooky season and all, I just had to write this. Enjoy!

You'd been doing it for a while now, peering out of your bedroom window to watch the brisk autumn breeze lift withered leaves of orange and brown up high before they fluttered back down and came to rest on your front lawn.

Somehow you were yet to tire of of the sight, feeling both soothed and all cozied up in the blanket you'd plucked from your bed. Draping it around your shoulders, you wrapped the rest around your middle while you stood there, creating a cocoon of warmth as you watched more fallen leaves tumble along the yard before the wind blew them up high again.

You liked this time of year more than others, content with quietly soaking up all the little sights and sounds Autumn had to offer when the sound of your cellphone rattling on your desk takes you out of the peaceful scene.

Crossing the room before you miss it, you see the name displayed on your screen and that alone is enough to make you smile, happily swiping to answer his call.

You'd been set on spending the day at home and all bundled up when only three minutes into the call and he manages to tempt you out of your cocoon. Eddie was always good at convincing you like that, this time inviting you over for a lazy evening at his place. He makes promises of a B horror movie classic shoved into the VCR to entertain you both and more importantly, a bowl full of your favorites to fill your belly.

Swallowing as you salivate, you promise to be there in no more than fifteen minutes, managing a quick change of clothes before you take off for the trailer park with your tummy rumbling all throughout your drive there.

By the time you arrive with five minutes to spare too, the once bright flamingo sky had started to dull into a dark raven, the stars and moon soon to follow as you step out of the car and make your way over.

Treading towards the trailer your eyes settle on something both new and familiar, a big smile breaking out on your face when you get a little closer and recognize the carved pumpkin sitting out on the Munson's doorstep.

Eddie and you had made it together a few days before, the two of you trying your best but ultimately struggling. The task was so much harder to complete than than it looked, leaving the both of you fed up and more than a little sick of the earthy scent of pumpkin that clung to your fingers.

You assumed he'd have thrown it in the trash but seeing it now, with its flame flickering gently, you found the misshapen, jagged edges framing the jack o lanterns grin oddly charming and not the disaster you thought it'd be. What's more, you liked that he cared enough to still display it proudly as a symbol of your joint effort.

Skipping up the stairs, you find the door already unlocked for you as the knob turns and you step inside, nearly bumping into Eddie in the middle of drawing the curtains shut. He takes a quick pause to kiss you hello, his lips tasting of sticky sweet strawberry before he finishes flicking the lights off to view tonight's horror movie.

"Take a seat, babe", he tells you, hurrying into the kitchenette and back with a few sodas.

You step towards the couch though you hang on the way he smiles at you, just as you had with the your gaze trained on the leaves rustling along on your lawn.

You can't help noticing the way Eddie's cheeks have begun to fill out from the frequent snacking he's done this month, not to mention the way his stomach has rounded out a bit underneath his t-shirt, the sleeves fitting more snugly around his biceps too as do his jeans as they show off the thickness of his thighs.

It's a subtle, chubby layer that makes a quiet urge brew inside you, wanting to wrap yourself around him and feel all the places he's turned softer before kissing him hard all over.

All in good time, you think to yourself, taking your place on the couch while Eddie feeds a copy of Basket Case into the VCR.

Propping your elbows on your thighs, your chin resting in your palms, you lean forward to peruse the evening's offerings sitting on the table in front of you, grinning excitedly at all the treats crowding the bowl.

"As promised my dear lady", Eddie gestures to the bowl when he catches you looking, walking back to the couch to sit by you with a playful quirk of his eyebrow.

There's enough candy inside to cause a spill if you're not careful, the top layer alone filled with so many kinds, all different flavors and sizes. You realize you're completely spoilt for choice when your eyes wander all over, roving over cherry sours, peanut butter bars, strawberry bon bons, grape sweetarts and many many more.

"Eds, this is too much", you chuckle, poking a strawberry twizzler resting at the very top of the pile.

Without missing a beat he's quick to flash you one of his best smiles, wide and warm, enough to make the coldest parts of you melt. "Just wanted to treat my favorite girl", he winks back.

That earns him another kiss, one he's more than happy to receive when you pull him closer and press your lips to the full apple of his cheek, his heart somersaulting from the quick little show of affection.

"Thank you", you tell him sincerely, giggling when you notice the sparkle glittering in his eyes.

"Oh come on. It's the least I could have done", he adds sheepishly.

With that settled, your fingers twitch as you turn your attention back to the candy, trying to decide on what you should unwrap first before you settle on a packet of pink starbursts.

The first hour passes without a hitch after that, your thigh warm against Eddie's while the two of you juggle watching the movie, making cracks at it and snacking on everything sweet and sour.

A little pile of empty candy wrappers accumulate beside the bowl during that time, still quite a bit to get through even with Eddie's help. By this point you'd sucked on many a lemon head, chewed every kind of bubble gum and bit into the occasional gooey caramels that had you sucking the stubborn leftovers still clinging to your back teeth. You fed some into Eddie's mouth too, making him happier and happier to know how much you're enjoying his little gift.

So much so that he'd begun to watch you out of the corner of his eye from time to time with quiet fascination, watching you pick a new candy and munch on it before you moved on to another.

It must be the way you're pressed up against him and the way you sweetly kiss his fingers to clear the occasional dusting of powdered sugar or smudge of gummy cherry lingering on him because he's just about lost all interest in the movie playing on TV.

He can't help but note the way your soft, sweet lips fit around each piece of candy as you place them in your mouth, your cheeks growing full and puffing out until you've chewed enough to swallow. He's transfixed on the way your tongue wraps around every lollipop, the way you suck suck suck on every sour candy, every movement of your mouth conjuring the kind of thoughts he ought to keep to himself.

That is until he feels you shift beside him.

Your eyes are coyly set on the TV like you're yet to notice Eddie's gaze on you, or at least he had thought so. He knows what's coming next when his eyes fall to his lap, your hand resting there casually, lightly grazing his dark jeans as you inch it higher and higher towards his crotch when suddenly he croaks out, "Babe? it's not that I don't want it- its just...I have this... idea and I want to run it by you first."

The movie is entirely forgotten at this point, still playing in the background and keeping the trailer lit as you listen attentively, eyes blinking up at Eddie when he finally spits it out.

"You want me to do what?", you ask, half taken aback, half ready to chortle.

"You think it's stupid, don't you?", he asks, his lips drooping into a little frown.

"I didn't say that", you tell him, huffing out a laugh through your nose when he lights up again like fireworks.

"It's just that it's not every day that I get asked to suck your cock with a mouthful of pop rocks, you know?"

Eddie lets out a weak laugh, shaking his head when he realizes how his proposition must sound to you.

"Yeah. You're right. I'm sorry, let's just forget the who-"

"Woah woah, slow down-", you quickly bring your face up to his, pressing your index finger at his lips to silence him, your gaze locked on his bambi brown eyes. You let your other hand scale his thigh just as before, this time making it to his crotch where you rub your palm firmly over the girth of his stiffening bulge. "-and take your pants off for me, Munson."

~

A weathered couch cushion keeps your knees from feeling sore, your palms pushing gently at Eddie's hairy, bare inner thighs to make room for yourself between his legs.

"Y' ready?" you ask him, peppy with excitement when you retrieve the little packet of cherry pop rocks from the half empty bowl of candy, bringing it up to your mouth to rip it open with your teeth.

You can tell that the sight of you like this is only making him even more eager judging by the way his cock twitches against his soft, pudgy belly, leaving a messy streak of precum along his skin.

"Keep doing stuff like that and I might finish before you even get started", he chuckles lightly.

Exchanging smirks, you take that as your cue to part your lips and tip the little packet of pop rocks into your mouth, the taste of sweet, tangy sugar fresh on your tongue.

The contents crackle and pop there, tickling the inside of your cheeks and the roof of your mouth too. Setting the packet aside, you wrap your fingers around Eddie's girth. With one last look at his blushing mauve cheeks and his wide, unblinking eyes, you open your mouth the point you know that your jaw will be sore later. Not that you cared, gently fitting his cock inside your waiting mouth.

"Oh god- o-oh fuck ngh...baby!"

You can only imagine what it must feel like for Eddie, your eyes fixed on the way his own squeeze shut and his teeth bite into his lower lip. For a second you even worry he might be in pain as you watch him closely, concern taking over you as you try to remove your mouth from him but Eddie moves quicker than you can.

He works a trembling hand into your hair to keep you situated. The feeling undoubtedly intense, he still manages to guide you up and down his candied shaft gently, enough to make you hum with relief as you refocus your efforts on making him feel good.

The confection continues to crackle and pop pleasantly in your mouth, tickling the back of your throat when his tip nudges you there. His entire cock is sweet to the taste as you bob and slurp thoroughly all over him, the fruity scent of cherry blending with Eddie's natural musk permeating from the untrimmed hair at his base. You liked the way it brushes your nose when you take him in deep, making sure to breathe in the scent in deep, slow breaths.

As for Eddie, the gentle motion of you tasting every inch of him makes him squirm on the couch, your saliva turning thick with the addition of the candy, a sugary syrup of sorts that tints your lips and his dick in a matching shade of rosy red.

Among the many expletives running through his mind, Eddie curses himself for not having thought of this sooner but more importantly he thinks of how he'll be returning the favor later, dead set on finding a way to give you the same kind of pleasure you're so eagerly giving him.

Comfortably perched between his legs, you take in every sigh that falls from his lips, every groan and moan that makes you tingle from the base of your spine to the top, every breathy call of your name sounding more sweeter than the last.

"Keep looking at me...yeah, that's it...need to...shi- you look so fucking perfect right now"

As much as it fills your chest with sunny warmth to hear that, you want to tell him that you feel the same way too, that you've never set your eyes on anything as beautiful as how he looks right now.

If your mouth wasn't so full with him you'd tell him how much you adored his flushed cheeks, his swollen lips and the way his sweat makes his skin glisten but something tells you that he already knows, both of you able to convey your understanding through looks alone.

So when you begin to swirl your tongue around the tip of his cock like a lolly you can tell by his pinched expression and increasingly choppy breathing that his climax isn't far off but he makes sure to tell you anyway,

"Not gonna last long, angel...", he lets out a low, pretty whine, "that mouth of yours...fuck...'s damn near dangerous"

You fight off a small laugh as you beam with pride. How could you not after receiving such praise? practically smiling around Eddie's cock as you suckle him softly.

"Wanna watch you swallow it. Wanna see it in your mouth- all full of it. C-can you do that for me? m' almost there"

As much as you'd like to run your tongue along him just a little longer, feeling him twitch and pulse in your mouth you oblige, slowly sucking your way up to his tip and letting it go with an audible pop.

Taking a moment to rub at your tired jaw, you notice all the tiny leftover specs of candy yet to dissolve coating his glossy, throbbing length, your own mouth still containing a few globs of pop rocks.

There's no time to ask if you could lick them clean, reading the urgent expression on Eddie's face with ease and dutifully opening your mouth for him. He takes over by holding his dick and stroking himself quickly, his reddened tip resting on your red stained tongue.

All it takes is a few, quick strokes until his breath stutters and his body shudders, his thick cum spurting so much and so far you feel the creamy ropes splatter some of your teeth and hit the back of your throat where it then begins to slide down, triggering you to swallow.

While you swish and taste the leftover candy cum combination in your mouth, Eddie damn near blacks out from pumping his load into your mouth, his vision turning spotty before he's able to focus on you again. Chest heaving with deep, shaky breaths, he watches in mute amazement at the way you insatiably lap up his tangy spend, raising a curious eyebrow at you when instead of getting up off your knees, you turn to fiddle with the candy bowl instead.

Though it feels impossible, you find a way to breathe more life into his spent body so quickly after making him cum and no one's more surprised about it than Eddie. His stomach flutters and his cock begins to twitch back to stiffness when he sees what you've got a hold of and Eddie realizes with glee that the night is nowhere near over.

Holding up two packets in each hand as you smile up at him from between his legs, you ask him,

"So which do you want me to try next? watermelon or blue razzberry?"

[arkofangels]

Beach Episode Imagine

Pairing: Hank(s) x reader

Summary: The Hanks want a beach day. You want to survive it. There’s sunscreen, a sandcastle war, and one heartfelt group moment just before sunset. Mostly, there’s love.

a/n: something quick and simple for today, also I feel that im kind of legally required to write at least one fanfic before bed. also suggest more characters I should write for. (surprisingly I have one for Doug in my drafts)

It starts like most of your adventures do—with one of the Hanks bursting into the room wearing something absolutely uncalled for.

“TA-DA!” Hank 3 announces, twirling in a banana-print swim trunks, matching shades, and a sunhat that says "LIFE'S A BEACH."

You blink. “Why.”

“Because,” he says, beaming, “we’re going to the beach.”

You’re not sure how the Hanks managed to schedule, plan, and pack for a beach trip without telling you—but when you stumble into the living room, there are already seven Red Bowls full of snacks, three umbrellas, two inflatable flamingos, and one extremely detailed binder labeled “Sun Safety & Group Sand Strategy – Hank 2 Edition.”

“Did you guys… borrow my car?”

“We upgraded it with a speaker system,” Hank 1 says, sliding on driving gloves like this is Fast & Furious: Hanger Drift. “Don’t ask how.”

The second your feet hit the sand, things immediately unravel.

Hank 5 tries to befriend a seagull. Hank 4 gets in a passive-aggressive towel turf war with a six-year-old. Hank 2 sets up a shade tent that somehow collapses into a modern art installation. Hank 3 challenges you to a “sunscreen fight” and ends up smearing SPF 50 on your nose like a very flirty lifeguard. Hank 1 disappears with a boogie board and a thousand-yard stare.

And yet… you’re laughing through it.

-----------------------------

You team up with Hank 2 and 5 to build a sandcastle “so emotionally stable it should be in therapy.” Hank 1, 3, and 4 immediately declare war on it. There’s yelling. There’s betrayal. There’s a dramatic “storm surge” via cooler water. You and Hank 5 pretend to mourn your castle like fallen royalty. It ends with everyone soaked and sandy and holding hands in a peace circle while Hank 2 gives a speech about erosion.

“Nothing lasts,” he says, dramatic as ever. “But this moment? This weird, beautiful, sunscreen-slick moment? It’s ours.”

As the sky melts into orange and gold, the chaos simmers down. You all sit on towels, wrapped in oversized hoodies and still picking sand out of your shoes.

Hank 3 lays his head in your lap. Hank 2 rests against your side. Hank 4 is drawing a tiny heart in the sand with his finger. Hank 5 is feeding bits of sandwich to a hermit crab. Hank 1 just watches the horizon like he’s memorizing it.

“I’m glad we did this,” you say, voice soft from sun and joy.

“We needed it,” Hank 1 nods.

“Next time,” Hank 2 mutters, “we should bring four shade tents.”

“Next time,” Hank 3 grins, “we should rent a yacht.”

“Next time,” Hank 5 whispers, eyes wide, “we should adopt the crab.”

"We are not adopting another sentient thing ," Hank 2 groans.

The crab blinks.

Hank 3 leans toward it. "Are you... emotionally available?"

You facepalm. The hermit crab retreats into its shell.

And just like that, you're back to laughing again.

[sp0o0kylights]

Part Two / Part Three

Ao3

It's 8:45 am. 

The Red Barn, which is neither red nor a barn, has been open since 7, catering to the early morning crowd with rounds of coffee and pancakes.

It was no Benny's, but given the size of Hawkins and the lack of alternatives?

No one was complaining. 

They were all too happy someone had opened up another watering hole for the working class man (or lass, as Foreman Shelly will dutifully remind you) which meant the place was packed with both day and night shift regulars, passing each other in staggered waves. 

It also meant Wayne was sharing the packed breakfast counter with a warehouse worker by the name of John Cheese on one side and Police Chief Jim Hopper on the other.

He doesn't mind it.

Wayne's a man on a budget thinner than his shoelace, but he's also a man who understands that small indulgences need to be made in life or you didn't truly live it.

This is how he convinces himself to get a coffee at the Barn after work everyday, reading the morning newspaper and chatting with the other regulars before he heads home.

Bonus, it gets him out of the rapid-fire franticness that is his nephew in the mornings.

(All the love in the world wouldn't change the fact that all that Eddie came with a lot of noise. 

The kind of noise that was a tried and true recipe for a headache right after a long shift.)

As a trade off, Wayne went to bed early so he could wake up in time for dinner with Eddie.

 It was a nice little system that worked for them. 

A routine Wayne was reminiscing fondly on, when the pager on Chief Hopper started to chirp. With a sad moan, the man fished out a few crumbled bills and threw them on the counter, abandoning his coffee to trudge out to his truck.

This was not unusual.

Particularly recently, given they were but a scant few weeks past that whole mall ordeal. A fact all too easy to remember when one caught sight of the Chief’s still healing face. 

What was unusual, was when he came storming through the doors a minute later, face now a furious shade of red with his hat clenched in his hand. 

The energy in the room shifted, taking on something a little watchful as Hopper swept his gaze from side to side, like a dog on the hunt.

Judging by the way he stilled when he caught sight of Wayne, the latter assumed he found what he was looking for and could only pray it was the person behind him. 

(He liked John, but Wayne had enough trouble this year and he wasn't looking for any more.) 

"Munson." Hopper called, striding over and dashing all his hopes. There was a choked fury emitting off him, and given the way John audibly scooted his chair away, Wayne knew everyone had clocked it. 

"Chief." Wayne greeted, inclining his head towards him.

Idly he wondered what the hell his nephew had done this time.

'So help me if he stole all the town's lawn flamingos and put them in that damn teachers yard again….'

Wayne didn't even get to finish his threat, the Chief was already next to him. 

"Mind if I have a word outside?" 

Dammit Eddie.

"Ah hell, what's he done now?" Wayne asked with a sigh, eyeing the coffee he had left morosely. 

There was still almost half of it left and the pot had tasted fresh for once. 

"What?" Hopper said, and then Wayne got to watch as the man ran through an entire chain of thoughts, each one punctuated by things like; "Oh," and "No. " 

"This is something else." He finished, flushed and fidgeting, anger making him antsy. 

Wayne stared up at him. 

"Something else?" He repeated, not sure he heard.

"Yes, something else." Hopper snapped impatiently, before leaning forward, voice dropping low. "This doesn't involve your nephew, but we both know you owe me for how many times I've let that kid off, Wayne. That's a damn big favor I've been doing you and I'm calling it in." 

If it were any other cop, it'd sound like a threat.

It was Hopper though. The same Hopper who Wayne had gone to school with.

They'd never been friends exactly, but they had been friendly and remained so. Even now, after Wayne had taken Eddie in, who’d gone on to be an undeniable pain in the local PD’s ass. 

Hopper really did let the kid off easy. 

Wayne really did owe him. 

So he put down his coffee with a sigh, passed his newspaper over to John and stood up, motioning for Hopper to lead the way. Got into the Chief’s truck when he waved him in, and didn’t make a big fuss when Hopper tore out of the parking lot like hell was about to open up under them. 

"Not a lot of the kids involved in the mall fire could be identified, but a few of them were." Hopper started, which felt nonsensical given the utter lack of context. 

Wayne hummed to show he’d heard. 

“Some of them got banged up more than others, and a lot of people wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t make it.” 

A pause, Hopper white knuckling the steering wheel as he swung the truck hard around a turn. 

“For certain people, those kids dying is the preferred outcome.” 

A mix of fear and warning swopped low in Wayne’s gut. 

"Jim." Wayne said, dropping the use of a last name because if any situation called for it, it was this one. "What exactly are you saying here?" 

The Chief chewed on his split lip. 

"I know you're smart, Munson. I know you, and plenty of others are aware that something's happening, been happening in this town." 

Which was a hell of an understatement if you asked Wayne. Plenty of the upper classes might be able to bury their heads when it came to the military parading about and the flow of “accidents” they brought in their wake, but then, they didn't see all the other signs of trouble. 

The absolute oddity that was Starcourt’s construction. 

How it had been built using primarily outside crews and anyone who'd taken a singular look at the site could tell you they were building it weird. 

Weird as in it looked like it would have a multi-level basement, and not what a mall should have. 

Then there were the constant electrical problems. The backups upon backups that failed. The late night delivery vans headed out to the Hawkins Lab. 

The things in the woods that kept spooking all the deer and the weird markings they left behind that unnerved even the hardest of hunters. 

This didn’t even touch the Russian military that more than one reputable person swore was hanging around. 

The very same Wayne himself had seen, on more than one occasion. 

(And you couldn’t deny it; those boys were military. Past or present, it didn’t matter. They moved like a threat, and Wayne treated them like one, staying well clear.)

"Yeah." Wayne admitted. "I also know better than to stick my nose in it." 

"That makes you a smarter man than me.' Hop complained under his breath, but the anger was self directed. 

"The point is, there are some government types crawling around, doing shit they shouldn't be doing, and more than a few of them are in the business of making people disappear.” 

This was absolutely not where Wayne had thought this was going. 

Hopper took a breath. Than another.

A third.

It was starting to make Wayne nervous, in a way he hadn’t felt since a social worker had brought Eddie to him for the last time and final time. It was the feeling that things were about to shift in a way that would change the course of his life. 

"Steve Harrington is sitting in my office right now, beat to absolute shit.” Hopper admitted.

Wayne gave him the floor to talk, letting him go at his own pace without interruptions. 

“He's there because some of those government types finally figured out his parents are never fucking home.” 

Wayne sucked in a breath. 

"We both know his parents, Wayne. Harassing them to come back and take care of their kid won't work, and frankly, I’m beginning to think all the phone lines are tapped anyway.” He winced here, like voicing such a thing pained him, and Wayne understood.

It sounded a little too out there, a little like he was buying into a conspiracy. 

Except he wasn’t. Wayne knew he wasn’t. 

Jim Hopper might have been an alcoholic, a man living in pain and unconcerned with his own life, but if there was one thing he was solid for, it was shit like this.

He didn’t jump to conclusions. Didn’t believe the first thing people told him. Even at his worst, he did the work to see what was really happening, and made his decisions from there. 

(Even if that decision was to accept the occasional bribe, or drive an intoxicated 13 year old Eddie home instead of hauling his ass into the drunk tank.) 

“Harrington won’t admit it, but he’s got a hell of a concussion if not a full blown brain injury and he’s not reacting as well as he should to Suites trying to run him off the road.” Hopper continued. Angrily, he added, “Damn kid didn’t even come to me until they tried to break into his house last night.” 

His fingers squeezed the wheel so hard Wayne heard the leather creak in protest. 

“I’d take him, but my cabin is being renovated from…” He trailed off, heaving a sigh.

 “A storm, so me and my kid are bunked with the Byers right now and we’re full up.” 

Hawkins hadn't had a storm like that in years, but Wayne wasn't going to call him out on the blatant lie. 

“I need a place to stash him for the next few weeks, until I can work with some of the higher ups sniffing around, and get them to call off their attack dogs.” 

“And you want to stuff him with me.” Wayne finished. 

“I know you don’t have the room.” Hopper admitted easily, stopping his truck at a red light and locking eyes with the other man. “But I also know you’ll be the last place anyone would look for him.” 

'Ain’t that the damn truth.'

“You’re really gonna go this far for a Harrington?” Wayne asked, instead of the million of other questions leaping to the forefront of his mind. 

This one, he figured, was the most important. 

“He’s not his dad.” Hopper said, as firm as Wayne had ever heard him. “He’s not either of his parents, and he saved my little girl.” 

Wayne hadn’t even known Hopper had another little girl, but he also knew better than to ask where the guy had found one. 

It wasn’t his business, just as nothing else Jim was involved in, was his business.

Except, apparently, Steve Harrington. 

“I’m gonna need my own truck if I’m takin' Harrington home.” Wayne said easily, instead of bothering to ask anything else.

If Jim said the kid was different than his daddy, then he was--because when it came to things like that, Jim didn't lie.

No point in it. 

“I know. Just needed to talk to you first, without anyone overhearing.” Jim said, before swinging the police truck around and heading back to the Barn. 

“I’ll stay in contact with you, and I’ll make sure Harrington pays you for the pleasure of your hospitality. Just--” Here Jim cut himself off, looking like he was struggling an awful lot with the next thing he wanted to say. 

Once again, Wayne waited him out.

“Don’t let Steve fool you. He’s good at fooling people, letting them think he’s okay. Too good at it, and between the two of us, I have a real good idea of the reason why.” 

A memory came to Wayne unbidden, of Richard Harrington and Chet Hagan, beating some poor kid in the highschool bathroom bloody. The grins on their faces as the poor guy wailed for them to stop.

How they almost hadn’t. 

“Alright.” Wayne agreed.

Hopper swung back into the Barn's parking lot, and Wayne moved right to his own beat to shit truck, ready to follow Jim back to the police station.

He wasn’t a praying man, not anymore, but Catholisim wasn’t a thing that let you go easy. 

He found himself sending up a quick prayer, fingers flicking in a kind of miniature version of the sign of the cross. 

Considering his own kid’s history with Harrington, and the sheer small space of the trailer? 

Wayne had a feeling it was needed.

[3cremepie3]

Airhead pt. 1

Synopsis - Riddle Rosehearts x fem reader. Y/n is an idiot and needs help with studying from Riddle! She wants to pay back his kindness in the only way she know how.

Warnings - innocent riddle, lose of innocence, graphic mentions of head lol, premarital sex, cursing, spit, roughness, slutty y/n, bimbo y/n

A/n - I was supposed to start this series so long ago but I got caught up in request. I found this so fun to write and I will be continuing it!

“Hey riddle,” you exclaimed. You pulled him in for a big hug he deserved it for being so generous. He was helping you study for free! “There’s no need for that.” His words were harsh but his smile said otherwise. Whatever you let him go and plopped down on his bed.

“Wow, it’s so soft I can lay here forever.” You will not now up at once,” he demanded. “In order to get optimal study results students sit at desks. I have a perfectly organized one here.” You sighed getting up to sit at his desk. The chair was cool against your ass cheeks that hung out your dress.

It was uncomfortable and for some reason forced you to sit up. “Now let us begin I have tea time to attend to and I’ll leave you for independent study time then.” Okay,” you accepted. The session didn’t even start yet and you were bored. "Yawning already? Did you not get a good night's rest?"

"No, I stayed up all night waiting on a flash sale." Well, that was idiotic,' He claimed. "When your dorm has no AC you make do with what you can get, look isn't it cute."

"My god," Riddle gasped. "Isn't that lingerie women wear that for their husbands and as far as I know you aren't married." You erupted into a fit of giggles. God, he was over dramatic! “Riddle you're too innocent for your own good," you laughed. "I'm just wearing it to bed what's the harm in that?"

"You're right." He cleared his throat and stepped away to grab a hefty text book. "Hand me your phone there must be no distractions." You were hesitant but handed it over. Riddle grabbed a chair and scooted over towards you. Your body moved closer to his wanting to marinate in his scent. "Wow, you smell so nice Riddle like roses."

"Well thank you I make sure to use rosemary oil and- what are you doing get back to reading at once!" He pointed to the paragraph your eyes finished scanning. "I already finished," you pouted. "Fine then let's get started on this written response."

"The teacher wants you to write this in a formal format so no personal perspective." He continued to yap on and on about something that you couldn't bother to hear as you were distracted by the flamingos running across the yard. "Get him." You cheered leaning out the window to watch the mayhem between students and flamingos concur.

In an instant, you flashed him the short dress that you wore hiked up your back. “You mustn’t lean over like everything is showing,” Riddle yelled. He covered his eyes wanting to keep your privacy. “Ace he went that way,” you pointed. You felt the air on your ass and quickly realized what Riddle had been yelling about.

“Oops my ass was out,” you giggled. “It’s not funny Y/n!” Come on Riddle you act like you’ve never seen anyone’s panties before.” He stared at you blankly. “Wait you genuinely haven’t?” His face became rosy red at your question. “Well, not in real life of course.”

“Christ how is anyone this pure,” you wondered. “My mother kept me very sheltered from a lot of things.” So you’ve never watched porn?” He held his head low not meeting your bright eyes. “ How is that your first thought no I have not.” We’ll have you ever had a girlfriend or a side hoe or a hookup?”

“No I don’t have time for any of that,” he admitted. “I guess remaining top student comes with its downfalls.” You frowned for Riddle. You couldn’t imagine not getting laid. Just then you thought of something. “Well, Riddle since you gave me your time helping me study I’ll give you mine in bed?” You watched him awaiting his answer. “But mother says only married couples do that.”

You slapped your forehead out of frustration. “Mother means married couples stick it in. No one said we have to do all of that.” I suppose there’s no harm since it’ll be a fair exchange and as long as it’s done before tea time.”

“Yup just the perfect pace,” you gleamed. Now why don’t we get on the bed,” you suggested. “Alright.” Oh wow Riddle I’m surprised you’re agreeing to this.” Well, you only live once they say.” He propped himself up on his elbows wanting to face you.

“This process is for relaxation you can lay fully down.” He laid back sinking into his many pillows. “Good boy now take off your clothes.” You heard his breath hitch at the thought but his hands were eager to make them come undone. He stopped at his underwear, however. “Need help or something.” Your hand graced over his bulge and then to the band of his boxers.

“I think that would be best,” he admitted. You couldn’t help but notice his hands shaking. “Aww Riddle don’t be nervous. You sat up to give him some kisses on his burning torso. “It’s just a little dick-sucking,” you reminded. “I know but I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Well, then I’ll take things slower if you need it.” You began to kiss him softly he was a beginner after all. The first few were awkward teeth colliding but cute as you shared drool. The next ones were better since you took control catching his tongue in yours. You broke apart letting him catch his breath.

His hands tangled themselves in your hair pulling you back in. You balanced yourself on the bed before pulling your hips over his. Now you straddled his lap and could feel his heat against you. Riddle pulled up your dress which caused a gasp to come from your lips.

“Are you eager now?” Yes.” You looked up to see a riddles face flushed in a shade of scarlet. “Fine then I’m gonna go back down here. You crawled back to his legs making sure to land in an arch. Riddle thought he would lose his mind seeing the peak of your ass on full display. You pulled down his boxers to clearly see his mental state.

“Aww look at you dripping,” you coddled. "You can touch it i see you staring." Oh okay," he hesitated. You felt a hand collide with your ass cheek. He rubbed the flesh gently afterwards although it was an apology. You were gonna let out a protest but his focused face was too cute to pass up. You let a glob of spit coat his tip. You scanned his reaction as it slid down to his base.

His breath hitched at the warmness. Soon your mouth would follow the direction of the spit swallowing him down until you gagged. You exited with a pop making his toes curl. "So how's your first time getting head feel?" Good now continue," he demanded. His hand pushed you down onto his waiting dick.

You felt it twitch in your mouth as your tongue followed every curve every vein its entire being. "Oh my god," Riddle huffed. "Your cocks so cute look at it shake for me." You let it rest and spasm on your cheek. Your face had become wet with spit and his pre but you didn't mind. "Taste so good baby," you mumbled. Riddle could only bite his thumb down in response to holding his moans.

Your hand left his thigh to assist you in pumping him. Your grip was strong bringing his balls to tingle. Your lips noticed as you licked against the masses. And it intensified as you juggled them both in your mouth. He looked down on you astonished at your sinful actions.

Your dress was soaked but you were only just getting started. "Change of plans I want you to throat fuck me." Riddle looked at you like a lost puppy. "What does that mean." After quickly giving him a rundown he got into position. "So like this." He asked while pushing himself into your pulsing throat. Your hand linked themselves on his hips bringing him to push himself even deeper.

Riddle let out a grunt at the sensation of you squeezing around him. "Fuck it's like you're sucking me in." You chuckled you'd never think you'd get to hear Riddle RoseHearts curse. His hips buckled back and forth drilling themselves into you. But you still felt as though he was going to be soft on you.

"Riddle here's your chance to ruin me, to take all anger and stress out on me, to manhandle me. You're a man right then prove it to me." You spoke while scattering cock kisses. Riddle scoffed he was tired of everyone second-guessing him because he was small. "While since you give me permission I shall do my best job at it."

His smile twisted into a cruel smirk. You could tell in his head he had felt as though he was back in charge of the monarchy. While really you were still the dominant you just loved getting throat fucked. His hands raced to grab your neck forcing you to collide with the end of his shaft. You felt his hair tickle your nose while you gagged heavenly.

Riddle couldn't get enough of the vibrations against his core and forced you to stay until he watched your eyes roll back. You coughed greatly after being freed but stars were in your excited eyes as the same fate occurred. You watched Riddle lose himself in the contractions of your throat.

He moaned loudly as he pumped you like a fleshlight. They became whimper and he let out mewls that sounded as though he was crying. It was music to your ears especially when his voice that was sure to go raw yelled "Y/n" a dozen times. If he kept this up your throat would organize his shape forever.

And you wouldn't mind as long as you heard his whimper audio. "So good I think I'm gonna." He tried to give you a warning but it was too late. His cum poured down your throat leaving you to swallow the best you could in the short amount of time you had. The excess liquid spilled down your face and his now empty balls. He finally let go of his grip which allowed you to move away from the monster that was his cock.

You had 100% slayed that beast as he softened in front of your eyes. You pulled the bottom of your dress down ignoring the wet patch your essence had left on his bed. "Now we both held our fair end of the exchange." You spoke your voice raspy while removing your dress and stealing one of Riddle's shirts.

"Yes if you ever need help again be sure to let me know," he exclaimed. "Mhmm I'd love to push things even further. What your mother knows doesn't hurt her Riddle. It's not sin if its secret!”

[sturnioz]

─────── ꒰ THE FRAT WEDDING SERIES ꒱ 3

its the weekend of another frat event — also known as shy!reader and fratboy!chris' fake wedding day.

꒰ part one ꒱ ꒰ part two꒱

you know a frat wedding would be nothing like a real wedding—that you're certain of.

but this...?

yeah... this is something else entirely.

standing at the far end of the long garden behind the frat house, you feel your jaw go slack, and your eyes grow wide as you take in the sight before you: the frat brothers have gone all out in the most chaotic way possible... and you really shouldn't be that surprised.

but holy shit.

the decoration are... dramatic. there's a massive arch made of empty beer cans and red solo cups that stands a bit crookedly at the centre of the garden, draped with plastic flowers and what looks suspiciously like toilet paper. strands of fairy lights—which you're positive are from the christmas box—are thrown across the yard, tangled in the trees and hanging from the house.

a makeshift aisle stretches down the middle, marked with mismatched chairs on either side. some of the chairs are folding chairs, while the others are lawn chairs... beanbags... and bar stools taken from the kitchen.

at the end of the aisle, there's a table draped with a wrinkled white bedsheet, and on top of it sits random items—a plastic tiara, a bottle of vodka, a stack of red cups, and a cake.

the backyard is crammed with people—all of the frat brothers are here, and the usual guests that come to each frat party and event. and god... none of them are no better than the decorations.

they're all dressed differently, like they were given such vague instructions and just ran with it. a few of the boys are in full suits and ties, looking smart, though they're all wearing sneakers with their tux.

others have taken such an opposite route; showing up in crop tops and jean shorts paired with goofy props like oversized sunglasses and inflatables. you're positive there's a brother in a hot dog costume, standing near the makeshift alter like he's been tasked with something super important.

you glance around, teeth gnawing at the bottom of your lip as you try to process the sheer absurdity of it all. it's loud—music blasting from a set of speakers on the porch, a chaotic playlist of all types of songs that gives you a little headache.

your gaze flits over to the 'guests' sitting on either side of aisle. most of them are holding drinks, laughing and talking loudly. a few are already visibly tipsy, and one guy is swaying on his beanbag chair with a lopsided grin, sloshing his drink all over his shorts.

you swallow hard, your nerves growing as you stand there, frozen and overwhelmed by everything that's happening around you. you... want to go home. immediately.

"well.. don't you look pretty," a voice drawls out, and you turn your head to see nate sliding up to your left. he's dressed in a suit and tie, but the effect is completely ruined by the pink flamingo glasses perched on the bridge of his noise.

you peer down at yourself, smoothing your hands nervously over your white babydoll dress that kitty helped pick out. the soft fabric feels light under your fingertips, but your stomach twists with nerves as your hands find each other, fingers fidgeting.

when you finally look back up, nate has pushed the glasses onto the top of his head, his expression a little serious as he studies you.

"y'look like you're gonna puke, bun."

"i... think i might."

"okay, well, let's not do that, yeah?" nate places his hands firmly on your shoulders, giving them a gentle, reassuring rub. his voice softens just a bit as he continues, "look. this shit is all fake, a'ight? s'just for fun. people are only here for the free drinks, anyway."

you twist your lips into a frown, "i'm going to be stared at..." you whisper, your gaze dropping to the ground. "i'm getting—"

"hoooooly shit. what the fuck are you doin' here?"

nate's voice cuts you off, his tone shifting to disbelief, and your eyebrows knit together in curiosity as you glance over your shoulder, your eyes widening when you spot nick strolling up to the two of you.

"you're hilarious if you think i'm going to miss something like this," nick scoffs as he comes to stop in front of you both, adjusting the camera strap hanging around his neck lazily. "but i'm also here to take pictures for my class. smile."

you blink at him, still trying to process the fact that nick—who's made it known that he avoids the frat house as much as he possibly can—has willingly shown up to this event. but his presence comforts you, and you can't help the small smile that tugs at your lips when he lifts the camera to take the picture.

it's been an hour into the event, and you've already spotted chris who is surrounded by a group of familiar and unfamiliar faces, doing his usual business—selling his drugs.

you half expected him to show up in sweatpants and a hoodie, but to your utter surprise, he's wearing a suit. a real suit.

it's not perfect; his tie is slightly crooked, and he's paired the look with a pair on black converses... but he's pulled it off in a way that really works. his hair, messy as always, looks like he's run his fingers through it a dozen times already.

and for some reason, he looks... pretty nice.

you catch yourself staring for a moment too long before quickly looking away, warmth rising to your cheeks. you know better than to admit how good he looks to his face, and you know better than to walk up and interrupt him while he's doing his thing too. so, you stay in place, trying your best to focus on the conversation happening around you with nick, nate, bee, matt and kitty.

you try to participate, chiming in when someone compliments your dress or your makeup, but your attention keeps drifting. and it's super hard not to notice chris out of the corner of your eye, especially when he moves.

he's pushing his way through the crowd, his fingers raking through his hair, tousling it even more, and there's an odd feeling in the pit of your stomach when you realise he's heading in your direction.

"can we get this shit over with?" he grumbles the second he stands beside you, his voice low and rough as he tugs uncomfortably at the tie around his neck, his fingers working to loosen it even more than it already is.

"um..." you glance at him, then at the others in your group, who've all gone quiet as their attention is split between the two of you.

chris doesn't seem to care, his focus is entirely on you, his eyes scanning your face briefly before he runs his tongue across his teeth. "m'serious. let's get this shit over with before i fuckin' lose it."

you bite the inside of your cheek, unsure how to respond. there's some part of you that wants to surprisingly huff at his attitude, but there's another part—the shyness and the uncomfortableness that gnaws at you—that stops you.

instead, you settle for a quiet, hesitant nod. "okay."

nate smarmily grins beside you, clearly having had too much to drink already. "damn, bro... eager to tie the knot already?"

chris shoots him a glare, his jaw tightening. "don't push it."

while the others jab back and forth, you glance down, shifting uncomfortably as everything settles in. it's only fake, you remind yourself. just some stupid frat tradition that you happened to get roped into for 'fun'.

but the way chris stands so close, his shoulder brushing yours... it has you wondering why your heart is suddenly beating so fast.

when the time comes, you find yourself walking down the makeshift aisle, flanked by two frat brothers who are dramatically throwing fake money onto the ground. your ears feel like they're ringing, and your heart pounds so fast it feels like it's trying to escape your chest.

every pair of eyes is glued to you, making your skin crawl with self-consciousness. some people are recording you while others are giggling drunkenly, their laughter echoing. then there are some of the girls, their eyes narrowed into sharp slits as they watch you.

jealousy, kitty had said earlier when she helped you get ready. you were confused, unsure of why anyone would feel jealous about this insane situation. you still don't really understand it, and honestly, you don't really have it in you to find out why.

by the time you reach the end of the aisle, you're standing directly in front of chris beneath the archway, and the sight of him makes you throat tighten. he's looking away from you, his tongue prodding at his cheek in obvious annoyance, and your gaze immediately drops anywhere but his face.

the 'officiant'—another frat brother who's clearly had too much to drink—stumbles forward, holding a plastic clipboard like it's an official document. he slurs his words as he greets everyone to the event, and his speech is filled with jokes, some of which don't even make sense to you, but the crowd eats it up anyway, laughing and cheering him on.

when it's time for the 'vows', all eyes turn to you.

your hands find each other instinctively, your fingers fidgeting as your nerves spike. you try to remember what kitty and bee had told you earlier, their voices encouraging you to keep it light-hearted but kind.

you tell chris that you'll always be there for him—a friend in need—and you try to make it funny in your own way, throwing in small jokes as much as you possibly can. the crowd laughs, their giggles and applause giving you a small boost of confidence, but when you glance at chris, you realise he isn't laughing.

of course he isn't.

his expression remains flat, almost bored, as he stares past you toward the crowd. it's exactly what you expected... but it still stings a little.

when you finally finish your last line, you feel the weight lift off your shoulders as the attention shifts from you to chris, and you let out a small breath of relief, glad to be out of the spotlight.

but that relief is short-lived.

"bun," he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm, and your stomach drops at his next words. "i vow to uh... keep fuckin' you. keep makin' you scream my name."

the crowd immediately hollers, their laughter and applauses erupting so loudly it's almost deafening.

he continues, his words lewd and crude, each one hitting you like a slap in the face. he keeps talking about your sex life in front of people, about how he'll keep making you cum until you're a mess, how he'll always make you squirm and squeal, how he'll keep making your pussy wet and so on.

your face burns hot, and the sounds from the crowd only makes it worse, amplifying the humiliation that's tightening in your chest. you want to disappear, to curl in on yourself—anything to escape what's going on right now.

when he finally finishes, he looks completely unbothered, his hands shoved into the pockets of his pants like nothing just happened.

while the others continue to applaud and cheer drunkenly, your gaze flicks over to your little group. matt, kitty and nick all look visibly annoyed, their expressions dark and displeased while bee and nate wince as they cling to each other, their discomfort clear in the way they exchange uneasy glances.

the frat brother officiant says something, but you barely hear it over the pounding of your own heartbeat. you only flinch slightly when he places a crooked plastic tiara on your head, the cheap plastic awkwardly digging into your scalp before shoving a bottle of vodka into chris' hands.

you don't wait around to hear what happens next. you turn on your heel and push through the crowd of people as they stagger up to chris, their voices fading behind you.

your eyes burn, tears bubbling up and blurring your vision as you rush toward the frat house. you don't know why you're crying. maybe it's the humiliation—the sheer embarrassment of standing there listening to what chris had to say. or maybe it's the frustration of knowing that everyone saw it happen, their laughter like salt in an open wound.

your throat tightens painfully, and for a second, you think you might actually throw up. the thought of seeing anyone—facing anyone—makes your stomach churn violently.

you're almost to the house, just a few steps away from disappearing inside, when a hand suddenly catches your wrist, yanking you back.

before you can even make it inside the frat to be by yourself for a while, a hand latches onto your wrist, pulling you back.

you stumble slightly, your shoes catching awkwardly, and you have to blink through your tears to make out the face in front of you. it's kitty, and she's frowning deeply, her brows furrowing in concern as she holds onto you firmly.

behind her, you catch sight of nick and matt close behind, their expressions unreadable but serious. bee and nate come rushing up a moment later, both panting and out of breath.

you open your mouth to speak, to tell them you're fine—even though you're not—but the words don't come out. instead, kitty steps closer, her hand sliding from your wrist to your shoulder as she gently pulls you into her arms.

her hug is soft but firm, and as soon as her arms wrap around you, something inside you breaks.

your hands grip the fabric of her dress tightly, your fingers trembling as pathetic little whines escapes your lips. you press your face into her chest, trying to muffle the quiet sobs that follow, but it's no use.

you're crying—fully breaking down in her embrace, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.

divider credits. @issysh3ll

@ STURNIOZ

[sour-leminies]

My little Fairy

Pairing: Hook x Fairy F!Reader

Summary: Coming to Merlin Acadamy you grew very close to the pirate with a hook. Everyone had declared you Hook's pirate Fairy. Truth be told, most people couldn't believe how loyal and caring you were to the pirate. So, when you finally snap, for the first time in a long time James didn't have you by his side, and all he knew was he wanted you back. Now.

Warnings: None I can think of, but let me know otherwise.

Taglist: @astrynyx @snixx2088 @4ng3l-ch1ld @herondale-lightworm Just ask to be tagged!

Navigation — other works!

I watched as Bridget and her friends all danced around the court yard - singing and dancing. It was sickening, they were so sweet and yet I couldn't help the part of me that yearned for that kind of friendship.

My only friend was Captain Hook, and if given the chance I'm positive he would have ditched me long ago if not for my help with things. Whenever he wasn't prepared for a test, I'd skip my own class to be in my smaller form tucked away in his shirt - telling him the answers. Or whoever he wanted me to spy on one of his victims he terrorized, I'd do so. Or when he wanted pixie dust, etc. The point was, I'd give my soul for Captain James Hook, and I don't even think he sees me as a friend.

Snapping out of my haze I landed on James's shoulder, whispering in his ear - telling him how Bridget was in the courtyard being all happy. A message he hurried to tell Uliana, before he made his way to the spot. I was still on his shoulder as he entered the courtyard with a dramatic flair.

I remained on his shoulder as he sang and danced, until Uliana turned into a flamingo. Something I couldn't help but smile at. Part of me was jealous of Uliana, and her relationship with James. It looked more intimate than his with Maleficent.

I pulled James through a different door, Maleficent following after us - and we cut the girls off. I now rested on Maleficent Horns. I let out a gasp, that came out like a jingle.

The Vk's all retreated once Uliana ran away - screaming and soaking wet. At least she was no longer a flamingo.

Once everyone cooled down, I was now in my human form laying on my bed, dressed in a nice pretty black dress. My makeup and hair had been done and all I had to do was wait for Hook to get here so we could go to that birthday dinner he promised me.

"Still no Hook?" Maleficent - who was also my roommate asked me. "No, you would think he'd show by now. I mean he's twenty minutes late." I praised the lord that my voice didn't come out as jingles when in my human form. Annoyingly so, only other Faires and James could understand me when I was in my smaller size.

"I hate to say this," my roommate spoke as she sat onto my bed with me. "But maybe he forgot."

I quickly shook my head. No way - he promised me. He had promised. He wouldn't forget me.

Slowly the hours ticked by and by the time it struck eight, two hours after the time we agreed on, Maleficent forced me up, and her hand Hades took me to dinner.

I wanted to cry, but how could I? Just because I love him, doesn't mean he loves me. At that very moment I accept that cold hard truth.

So as Maleficent rubbed my arm, and Hades even pat my head - I had decided that I would stop trying with Hook, it'll never happen anyways.

—

Over the next few days you ignored Hook. You hadn't made the first move to talk to him, and it seemed he had nothing he wanted you to do for him.

When the third day of you ignoring him he grew antsy. He didn't know what the sudden change in you was, but for some very odd reason - he didn't like it.

He walked out of detention - Something he had gotten when he was caught breaking in Merlin's office. His very first thought was that you weren't there. Typically, when he'd get detention - if you didn't sit in there with him in his jacket, then you'd always greet him with a hug once he walked out the doors.

"Yo, Mali." He called out to the mistress of evil. "You heading to your room?"

The dark fairy nodded her head silently, and James took that as an invitation to walk her to her room. Even though he would never admit it, the real reason was so he could check on his little fairy. The one he was now growing worried about.

—

You jumped at the sound of the door opening. Looking up from the books you were reading on your bed, you were surprised to see Maleficent, but also James.

"Hook." You spoke, but kept your voice neutral.

The man couldn't help but flinch at the name you used. You never called him that, you always either used Captain or James. Now he knew somethings wrong.

"We need to talk." Came his short reply, but you weren't dumb, you could see the slow anger bubbling up in his eyes.

You slowly got off your bed, and walked out into the hallway with him. "What's the problem?" You were honestly he hadn't already listed things he wanted done, but you were sure he'd start soon.

"The problem? You tell me. You suddenly ignore me, I haven't seen you in three days - but I know good and well Hades has. So you fucking tell me the problem." His voice was slowly growing louder and louder.

"Hey calm down." You tried to keep your guy's voice quiet - but that only set him off more.

"Calm down?! How can I be calm when you vanished. You were gone." Suddenly both of you stopped. You both could hear the hurt, the insecurity, but most importantly the fear laced in his tone. His chest breathed up and down heavily as he realized just how much he bloody missed you.

"Listen, Hook." "James."

He took a step closer to you, slightly pushing you into the wall as he pushed into you, leaning down to breath you in.

Fuck he felt like an addict who needed a hit, and finally scratched that itch under their skin.

"You call me James." His breath fanned over your face, as he slightly leaned up to get a look at your face.

Part of you loved this, as you placed your hands onto his chest, the open part of his shirt so you both could feel the skin to skin contact.

For James it was like your touch awakened something in him. Something that called for your name. Something in him burned for you.

He leaned down, his breath fanning over your lips. Making you close your eyes in anticipation. Hook didn't was a single second. He dropped his hook from his hand, and placed it onto your cheek, while his other hand grabbed a hold of the back of your neck.

You in this moment couldn't deny you loved this - the feel of his lips on yours, the feel of his wanting you. But it was too late.

He had made it clear that you weren't a priority. And even though bread crumbs of his affection felt like a feast - it wasn't enough. You hand to stand up, You deserve better. Something that Captain hook couldn't give you.

You built your strength and pushed him away. "No."

Hook looked at you confused, did you not just feel what happened between the two of you? Because he was more than happy to give a repeat.

"I deserve better than you." You pushed him again, finally letting the tears out. Letting the tears out of a woman who wanted nothing more than the man she was crying over. "I deserve so much more than what you give me." Which was nothing. You pushed him again and this time he grabbed both your hand and pulled you into him, letting you hit him over and over until you were drained - but never letting go of you.

"You done?" You glared up and him through your pretty wet eyelashes. "Good. Now listen. You will have no one other than me. There will be no other man, woman, I don't give a fuck. Your my little fairy." You went to shake you head. No - maybe once you were his but not anymore.

"You don't even make a priority - how can you say that?" Your voice was horse from the mini break down you had while punching him.

"You are my priority." How could you say you weren't? Even when he though nothing of you, from the first moment he met you he had put you as a priority on his list.

"Ask me about how I spent my birthday three days ago." Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.

You could see the panic cross his face. The regret and self loathing as well. And maybe once upon a time that would be enough, but not anymore.

You pulled yourself away from him and hurried into your room, locking the door.

He banged a couple time before he spoke through the wood.

"I'm sorry, fuck I'm sorry. Sorry can't even explain, let me make it up to you." When he got no response from he, he continued on. "I am sorry about this but we will move past it. Just remember you may think you are free of me, but your are not. I will haunt you, beg for your forgiveness. You want better - I'll be better."

You silently cried while Hook poured everything he had from his heart into his next words.

"I'll be so much fucking better for you, my little fairy. So better."

—

The rest of the entire week, Hook would try his best; he'd bring flowers to you in the morning, he'd always walk you to class - despite how much you told him to leave you alone.

James knew he screwed up, and he hated himself for it. He didn't know what he had and he took it for granted.

He would scowl at Hades and Maleficent when you all were hanging out at the black lagoon.

Just because you and hook were on shaky ground didn't mean you were no less a Vk. Something that the crew grew to respect about you.

Every time you walked past him - not giving him a glance, he felt his chest tighten. He miss how you would cling to him. How you would rest on your shoulder when you felt over stimulated. The way you would accidently spray him with pixie dust, causing him to float.

He missed teaching you sword fighting, and all the basics. He missed you.

"Y/N!" He called out to you, desprate to get your attention. For the first time, since that kiss you didn't glare at him - nor push him away.

Instead it was worse. He felt his stomach grow cold at the neutral and emotionless look in your eyes. At least when you hated him you still cared. Now he didn't know. Your walls were up so high - it's shadow could darken a valley.

"Yes Hook?" He closed his eyes, shaking off the feeling he had.

"First, it's James. Second, will you go to dinner with me." You opened your mouth to disagree but he covered it before you could make a sound.

"Don't say no." He could hear his heart pounding in his head. "Just come. Meet me at Dip and Go dinner tonight at eight."

He dropped his hand from your mouth, and he found his courage to speak his next words.

"If you don't come I'll leave you alone." He would not, but he needed to know that deep down he still had a chance. And if he didn't have one then he would spend the rest of his life fighting for one.

He walked away, nervous for the reality check that he would soon face tonight.

—

The clock on your dorm wall ticked, and ticked. Each second growing closer to eight. The diner was an hour away and if you were to make it in time you should be leaving now.

But you just couldn't. You were too afraid. You weren't a fool, you could tell James was sorry, and regretful, but you didn't know if you could trust him.

He had unknowingly held your heart - and then crushed it. What would he do if he had known how much you cared for him? Would he treat you different?

"You should go." You looked over to the dark fairy, you had thought she was out with Hades.

"I'm scared." You had once thought James was your only friend, but Maleficent and even her boyfriend proved me wrong. "That's what makes it worth it."

She walked over to your bed, sitting down beside me before she carried on. "If you even have a chance for love then it's worth it to fight. And if you decide that he's not worth it, then at the very least you owe it to yourself to find closure." Maybe she was right.

—

Hook glanced at the clock on the wall of the diner, it said eight forty, and he knew that she wasn't going to show. He blew his shot. He wanted to throw the glass Infront of him, the one where he poured rum into it.

He had decided to dress nicely, wore his best clothing, even left his hook at home. He wanted to look his best for you - to show you he could be a good guy for you.

He had already paid for his drink, so he left a twenty bill on the table and walked out. He would wait longer, but he could tell the employees had wanted him out.

He felt like he couldn't breathe as he walked down the path, he wanted to take you on. The trees lit up with beautiful fireflies at night, and it was a view he wanted to share with you.

His vision blurred, and his chest breathed up and down, as his heart ached, pounded. He had no problems with ripping his heart out for you, but fuck, all he needed was you. He felt like a fool - not because you didn't show, but because he was too self-absorbed and if he had opened his eyes from the beginning thing would be different.

He was a villain, and villains don't get happy endings. He knew that he could never have you, simply because you were his happy ending.

He stopped walking, as he tried to calm his heart with his shaking hands. Was he having a panic attack?

"James!" He heard your voice scream out his name, as you started to run to him. Fuck, he didn't care if he was dying as he ran to you with all the speed he could muster.

Once you were at arm's length you jumped into him, and he wrapped his arms around you as tight as he could. Loving the smell that invaded his senses with open arms.

You were late, he didn't know why, nor did he care. You were here with him. That single thought caused him to break. He couldn't hold onto his sobs anymore.

He thought he lost you because of himself. He thought he would spend his entire life alone - longing for the feel of you. He thought that truly lost you. Every part of him rejected that. He couldn't live with that.

He felt his knees start to weaken as he fell to the ground, you still in his arms and he clanged to you crying. You felt your heart break once again - and all you wanted was for your pirate to feel better. You kiss the top of his head, rubbing his back as he let all his fears out, all his emotions.

"I... I love you so so so much." He heaved out, his breath making him repeat. "And I'm... I'm sorry." He was and even you knew that. You were tired as well.

You pulled his face away from your neck, and for a moment he fought you - thinking you were once again going to push him away. You rubbed you thumb across his cheek as you looked into his beautiful eyes. His brown eyes were bloodshot red from the crying, and his eyeliner had started to smidge. His eyelashes soaking together, his lips trembling as he tried to get himself together.

"I forgive you." You whispered out, before pushing your lips against his soft, and wet ones. It was a small, and short kiss, but it was full of the love you had for him. The love he felt like he no longer deserved.

"I'm sorry." His voice came out like a while as more tears dropped from his eyes.

"I forgive you." You whispered once again, and this time he initiated the kiss. Soft, craving, and you could feel his sorrow. Despite the fact he was kissing you, you could still feel him begging for forgiveness.

"I love you." You told him, and while that's all he wanted to hear. He no longer felt like that was the case. How could you love him when he hated everything about himself? How could you forgive him, when he's still kicking his own ass.

"I love you two, my little fairy." Fuck his voice broke again as he rested his forehead against yours. You also couldn't help but cry as well.

—

James kept his promise. He did become better for you, and only you. He was still a villain, but he was a gentleman to you. He kissed you every time he saw you, gave you flowers every month when your old ones would die.

He did everything he could to become a good enough person for you, and while daily you'd reassure him how happy you are - he couldn't get your heartbroken face out of his mind.

He'd have nightmares of you leaving him all alone. You loved him, and he didn't feel worthy of it, but he'd be damned of someone else had it. He was still a villain.

The first moment where he finally felt okay to breath was when you told him the future you wanted with him. You had wanted a future with him. Him.

You wanted three kids, three girls, and you would love to watch him become a father as you all lived on his ship.

When you were all banished to the Isle of the lost, he hated himself for getting you stuck there, but you'd remind him you'd rather be with him then in some land without him.

When you first got pregnant, he couldn't help but be so joyous of the boy in your stomach. He never told you he wanted a son, but you knew so you also felt happy.

You had named him Harry, after James repeatedly told you he couldn't think of one. The second born was a girl, and you demanded he named her. So, he stole your idea and named her Harriet. Then on the final and last born, you told him he couldn't name your baby girl after he just stole Harry's name and gave it to his sister.

You, James, Harry, Harriet, and CJ lived on hook's ship. And despite the living conditions, you loved your family no less.

—

A/N: Hiii, if you see this and sent me an Elsa reader x Hook request I promise I am working on that!!