#all those hours of work gone for a console...

[oftenwantedafton]

contact | arnold/dispatch

He knows the job pretty well by now; has been doing it for nearly a year. So it’s not that he needs the guidance from Dispatch, precisely; more that he craves it. Another human voice on the line.

It was the dispatcher himself, that velvet rich voice of his issuing commands or, better yet, those infrequent moments of praise. He’s certain it’s all part of a protocol of speech, words that the man has been instructed to dollop like whipped cream on a slice of cherry pie, but he’s far into the delusion that it’s specially gifted for him alone, a concept he allows himself only once he’s home, behind closed doors.

Explicit content, 3.4k words, new 6/22/25

ao3 link

Evenings are the loneliest times for Arnie.

When the staff and customers are long gone and the noises fade from boisterous chatter and bustling commerce to the hum of electrical current through the wires and the creak of metal as it contracts and expands with shifting temperatures; the sharp clack as his fingers input codes into the keyboard and the satisfied little computer beeps that almost sound amused by his repairs.

He knows the job pretty well by now; has been doing it for nearly a year. So it’s not that he needs the guidance from Dispatch, precisely; more that he craves it. Another human voice on the line. Something to counteract all these lifeless alloys and circuits and cables. But that’s not quite all there is to it; at least, not anymore. Intially, maybe, it had been the companionship in general he’d desired. Then at some point that had shifted. It was the dispatcher himself, that velvet rich voice of his issuing commands or, better yet, those infrequent moments of praise. He’s certain it’s all part of a protocol of speech, words that the man has been instructed to dollop like whipped cream on a slice of cherry pie, but he’s far into the delusion that it’s specially gifted for him alone, a concept he allows himself only once he’s home, behind closed doors.

His eyes flick more than once to the communication console, hopeful he’s missed the light signaling Fazbear Entertainment’s lead operator was attempting to speak with him, perhaps when he’d left the security office to head for the vending machines. The remains of that snack are seated beside his right elbow: a can of Fizzy Faz Cola that’s long since lost its chill, and the crumpled wrapper of a Chica Crunch Bar, some of the chocolate still melted onto the silver lining, one forgotten remnant of puffed rice tucked beneath the seam. It’s warm inside the office; the electronics generate a tremendous amount of heat. Other parts of the facility are air conditioned, the patrons well taken care of, but he doesn’t have access to such luxuries. There’s only a desk fan that does little to circulate the stale air inside the office. He wishes he could shrug out of his required coveralls; the top portion, at least. It’s not like anyone would see him clad in the white tank beneath.

But it’s company policy to wear the uniform, and Arnie follows it to the letter, no matter how much it might be detrimental to his own well-being. Case in point, he’s closing on hour thirty six of this current shift. Numerous other technicians have come and gone before him, declaring the task load unreasonable and the overtime monstrous, but he doesn’t complain; at least, not too loudly. The few times he had dared voice a contrary opinion had been met with some very, very thinly veiled threats to terminate his employment without a reference. So he’s gone quiet. A quiet man working in the quiet evening hours. He thinks his eyes must be quite bloodshot by now. He can feel the weight of weariness pressing on his eyelids, his body demanding rest. He nearly dozes off a few times, jerking himself straighter in the swivel chair to find alertness, silently chiding himself for slacking. The sooner he gets this done, the sooner he can go home.

And what waits for him at home? Not much. Whom, you might also ask? No one. Arnie lives alone in a one bedroom apartment in a section of town that’s questionable at best. The kind of place you don’t really want to be caught walking the streets after dark unless you want to part ways with your wallet. Deadbolts are a must. He doesn’t have much to his name in the way of possessions, nothing of any significant quality or value, but that doesn’t mean he wants them stolen, either. He keeps telling himself it’s only temporary. He’ll keep saving up all this overtime and put it towards a nicer place someday. Someday: that distant shining beacon of promise, eternally guiding him forward.

The lie is easier to swallow at certain times; terribly transparent at others. Right now he’s simply too exhausted to care. He’s got an unmade twin bed waiting for him. He doesn’t think he’ll even waste time showering when he gets back, just drop face first onto the pillow and let the blissful oblivion of slumber overtake him.

At last he finishes his work, tossing his tools back into the case and clearing the desk, making sure to dispose of the remains of his meal in the wastebin. He slaps the light switch on the way out the door, dimming the interior of the office as he exits. It’s a decent length walk back to the company van parked at the rear entrance; the building is quite large. But he’s got a little pep in his step now, buoyed up by the knowledge that he’s almost free, his shift finally over.

For one heart stopping moment he almost thinks he’s forgotten the keys to the Fazbear Entertainment work van in the office as he settles behind the wheel, but a further pat down and rummage reveals they’ve worked themselves deep into one of his pockets, poking through a new hole beginning to unravel at the seam. He’ll have to take care of that later. Damages to company property mean fines. Deductions in pay. He certainly doesn’t want that. It’s why he takes such good care of the van, making sure to keep up with the maintenance. Regular oil changes. Balanced tire pressures. A routine thorough cleaning inside and out. It was about due for the latter, now that he thinks of it.

The vehicle engine rumbles to life as he turns the key in the ignition. He adjusts the rearview mirror, necessary with his current slouched position. He can’t quite find the energy to adjust his posture, the newfound burst that had initially fueled his egress already dissipated from his trek to the van. Now he just needs to keep his eyes on the road. There won’t be a lot of traffic at this late hour, but the path winds quite a bit, snaking back and forth before finally straightening once he leaves the establishment far behind. He turns on the radio, met with a burst of static before he finds a clear signal, a contemporary rock tune with lots of electric guitar and thumping drums. Not his taste, but it will help keep him awake.

Dispatch’s voice suddenly cuts through the song’s chorus and he hurriedly fumbles to shut the radio off.

“Arnie, are you there?”

“Yes,” he croaks, his throat dry. He clears it and tries again. “Yes, I’m here.”

“Did you finish up that job yet?”

“Yes, I just left. I’m done for the evening.”

“Good. I’ve had the Uppers breathing down my neck.” Uppers was a shortened form of Upper Management, a term used by those lower on the totem pole to address their superiors. Despite the large divides between employees, this was one that most were united on: a collective sort of deference that sat on the border between dislike and grudging respect.

“There were a few hiccups along the way, but I got them all sorted out.”

“Good job. I knew you could do it.”

Arnold squirms in his seat a little at the praise. It cascades over his skin, warm and pleasant. The man’s voice was appealing to begin with, but when it was combined with words like these…the technician shifts behind the wheel again. He’s never met the dispatcher in person, leading him to wonder just what that face on the other end of the line might look like. Clean shaven? Intense eyes? A strong jaw and sharp cheekbones? Tidy side-parted hair with perhaps just a single strand out of place, dripping down over his forehead, begging to be brushed back?

Oh, Arnie. You really are losing it.

He’s struggled with this one sided sort of crush for awhile now. He’s not even sure how it had started; it had just dawned on him one day after he’d gotten home, standing beneath the spray of the shower. He likes the voice. He likes imagining who might be making those sounds, but he also likes the mystery of it. The versatility. Dispatch can be anyone. Anything he wants, in the privacy of his thoughts. His desires. The first time he works up the nerve to rub one out thinking about him, replaying their earlier conversation in his mind, he comes so hard he has to rest his forehead against the side of the shower stall, his chest heaving. He’d been feeling a little guilty afterwards, especially the next time they’d spoken, but that shame had quickly been erased by a fresh wave of lust. He’s painted that shower wall more than a few times since then. His fist and belly while lying in bed. He doesn’t even know the man’s name, only his title, so that’s the one he pants and moans and curses as he comes undone.

His cock shifts at the memories now, straining against the seam of his work pants. One hand moves off the wheel and squeezes firmly, trying to calm that nagging need. Not in the work truck. He can’t. They’re not monitored or anything, but…no. He has to wait. As soon as he gets home. With those newest lines of praise echoing in his mind.

“Arnie? You still there?”

“Yeah. Sorry. Long shift. Thirty six hours, you know…”

“You’ve got your eye on that year end bonus, I’ll bet.” There’s a bit of smug teasing in his tone. Mocking him. A paltry twenty five dollars. Hardly worth all this lost sleep.

“What? No, I…” He lets his words fade to nothingness, the half-voiced protest dying in his throat. Once Dispatch was convinced of something, there was no point in arguing. He’d never win.

“Listen, there’s some new tech you need to pick up for your next assignment.”

“Can’t I do it in the morning?” He knows how whiny he sounds. He can’t help it. The fatigue. Now this sudden demand for release. Pathetic.

“Afraid not. Uppers want you to get started on this project as soon as possible. This is a big contract, Arnie. The biggest one Fazbear Entertainment has ever had. We need our best on the job.”

Another bit of praise helps soothe his scowl over the request to return to headquarters, but it certainly does nothing to assuage that raging need below his waistline that he’s still battling.

“What is it?” He asks warily.

“A tool you’ll need to access the interior of a building. We’ve ordered some schematics from a contractor who’s gone radio silent. You need to locate them and deliver them back to us ASAP.”

The technician blinks, peering at the display on his wristwatch. It’s so late. He still doesn’t understand why he needs to go right now. Surely the company doesn't expect him to continue working without a break?

“I’m sorry, I just don’t think it’s safe for me to keep working right now. Let me get a few hours’ rest and then I’ll—”

The dispatcher’s tone loses its friendly demeanor instantly. “—Perhaps you’ve misunderstood me. This isn’t a request. It’s an order. Return to HQ.”

“But I—”

“—Now, Arnie. I’ll be delivering the device personally into your hands, so you’d better not keep me waiting.”

He swallows thickly. Wait. Did Dispatch really just say they’d be meeting in person? Face to face?

“Confirm you’re going to follow these instructions.”

“Yeah. Yes, I’ll be there.” He can hear the nervous waver in his own voice. Suddenly his fatigue has been forgotten. His foot drops a little more weight onto the gas pedal and the van accelerates.

“Good. See you soon. Garage twelve. Dispatch out.”

***

Arnie hits the remote switch to raise the garage door as he’d been instructed fifteen minutes ago, pulling inside the bay slowly. The door closes again as soon as he’s cleared it. He usually just chooses one at random to park in, whichever one is closest and has space for the van. He doesn’t think he’s ever been inside this specific one, though.

The lighting is poor; so poor as to be nearly nonexistent, in truth, the back of the garage blanketed in impenetrable darkness. He’s used to working in reduced lighting conditions, due to factors like budget saving methods after business hours or areas requiring repair to the power supply itself, but this is taking it to a whole other level. He steps out of the vehicle slowly, sliding down from the raised step to the concrete below, his work boots landing with a soft thud. Now that the headlights have been extinguished, he can see even less of his surroundings. He should have taken a flashlight with him. There’s one in the center console. Another in the glovebox and several in the back with the other tools. He could still retrieve one, of course, but that means wasting more time. Further delaying this impromptu meeting. So he takes a step forward instead, in the direction of where he assumes a door leading to the inside of the building must be, straight ahead, deeper into that shadowed void, leaving the barely illuminated fluorescents overhead behind.

“Arnie.”

He stops walking immediately, his breath hitching. The size of the garage makes sound travel deceivingly. Dispatch might be some distance away. Or he might be right beside him. It’s impossible to discern with any sense of accuracy.

“Yes?” So loud. Too loud. Clumsy. Not like that dulcet satin that spills from the other man’s lips, coiling around him. His body aches from exhaustion; from dire want.

“Don’t move.”

“Okay.” He closes his eyes. They’re useless anyway. He can’t see anything.

“You got here quickly. Didn’t obey the speed limit, did you?” Oh, he sounds so close. “Wouldn’t do to incur a speeding fine for F.E., would it? Then we’d have to dock your wages. A real tragedy, when you’ve been working so hard.” The last word makes him whimper, a pitiful high pitched keen.

Arnie licks his lips, trying to work some moisture back into his mouth. “You said to get here as soon as possible.”

“That’s right, I did, didn’t I? And you obeyed every instruction. Just like you always do. Such a reliable employee. Faithful. Loyal. Like a dog…”

He hears footsteps then, a sharp click of what might be dress shoes against the concrete flooring, followed by the sound of something being set down, a slight click reminiscent of the handle of an attaché case falling to one side. He sucks in a sharp gasp of air, trying to brace himself, but it’s woefully insufficient. A hand curls into the buttoned coveralls over his chest, grabbing and pushing him until his back collides with one of the cement supports of the parking garage bay. His breath leaves his body in a rush. Contact, at last. Touch. That same hand now snaking down to his crotch, an appreciative little hiss escaping Dispatch’s lips before he crushes them against Arnie’s.

We must be nearly the same height, he thinks absently. The other man doesn’t seem to need to adjust much, their faces aligning smoothly. Clean shaven. He’d been right about that assumption. Full lips. Wet. God, so warm and wet. He drinks from them greedily. Melts into them. He knows his own cheeks are covered with scratchy new growth, the result of that overlong shift. But none of that matters now. He reaches tentatively to touch the other man’s cheeks, stroking past sideburns into hair that’s soft and silky. His own lies in greasy clumps. How wretched he must feel against this sublimely smooth, polished creature.

Yet Dispatch doesn’t seem daunted by Arnie’s disheveled appearance at all. He’s worked open the front of those coveralls with expert precision, diving beneath his briefs to stroke at his leaking cock, smoothing the precum slick over the crown and frenulum, his answering moan echoing loudly in the garage.

“How long have you been stroking yourself thinking about me, hmmm?”

Arnie doesn’t answer. He’s got a mouthful of the man’s dress shirt saturated in cologne stuffed in his mouth as he sinks his teeth into the space between his neck and shoulder, earning a raspy little sigh from the other employee. He smells divine, like he’s just stepped out of the shower. Clean. Fragrant. Notes of citrus and sandalwood. He tightens his fingers in his hair and tugs, painting a line across the arch of the man’s throat with his tongue. A louder sigh this time. He wants to hear more. He wants to know every sweet sound that sinful mouth can produce. Hardly believing his daring, he’s worked up the courage to caress the front of the dispatcher’s trousers. Scratches his nails along the seam, scraping along the bulge beneath it. Another hiss of pleasure.

“How long, Arnie? You still haven’t answered my question. How long…?”

“Weeks. Months. I don’t know,” he confesses, working his lips along the man’s jaw while he tugs on his zipper. “Is there even a device to pick up? Or did you just want…”

A soft chuckle tickles his cheek. “Oh, yes, there is. That’s wasn’t a ruse. You’re going to start that job right after you finish this one. Fuck,” he curses when the technician finally manages to pull his cock free. His hips lurch forward, bringing him closer to the other man’s erection he hasn’t ceased pumping since this encounter began. There’s an awkward collision of fingers and slickened dicks and then oh, they’re pressed together just right, two hot columns of aroused flesh lined up, encircled with alternating cages of first Dispatch’s fingers, then Arnie’s.

The technician feels like he could bust at any moment, but as much as he craves release, he doesn’t want this to end, so he grits his teeth, sucks and worries at Dispatch’s bottom lip, then the thumb of the free hand slotted into his mouth, lapping at the pad and curling around the digit, moving his head back and forth, applying more and more suction. His cock throbs, recognizing these movements, craving the same to be done to it. He wouldn’t last long on the other’s man tongue; not when he’d be whispering filth to him while sucking him off, that voice, that fucking angelic, demonic, rapturous tone huffed against his body, teasing and cajoling and wrenching the orgasm from his body. God, he’s so close right now, he doesn’t think he can take much more…

“Cum for me Arnie. Cum…Good job. Oh, well done, Arnie. That’s it. Just like that…”

A surge of heat pools in his spine before his balls tighten and he erupts over the man’s fingers, then his own, a breathy groan the only warning before he feels another load spilling over his still twitching cock.

Eventually the two men’s hands still. He wipes his off on his briefs, then fumbles to close the coveralls. A rustle of clothing indicates the other man is doing the same. Arnie isn’t sure what to do now. What to say. He needs guidance.

“I have to put the security cameras back on. Raise the lights,” Dispatch murmurs against his ear. So that’s why it was so dark. He should have figured that out sooner. But he’s tired. Not quite thinking clearly. If he’d thought himself exhausted before, he’s bone weary now post-orgasm.

He feels something pressed against his chest. His fingers curl around the edges. Rectangular. A case of some sort.

“There’s a device inside of here called a Data Diver. Take special care of this, Arnie. There isn’t another like it.”

“How do I use it?”

“I’ll issue you specific instructions once you get there.”

“Where is there?”

“That’s right, I haven’t told you yet. Murray’s Costume Manor. You’re familiar with it?”

“Yes, I’ve heard of it.” It was a large factory and showroom that manufactured and displayed animatronics and other assorted high tech products. He can’t imagine what’s so important that it necessitates him going there in the middle of the night.

“Head on over there now. I’ll be in touch shortly.”

“But I…”

“Don’t think, Arnie. Just do. That’s what you’re good at.” Dispatch’s warm breath briefly caresses his stubbled cheek, then vanishes, the sounds of his footsteps receding.

He’s alone once more.

[arielluva]

bought a steam deck :D ill finally be able to play games on something that can run them

[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.”

[widowsweet]

Omg hello would you be so kind to write a yearning bucky

Bucky Barnes x Ex!widow!reader

He watches you through the crack in the door.

You were in that empty room of the Tower — your silent refuge, a place where you could breathe between the wreckage of your own mind. Everyone knew it was your space. No one entered. No one interrupted. No one dared.

Bucky knew.

He knew because you always went there when the memories clenched too tightly around your chest. Because he had lived that suffocation before. Because he recognized in your eyes the same exhaustion he saw in his own — on the nights when the world slept, but the pain stayed wide awake.

You’d been freed from the Red Room by Yelena and Natasha. You stayed with Yelena after Natasha… well, after she was gone. You worked alongside the blonde for Valentina for a while, until you both joined the new team. The New Avengers. A new era. A second chance.

But Bucky knew old pain doesn’t disappear just because the mission changed.

He would stand there, still, whenever you danced. He’d hear your voice, soft and distant, humming Swan Lake, almost like you were consoling yourself — or maybe just trying to remember that something beautiful still existed in the world.

You moved like you were born from wind. Graceful. Precise. Wounded.

And he, a ghost in the hallway, trapped in the doorframe, watched in silence.

Your brows slightly furrowed, your feet firm but delicate, arms carving shapes into the air as if painting an ancient sorrow — he saw all of it. Every detail. Every note of sadness hidden in your art. He wanted to step in. To tell you he understood. That the past didn’t have to swallow you whole.

But all he did was stare.

Because he was good at swallowing feelings.

Later, he saw you with Yelena in the kitchen. You were laughing. Throwing your head back with that wide, unguarded kind of laugh he rarely heard — the kind that made your eyes squeeze shut and lit something up inside him. Yelena said something stupid and you doubled over with laughter, your eyes glowing with rare lightness.

And Bucky felt something warm blooming in his chest.

Like an old fireplace coming back to life after years in the dark.

But then you were talking to John. To Bob. And the warmth turned into something else — quiet, tight, acidic jealousy.

He wondered if you noticed.

That every time he looked at you, something inside him ached to cross the room, take you in his arms and whisper:

“You’re mine. You always were.”

But he never said it.

Because he didn’t think he deserved to.

Because his hands were still stained with a past he never learned how to wash off.

Because you deserved more — more than someone made of sins.

But God, how he wanted to free you from the pain.

He wanted to take every shadow the Red Room left behind, one by one, and carry them himself, if it meant you could live light again.

He wanted to give you a quiet life.

You laughed with John again, and he pulled away. His throat dry. His heart screaming all the things his lips couldn’t say.

“Just look at me. Just once.”

But you didn’t look.

So he stayed there.

Trapped somewhere between longing and silence.

And then — you talked to him.

And in those moments, Bucky felt like the universe went quiet just to hear your voice.

He could stand there for hours, just listening to you say anything at all.

Your voice was a thread, tugging his heart out of his chest.

He looked at your lips with an old kind of hunger.

A thirst that didn’t come from the body, but the soul.

He wanted to silence you — not out of impatience, but desperation.

He wanted your words to end in a whisper against his mouth, in a kiss that was urgent, deep — the kind that steals your breath, that drowns out the world and leaves only two bodies, two hearts, two pasts trying to heal side by side.

He dreamed of kissing you until you forgot how to hurt.

Until every wound melted from your skin.

Until you forgot you were ever broken.

At night, when the Tower was asleep, he caught himself imagining what it would be like to hold you — to wrap you in his arms after a nightmare, to hear your shaky breathing settle slowly against his chest.

To kiss the tears from your cheeks.

To promise you, without needing words, that there was someone now to hold you.

He wanted to be the arms you fell into.

The peace after the war.

The home after the mission.

💋

requests open!

[ravstars]

Bad date (ᗒ⩊ᗕ)

⌇Wanderer/ Scaramouche x Reader.ᐟ

જ⁀➴Smut: Your usually stoic and ignorant college roommate seems abnormaly engrossed in the date you had planned with a mutual friend, insisting on giving you advice on how to dress, etc. When you come back that same evening, all pouty and disappointed, telling him about how bad it had went, he can't help but show you what you're missing out on with him.

a/n: Careful, this is smut! If you do decide to read it, i hope you enjoy! This is AFAB and Scara does refer to the reader as a good girl. I am still kind of figuring this whole layout thing out as I go so I might change some stuff up sometimes. ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

Scaramouche was very annoyed.

As if you weren't insuffrable enough, having a date with some imbecile, who you both knew from some party you forced him to go a few months back, made you even more intolerable than before. Why would you go out on a date with some ugly idiot anyway? He huffs, deciding to check in on your pathetic state of getting ready for an immature frat boy.

You were sitting down on the floor infront of your dresser, messily looking through every dress you had. Scara doesn't hesitate to put his hand on your head, making you flinch away and complain about ruining your hair.

''I don't understand what your issue is, just pick a random dress, why are you being so peculiar about this? It's quite frankly pitiful." He rolls his eyes, crossing his arms as you don't even look at him once.

"The white one or this navy one?" You hold two options up, one navy denim dress and one classy white dress with intracate details. He looks at both and decides to indulge himself for this once. It's not like he gets to take you out anyway, so he might as well make you work for his opinion.

''Try both on.'' He simply states, his expression unreadable. You hesitate but agree nonetheless. Getting up with an exasperated sigh and kicking him out until you try the first dress on. You decide to indulge him and show him the first dress — the navy one. You step out of your room, spinning for your roommate, waiting for a reaction.

“Well?”

“It kinda makes you look weird.” He says, suppressing a smirk. You looked ravishing in his truthful opinion, yet he would never admit that.

You huff, wordlessly turning back into your room and trying the other dress on. A pretty basic white dress, fitting for any occasion.

Stepping out once more you’re greeted with complete silence. You spin suspiciously, brows furrowed

“Wear the other one.” He simply says before turning on his feet and leaving you be.

Did this one look that bad? If only it did, Scaramouche thought.

Due to the uncertainty he had left behind, you do decide to wear the navy dress, getting ready as usual. Time had finally come and you couldn’t wait to meet your date, you couldn’t be blamed for being so excited, could you? You walk out that door and leave to the restaurant, Scaramouche unenthusiastic in his goodbyes, the only thing him having said to you being a mumble of ‘…you better stay safe… I don’t want to be responsible for anything later’.

Apropos later… well, it wasn’t an ideal date.

“Look, I arrived there and, first of, he was 10 minutes late. It’s not like that’s a big deal in itself but considering how he didn’t have any manners, it just adds to everything. He kept asking invasive questions and even asked me if I was interested in sleeping with him 30 minutes in. Who does that?” You groan, taking another sip of your energy drink, now a few hours later and at home again, in a big T-shirt as you vented to Scaramouche, who hadn’t said a word the entire time.

“It was horrible, Scara. Why do all the men interested in me have to be such douchebags?”

“Hm,” He mused, the corners of his lips twitching upwards, “Maybe because you’re the one choosing those idiots.” He was a selfish man, he knew that, especially when he felt great gratification when he found out your date had gone terribly. He only offered an energy drink in consolation and an ear, though, he was just an actor like that.

“Oh, and where are those non-douchebags I’m supposedly not choosing then?” You sigh, putting the drink down

“Tch. Dumbass, right here.”

“Huh?”

You turn to him, seeing him with a determined look, his eyes seeking out yours.

“You heard me.” He simply says, as if challenging you to make sense of what he’s telling you.

“Stop saying things like that, Scara…” you grumble, looking down.

“And what if I don’t, hm?”

You feel both of his arms encasing your body, having semi-crawled on top of you. You look up and your noses almost touch as you do. He looks different to you from this angle and you see the faint blush on his cheeks. You look into his eyes and he meets yours the same way. It’s as if he’s asking for permission as he bumps his nose against yours, your lips gaping in silent consent. His eyes flicker down to your lips before he closes them and finally leans in.

His lips press softly against yours, testing the waters with how far you’re willing to take it tonight. As you make no move to pull away he lets his tongue swipe across your bottom lip, asking for permission to enter your mouth.

His tongue curled around yours in a passionate dance of growing arousal. His hands have found their way to your waist, his nails softly digging into the soft skin of your sides.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this.” He purrs out, breaking the kiss to look at your flushed expression

“Watching you go out with these weird, undeserving dimwits…” He kisses along your jaw before trailing gently down your neck. You can’t help the sound at the back of your throat when he sucks particularly hard at one spot on your neck. He chuckles under his breath before continuing his work on you. His hands trail down to your thighs and squeeze gently, parting them slowly settling in between

“Are you sure about this, Scara?” You ask, looking up at him from underneath. His lips are shiny, as he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, tasting your saliva on them, so sweet, he thinks to himself.

“Are you sure about this, princess?” He answers with a question back, eyeing your expression with smug curiosity, making you gulp. You have never been this close to him before, what did you even feel for him in the first place? All you knew was you wanted him and you craved his touch deeply.

“I am, I want this.” You reassure shyly, earning a light chuckle from the man above you.

He responds by pressing his lips against yours again, this time more powerful, grinding up against you slowly. He hums at your reciprocation, your hands flat against his chest.

“Mm, may I?” He mumbles into your mouth, hands itching up to play with the hem of your oversized T-shirt. You hum, arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him closer. He dares to slip his hand under your shirt for the first time, losing his mind at the feel of your skin. You were always perfect to him, there was no doubt, but right now - this has to be his favorite way of seeing you. He feels you up, hands roaming your hips, rubbing his thumb over the fabric of your underwear on your hip.

“So perfect… haah…” He pulls away with a gasp, his free hand on your jaw “You’re so perfect.”

You can’t comprehend what’s happening, the words coming out of his mouth. He hooks his two fingers under the fabric, startling you. He waits for you to adjust before tugging the fabric down your thighs.

“I can’t wait anymore.” He admits and you nod, closing your eyes. “No, no, look at me, open those eyes, keep your pretty eyes on me.”

Pushing up your shirt he feasts upon your anatomy, kissing and tasting your warm and flushed skin. He groans, growing needy at your gasps and moans.

His fingers find your cunt, gently rubbing your clit, as he relishes in the noises you make, squirming against him.

“I can feel you getting wetter and wetter, hm?” He’s breathless, trying to appear calm and collected, hiding his face in the crook of your neck.

“It’s unfair…” you start, making him stutter in his movements “You have to take your clothes off too.” He chuckles at your complaint, taking his hands off you momentarily to pull his shirt off. Your hands find his bare skin, smoothing over him, over anything you could see - beauty marks, scars, anything and he swears he could die, drowning in your touch, in your attention, in your love.

You begin to feel your core aching, longing for something of him, a fragment, a piece, anything you could get.

“Please,” you urge and he immediately knows what you want. So he enters one finger into you and opens you up, preparing you gently. Your eyes flutter shut in response, squeezing closed.

His eyes are trained on you, watching every reaction and every expression you made. He leans down to kiss the spot under your ear, feeling you shudder against him.

“Can I put in another one?” He asks, feeling that you were ready for it. He doesn’t hesitate when you nod, groaning as he feels you around his fingers.He grows impatient soon, pulling his fingers out of you just as you were about to cum, making you whine at the loss of contact.

“I know, baby, I know,” he coos, working on unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down to his knees. Your eyes fixate on him, straining painfully.

“Are you okay?” He makes sure one last time, as he tugs down his boxers and you can barely nod, not trusting your voice.

“Ah, shit,” he lubes his cock up with your juices, grinding up and down your folds for as long as he can take.

“Put it in, please,” You force out, hands reaching out for his own. As he intertwines your hands he pushes his tip in, both of you panting in pleasure and maybe overwhelming emotions. He bottoms out quickly, leaning down to be close to you, yearning for more and more and more of you.

Whimpering, he starts to set a pace fitting both of you. He’s never felt so vulnerable before. Being so intimate with you, of all people, it made his heart ache. He liked you - No, he loved you, but he could only express that through his actions right now. He starts to go faster, hitting that spot in you making you roll your eyes.

“Oh, good girl, such a good girl- ah,” he kissed you desperately, the pleasure burning in his veins. He felt so good, it was all he could think about. The feeling of you, hot and a mess under him, was pushing him further and further to the peak of pleasure already.

“I’m close,” he pants, “are you close?”

“Mhm, I’m so close…” you hold onto him tighter, feeling each other.

His hold on you suddenly tightens before his hips stutter against yours, burying himself to the hilt as the pleasure takes over both of you, your orgasm hitting you right where you needed.

“Fuck,” he heaves, eyes searching yours, “are you okay?”

“Ye- hahh, yeah, are you?” your pupils dilate, your body shaking

“Yes, yes, I’m…” he trails off, slumping against you. Mind too dazed for anything else, you close your eyes, letting the exhaustion catch up to you.

You wake up the next day that Saturday, surprisingly in your bed, in fresh clothes and unsurprisingly sore. You sit up in bed, recalling the previous night when you hear a knock on your door.

“Yeah?”

“I made breakfast, get up, sleepyhead.” Scaramouche opens the door, and his eyes soften seeing you in bed

“You good?”

“I’m sore, you dumbass.” You groan with a smile

“You weren’t complaining yesterday.” He scoffs, walking into your room and pulling you up, helping you

“Don’t be so dramatic, my god.” you both laugh, and you hit his shoulder, making him scowl playfully.

[ablobwhowrites]

Could you write what the toys would do while y/n is at work? New home sweet home au It is very good. As a Brazilian follower, I love your writings.

(I can absolutely. And thanks for liking my writing, I honestly didn't think my au would be this popular)

Basically it sums up to this.

Y/n: "well what do you guys do when I'm normal gone?"

The toys: "wait for you to get back."

But mostly stay in the house or go play in the big backyard, do regular chores or something like that as y/n got out their old consoles plus they can watch TV all they want but as long as they don't break anything like the tv once because Doey got angry once and accidentally broke it. (I've also been watching to many of INUbis smiling critters animations and love watching them. Also like to think that's what the smiling critters look like in their small forms because I believe they can change their sizes like how catnap did in the game for his nightmare form but that might be because of the red smoke. But my point still stands.) dogday basically checks the window near the door to check if it's y/n coming back home after work but gets sad when it isn't like bro is that image of SpongeBob excited looking out the window to see y/n come back home. There's nothing much to do in the house other than that.

During the winter seasons, Doey likes to stay inside but can go outside to play in the snow (but in multiple thick jackets and big snow boots with a scarf) but gets upset that he can't be outside of so long in the show like everyone else (boogey bot can't because rust and the snow messing with the electrics) but y/n does try to make him feel better. Harleys being a who he is, doesn't come out of his room, he doesn't like the stink eyes he gets when being out of his room and that yarnaby prefers to be around y/n more and not being in control of Harley so yeah. Harley hates the cold, hates the heat and basically hates everything but his complaining won't get him anything so he stays silent.

Plus I do imagine when it's dinner or something. Y/n makes this system of voting for meals (if the ingredients haven't been eaten by picky piggy) and sometimes the toys disagree with each other and once bubba went to y/n with a briefcase and all and basically sets up a whole presentation on why tonights dinner should be lasagna and not meatloaf. Plus y/n puts a lot of work into their meals plus they have to make two dishes because some eat more food than others (Harley doesn't really eat nor does boogey but boogey bot gets a seat at the table and Harley being him, doesn't attend but sometimes he does but stays quiet most of the time)

I do imagine y/n is significantly more stronger after being able to rest fully and get proper food and water in their system. Cause y/n is strong on the factory when basically sleep deprived, hungry and thirsty but not like bro is 10x's stronger and it's scary cause like y/n can basically now carry a fridge full of food with some easy but like a solid 2 minutes but can fully carry those heavy TV's from like the 90's with ease and is slowly getting stronger.

Also totally imagining icky licky due to his personality. He challenged y/n to a arm wrestle and of course y/n beats him over and over again but icky is a sore loser and keeps going even if his shoulder and arm really hurts and y/n isn't even putting their full strength into it. This went on for a hour and y/n decided to let icky win cause it wouldn't stop unless they did that.

(Hope you like my yap session. Please if you like this and want more please don't feel shy and request any ideas for stories or y/n's. But for now please stay safe and drink water!)

[revelboo]

The Weakends pt 3

TFP Ratchet x Reader- comfort

• Frowning at the console, Ratchet runs the sequence again. And again. Denta gritting, he ignores the faint tremor in his servos as he changes a variable and gets another error. He’s not even sure how long he’s been at it. Long enough exhaustion is dragging at him, settling heavy on his helm and limbs. There’s too much at stake, though. He can’t fail.

• “Hey, Doc?” No, maybe if he tries a different synthetic binder? Error. Can’t put his fist through the screen no matter how bad he wants to. Can’t disappoint them all. “Ratchet?” Error. “Hey, maybe-“

• “What? I’m busy,” he’s snarling the words in irritation even before he looks over. And immediately feels bad about it as your expression shutters and you hunch into the plush blanket you’ve cocooned yourself in. Your color is still off despite your protests that you feel better and those dark smudges are still there under your eyes. And you wilt before his optics, bare feet shuffling as you turn away with a mumbled ‘sorry.’ Guilt leaves a sour taste in his mouth as he grinds his denta.

• Scrap. He’s reaching, catching the end of your blanket without thinking and you stumble to a stop facing away from him. Upset with him? Probably. Cracking synthetic energon is important and he knows you know it. “I didn’t mean to bug you,” you say, fingers fisting in the blanket in an attempt to tug it free of his servos. “I know you’re busy.” There’s no bitterness in your tone, just tired resignation and somehow that’s worse. Because you expect him to be too busy for you.

• “I’m always busy,” he mutters, pulling on the end of the blanket to force you closer. Now your expression is carefully empty as you turn toward him. “And this project is important.” Your shoulders lift and fall, mouth opening, but he holds up a servo. “I’m not finished.”

• Jaw working, you give a half hearted tug at your blanket, but the medic isn’t letting go until he’s ready to. Which means no skulking away and avoiding a lecture. Sighing, you wait for the inevitable as he frowns down at you. It’s not like you don’t realize he’s busy, but he’s been typing away for hours and while watching his slow, deliberate strokes on the alien glyph keyboard is amusingly adorable, he hasn’t stopped. Gone to refuel or rest. He’s always taking care of everyone. Except himself.

• Venting softly, he tugs again and you stumble towards him. He curls his servos around you before you can fall, lifting you and retreating back to the console with you cradled to his chassis. “This is important, too.” Slowly, you relax against him with a little huff that might have been a laugh of disbelief. He hadn’t wanted humans involved, protested against them to Optimus. That the fragile little organics are a liability was obvious. And they still are, but they’re also worth protecting.

• Especially when you lay a tiny hand on his chassis and look up at him. “So are you, Doc.” You know he hates the nickname, but he also knows it’s a deflection to hide the worry in your voice. Worry for him. And that surprises him into stillness, because you’re trying to care for him the only way you can.

Previous Next

[mxchibomb]

content. mdni 18+

pervert! nerd! armin who just can't sit still when you're hanging out with the group knowing you're wearing those cute panties underneath your mini skirt. who finds himself shifting in his seat, only looking up when he sees you get up or move, teasing him with the edge of your skirt that rides up your thighs.

 you'd sit with his clique all done up and pretty, long socks barely hanging onto your thighs. flirting with eren and poking fun at connie. he didn't care what you were saying, lips covered in a thin sheen of tinted pink lip gloss that caught the light every time you spoke.

pervert! nerd! armin who pretends to jam random buttons on his game boy so nobody would notice the shift in his seat when you bent over the table to reach for something, innocently flashing the print of your pussy in pure white laced lingerie. his throat bobbed and his ears rung, face burned red. if only he could take a picture of that. he'd keep it as his lock screen and look st it all day.

 "you good, armin?" eren spoke from in front of you. oh god— you looked at him. he almost jumped out of his seat. you bat your eyelashes as if you knew it'd work him up, making him wriggle anxiously.

 "yeah! i—its nothing!"  he stammered, jamming his thumb anxiously into his mini gaming console while his pants tightened.

pervert! nerd! armin who's surprised that you'd want to be his friend, who you should never trust to have in your room all alone with his dirty fingers that rummaging oh so carefully through your laundry, digging into the panties he knew you wore recently to shove then discreetly in his cargo short pockets for safe keeping. he'd keep quiet, giving you not even a blink to indicate what he had just done.

 later that night, he found your panties wrapped around his cock. you wouldn't leave his mind and he could only imagine what those tight walls felt like wrapped around his cock, visualizing the fantasy as his hips bucked roughly into his fist. your smell mixed in with his sweat and cum, pure ecstasy evident on his face as he whimpered your name shamelessly like eren wasn't just in the room over, lips wet with drool and tears pricking at his tightly shut eyes. his hand was soaked in the secretion of an ungodly amount of orgasms. his brain felt numb and his balls were tight, stomach churning sickly with overstimulation, thighs shaking under exertion. he spent hours of the night spending his time filling up your panties like he was stuffing your pussy.

 you hadn't even noticed they were gone until your favorite pairs kept going missing over the past couple of months no matter how much you tore up your room, leaving you to wonder what had happened to them. but if armin would allow you in his room, you'd find them littered on his desk like they were casual anime figurines.

[anon-sect]

It was no secret to how much Tom admired his roommate's feet. He would often stare at them while Ryan would be game on his console. He so wanted to be close to Ryan's feet, but with his roommate being straight, he would not have another guy literally down at his feet. He was well arrived of that because he once tried.

Tom so desperately wanted to be close to Ryan's feet. He knew there was only one way to do it. He waited till he had left the apartment for a good while. He snuck into his room. He swallowed the experimental TF pill. He thought of what he wanted to be. Immediately, he shrunk down to size. He reshaped and formed a pair of nice sneakers. All he needed to do was wait for him to come home.

Ryan came into his room two hours later. He needed to go back to his city office. But he wanted to change shoes first. He noticed a pair on the floor he hadn't worn before. He couldn't remember where he could have bought them. But he definitely loves the look. He put them on his feet. The insoles felt really comfortable. He wiggled his toes on them. Now satisfied, he left the apartment to go back to his city office.

Tom was in bliss heaven. It was slightly painful being walked on, but there was some pleasure at being at the mercy of Ryan's feet. The best part his roommate was completely unaware of what his shoes were. He could slightly hear the conversations about him as his roommate converse with his coworkers and employees. After about an hour in his office, he could tell that Ryan had stepped out in the lobby area to chat with others. As his roommate sat down, his only view was that of Ryan's socked feet. Everything worked out perfectly so far. He got to enjoy his roommate's feet for a while.

Ryan got back home about six hours later. He had gone to a special business meeting and out drinking with friends after leaving the office. He noticed that Tom was nowhere in sight. He called his cell number, but it went straight to voicemail. He was curious about where his roommate had gone. He took off his shoes and slightly foul-smelling socks. He stuffed the socks inside the shoes. He went back out to watch tv.

Tom knew this was his chance to change back. As he tried, nothing happened. He then realized the socks were preventing him from changing back to normal. He had to change back before the 24 hours were up, or he would be stuck like this forever. That was the warning on the bottle. He hoped that Ryan would remove his dirty socks soon. He didn't want to be stuck forever as sneakers despite being close to his roommate's feet.

One week later.......

Ryan didn't know where his roommate had disappeared to, but he hoped the police would find him soon. Yet, on a positive note, he really loved his special pair of sneakers. They really were very comfortable. He wished he could remember where he bought them from. He wanted another comfortable pair like those. He had worn them every day. He made sure to put his socks inside them every night to put his signature smell on the sneakers.

[adkawariatka]

Galas, trash talking and that guy that I don’t want to talk to

Danny, Sam and Tucker were standing close to the wall, silently judging people on the Gala. Wayne gala. One of the most prestigious, Well-known and terribly boring event in high society. How did they get there? Enter Rich-ass Sam’s parents and rich-ass fruitloop. The only consolation was them dragging Tucker with them. And The only way to made them behave, apparently. The list of pranks they prepared was impressivly long. But… a deal was a deal. So no pranks. Only them isolating themselves and trash talking in fancy suits other attendants in fancy suits. Fantastic.

-I can bet 10 bucks that this lady in shiny red dress will flirt with Wayne again. - That was Tucker.

- psh too easy that is obvious.- Sam grumbled.

-But she already tried like Three times. I Think it would be a streach. No way she has that little of self respect. You are on.- Danny countered.

-oh poor naive Danny. You lack experience in those matters. Believe me when I say she WILL try again. - And true to Sam’s words the lady tried. Swiftly ignored by organisator of this glorious event. Danny groaned and handed money to Tucker. That was how last two hours had gone by. They already gone thorough all apetizers. After, four attempts to get their hands on alcohol were stopped by staff they give up. They strolled through garden or rather the part that was open, and been to the toilet at least five times. So boredom. Utter boredom.

Danny let his eyes wander through the crowd. He was able to see Vlad persuading some poor businessman into very shady and probably disandventageous deal. Or meeting one on one, where he would just overshadow him and sign the documents. Both were shitty options.

There were times that Danny tried to sabotage Vlad deals but adults tended to ignore warnings from teenagers. So he got fed up with being ignored. Some things are unstoppable. He can fight super-powered king of undead but he can’t talk out an adult from trusting his psycho pseudo-uncle. So no intervention here. He let himself look again, suprisingly he caught eye contact with other teen. Black haired, blue eyed around their age probably slightly older. He started to move towards them.

-carefull some rich kid on the way. -he warned while keeping him in his vision. Both his friends heads snapped too look.

-Dude that is not SOME rich kid that Timothy Drake-Wayne! How could you not recognise him. - Tucker gushed

-Uh, sorry that I don’t know all celebrities. Lately I have been busy fighting ghosts and interdimentional tresspasers if you hadn’t noticed.- Danny hissed back. Sam rolled her eyes, whispering:

- Calm down, just remember that he is adopted son of Bruce Wayne. The one involved in technology.

Danny didn’t get the chance to answer before object of their conversation came to them.

-Hello, Timothy Drake-Wayne, Having fun?

The silence was uncomfortable. Sam got herself together the fastest:

- Of course Mr Drake, amazing event beautifull decorations!

Danny eyed her weirdly. Who could guess she could be such a good lier? He could pick on subtle sarcasm there but only because he knew her. For anyone else she sounded perfectly genuine and honest. He held back a laugh. He loved her so much.

-Tim is fine, I am already Mister in too many places. At the end I am only two years older Lady Samantha. - he answered flashing a smile at her. Huh. That was weird. Danny was not a mood reader but he got a distinct feeling he tried to subtly suck up to them. What a son of multimillionaire could want from them?

-It’s amazing to meet you in person Tim, I am Tucker! I love your work in IT, your new design of pada is fantastic. The outer layer of inside mechanisem is….

Tucker could talk about technology for hours. He knew this particular rant by heart so he let himself focus on Tim. He listened to Tucker and nodded in right places but didn’t seem really interested. However, What he did do was subtly glancing in Danny’s direction quite often. He let his senses wander and focused on newcomer. Tim smelled of expensive perfume, sweat and… suprisingly blood. Quite a lot of blood if Danny was being honest. Apart from that he could taste his determination and growing irritation the longer Tucker spoke. Well not Danny’s problem he can get bored and piss off. He will gladly come back to trash talking other guests now thank you very much.

- So Daniel, I have seen you on few other events but I havent had occasion to talk to you!- that was what brought Danny’s attention back to earth.

-It’s Danny - he corrected out of habit. Sam casted him murderous glare.

-Uh… nice to meet you. - the silence that lasted longer than socialy acceptable was akward. Ancients, Danny hated it so much. He wasn’t really fan of small talk with people he didn’t know. Or generally social interactions but here he is.

- Sooo did you took part in preparations to Gala or is it only your father this time?- Sam tried to save the situation.

- No this time is Bruce and Richard work. So Danny are you involved in your uncle business? Bruce and I had a very interesting conversation about possible deal and wanted to talk a little more about it.

Huh. So this was scouting business. No way Vlad would leave his talks unfinished or without any date to discuss it further. He would also not allow Danny involvement in any way. Not after that one fiasco. So Tim was bullshiting. Well that just rised Danny’s opinion about him from 0 to like 20 on scale 1 to 100. He does not deliberately plan to sabotage Vlad business anymore. But if some guy with heart screwed on comes to him Well…

- Whatever he says I advise to not associate with him. Better to ghost him. if you do actually decide that you must do business with him do not and I can’t stress it enough stay with him one on one in a room. - Danny States calm and even. He Made sure that his eyes were serious and didn’t break eye contact for a moment.

That was a time when Vlad came up to them. Out of breah and slightly dishelved. Obviously he panicked when he saw Tim with them. Danny smirked. Vlad glared.

- Daniel it is time for us to go. Samantha your parents are looking for you and your friend. Mr Drake pardon us we are in a hurry.

-Of course UNCLE.- He smiled inconently.

-bye Tim, Sam, Tucker- he said while looking over his shoulder. His eyes were drilled in Tim’s.

There was something unnerving about Danny’s eyes- Thought Tim.

It is just a thought that I had during my Ester Breakfast when I looked at those fancy silverware that me and my family takę out on christmas and Ester. So yes quick drabble. I have no idea if I will continue or not but I had fun writing it SO here it is.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Kinktober day 14

Boba Fett + Lingerie

Hey nerds, what’s popping. I’ve been playing a lot of baldurs gate, and I swear I wouldn’t survive a day there cuz whys the emperor kinda hot. Readers a bounty hunter. No real smut, just Boba being insecure about his body, and you thinking hes a damn meal.

2024 kinktober masterlist

Boba stared at himself in the mirror of his personal bathroom, feeling like a right idiot. He was a man in his 40s, who’s skin was more scar tissue than not, and a body that wasn’t the muscular sleekness of his prime. Crawling out of the sarlacc and living amongst tuskens for a while hadn’t helped him keep “in shape” either, as they saw having some chub as good. The nights were cold, and food was scarce, so put on weight where you can, and all that.

Having a ruler that had some softness to him, but also strength behind it, seemed to also make the citizens of tatooine happy, as they shared that same cultural norm with the tuskens. With Boba being their first good ruler in who knew how long, the thought of him dying from the cold or starvation seemed to be what they wanted the least.

Standing there in front of the mirror in that soft frilly mess that fennec had secretly gotten for him, made him feel so stupid. He knew his friend hadn’t looked in the package, she had just gone and picked it up for him since he didn’t have time before you got back from your latest run, but she had at least carried a knowing look.

Boba was starting to regret ever thinking of this. The soft fragile fabric stretched wrong around areas of his body where he carried muscle or strength in ways others didn’t, and was loose in other areas like the chest. He hadn’t spent much time looking for customized work, alright? So, he bought what was available, but looking at himself now it felt like the dumbest decision he had ever made.

With a raspy exhale, Boba started pulling the lingerie off himself. It wasn’t anything extreme, mainly just a torso-piece, and some stockings he didn’t even want to try putting on. His back wasn’t agreeing with him today, and neither were his knees enough to bend and pull those things on. There was what looked like a frilly lace collar, but that had quickly been thrown back into the box. It felt too much like a slave collar, so there was no way he would weird that.

The doors to his room opened, making Boba instinctively tense. But no alarm went off and nothing was off, and the whistling made it obvious you had gotten back a couple of hours before you were meant too. You had been meant to arrive in the morning, so Boba wanted to try the frilly lingerie on just to see how it looked, maybe surprise you with it in bed.

You sounded tired though, just from how you were dragging your feet. Clearly looking around the room for him, since his armour was on its stand and his belt was hanging beside the bed. “Boba?” you called out, your voice nearing as you tried to tap the console beside the bathroom door to check for him.

When it didn’t open it became obvious where your lover was. Normally you’d start cracking a few jokes and just crawl back into bed, but his lack of a reply made you tense. Was he in pain? Unconscious? Uncomfortable? “Boba?” you called out again, voice now with a twinge of worry in it. Boba suffering from his pains wasn’t anything new, not after the sarlacc pit and the changes in weather on the desert planet.

Boba had a sigh and run a hand over his head, glancing at himself in the mirror with a quiet pitying look. Maybe he was pitying himself. You two had been together for years, back when he was still in his prime, back when he was Darth Vaders favourite bounty hunter. You had seen how handsome he was, but now? Now he felt like a shapeless lump.

“I’m here” he finally rumbled out, chewing at his lip. Boba didn’t even have any change of clothes with him in the bathroom. He could just wander out naked if he wanted, but that would just lead to you thinking that was the surprise, and Boba wasn’t sure he was even in the mood to truly do anything wild. He had no doubt you would understand, but call him insecure, boba still wanted to please you.

“Just, go sit on the bed, alright?” you heard him say, his voice still making you weary. But like a good lover who’d been with Boba for many years at this point, you shuffled backwards and sat down, hands on your knees and legs tense, ready to spring up if anything was amiss.

The door whooshing open made your back straighten, mouth cracking open to speak, only for the words to peter out as your jaw loosened, dropping more and more as your partner shuffled out. Boba couldn’t look you in the eyes, his arms coming up to hug himself in a clear display of self-comfort. He was… insecure. That wasn’t something you saw on your partner regularly, not when he always looked hotter than the Tatooine suns.

“Wow” you finally exhale, brows lifted, and pupils blown wide as hot almost exploded inside you. it didn’t quell your want to comfort him, but it wasn’t difficult to ignore how fast you rose to full mast. “You look so beautiful” you get out, seeing how Boba curled into himself at your lack of depth.

Boba seemed shocked by your words, even more so when you got up and approached him, your hands careful as you touched his shoulders, down his arms and sides, to his hips, and back up again to cradle his face. Your hands were so nice against his hot dry skin. The Tatooine suns weren’t kind to anybody, but having so much scar tissue caused issues at times.

“So, so beautiful” you sigh, leaning in to press a kiss between his eyes, before moving on to kiss all over his face. From his brows, to his cheeks and his chin, to finally press a longing kiss on his lips. It was clear he didn’t want to go deeper than this tonight, the look in his eyes and body language told you as such, but your clear adoration made him relax more and more.

It took a bit of convincing, but you got him shuffled closer to the bed, where you got Boba to lay down, noting with hawklike attention as he hissed and groaned as he laid down. So, his back was hurting, probably his knees or hips too, which meant definitely no steamy reunion tonight.

Instead, you simply got to work mumbling praises against his body as you kissed him all over, gushing about how he wanted to surprise you and how good he looked. Who cared if the lingerie clearly hadn’t been made for his bodytype. Boba fett could look good in a damn sack if he chose to wear it, and you were sure of that.

When you finally got Boba to relax fully, your scarred lover melting into the soft mattress and closing his eyes with a sigh, you truly got to work. Luckily, you always stocked up on his ointments and salves, and the lingerie had enough gaps that you could slide your hands under it, and rub the salves into his skin where you knew he ached the most.

The medicine seemed to kick in almost immediately, Boba giving a groan of relief as the last of his tension melted out of him. This though, made it possible for him to pull you down against him, a skin growing on his lips as he felt your obvious arousal press against his torso.

Normally you two would rut against each other like wild animals, or well, not as much anymore. A couple of years back you two would go at it like death was looming, and it was, with the kinds of jobs you did. But it led to a lot of aches and bruises that could be avoided. And honestly? Laying here with Boba, listening to his heartbeat, feeling the soft silky material against your face and smelling the herbal scent of his salves? Well, it was so much better.

You kinda hoped he was feeling better in the morning though, since you wanted nothing more than to roll him over and show him just how much you had missed him.

[warframe1999]

Sooo…

The protoframes, huh?

i wanted to go a bit into what each member of the Hex (yay, new syndicate!!) had to say when you got into proximity of them in the relay. there’s honestly a lot here to set the scene not only for 1999 itself, but introducing each protoframe as well as sort of hinting at their interpersonal relationships, and how they interact with one another! some of my favorite kinda of lore is specifically character development and personality-focused dynamics like this so here!!!! i walked back and forth for an hour for YOU! here is all proximity dialogue for each character in the Höllvania Mall relay:

ARTHUR:

“Question. Could I take Quincy down if he turned on me?”

“We’ll find you, Doctor. That’s a promise.”

“Stop sniffing around my head, Eleanor. If I want to talk, I’ll talk.”

“We need to keep Lettie on her feet. If she goes we all go.”

“Dunno why we even bothered with that cleaning rota.”

“Yeah, we can hold this place.”

“One day, Aoi. No more roadblocks and checkpoints. Just you and me and the bikes, open road for miles, all this bullshit far away. I swear to Sol.”

“Still too open. We need more chokepoints.”

“Bottled water. Like sodding gold dust.”

“Well Amir’s still alive. That’s a win.”

LETICIA:

“I got nothin’ to prove to you, Quincy! Go play your little games, niño.”

“¿Qué onda? The Lady Eleanor ain’t no more freaky than the last time you checked in. ‘Less you know different?”

“Yo, Aoi. Chill, hermana. Do something for yourself, for once. Arthur ain’t going to blow away if you blink.”

“The boss says care for his sister I care for his sister. As long as you still are his sister… and as long as I feel like listening to him.”

“Being loved and being hurt? Yeah, I make no distinction. I knew someone, once, wired the same way. Kept me sane. And what of it? Te crees muy acá ¿no? Get outta my head, Eleanor.”

“Never signed up for this. I’ll be home Mamá. Your little girl doesn’t end here. No te preocupes.”

“Man, I’ve been awake so long that even the spiders in my head have all gone to sleep.”

“Wacha: unless you’re pissing blood right this second, whatever it is can wait.”

“I swear, should lock Aoi and Amir in a cuna. Didn’t sign up for no babysitting gig.”

AOI:

“I don’t wanna go on patrol. I wanna take stuff apart.”

“Nearly time for the On-lyne boys.”

“Metal, metal, metal, what do you want to be?”

“Yep. I can live like this.”

“Arthur needs to keep some fuel in the tank for himself. Goddamn savior complex that man has…”

“I oughta get some headphones. Then I wouldn’t have to hear Quincy work off all that surplus testosterone!”

“If they take Entrati out, who’s going to look after that mutant jaguar of his? Poor thing won’t last five minutes in the wild.”

“Amir! Remember to hydrate!”

“Dear past self: we finally got those super powers we always wanted. Whaddayaknow.”

“GodDAMN. Lettie would you keep your frickin’ rats OUT of my SPACE?”

QUINCY:

“Don’t look up, Doctor.”

“Arthur needs to leave the Major to me, innit. Respect my methods.”

“Don’t mind the waiting. Plenty to be thinking about.”

“You don’t know me. Never see what darkens your rooftops. Inevitable, like the rain. Handing out consolations in a transient connection. Boom. Smoke. And ghost.”

“You wiv me, Eleanor? How deep in you go? See anythin’ you fancy, girl?”

“Amir is a weak, weak boy. Like Aunty said, ‘duppy know who fi frighten.’”

“Thassit… nice and steady.”

“How many man have the opps got? Not enough t’be takin’ me. Never.”

“Oi, Lettie! Grab y’ strap and let’s go. Best a five buys the drinks?”

ELEANOR:

“Don’t expect me to tell you what I’ve seen in Amir’s head. He’s not a beautiful, broken marionette, and he’s nobody’s project. He’s one of us.”

“Quincy thinks he’s going to wake up one night to me chewing the flesh from his ribs. Maybe he’s right.”

“I know you’re there. I can feel you. It’s okay, I won’t tell the others.”

“Aoi? She’s lovely and kind and strong, and… I kind of hate her a little bit. Because it should have been her spreading her happiness into everyone’s heads, and me throwing cars and trucks around.”

“I thought there were going to be two of you! Where’s the other one?”

“Blood. There’s gonna be a fight. Something… bursting. Crossed swords. Arthur!”

“What on earth is a ‘Mara Lohk’?”

“Oh, you’re going to make such a difference this time around.”

“I don’t think Doctor Entrati expected me to survive. I had a lot more than just a cough. But… survive I did. And Lettie has not forgiven me for it.

“Oh. OH. She’s wonderful! Triple-faced goddess! But there’s a shadow on her, isn’t there?”

AMIR:

“A little zap, and… infinite credit! No more ‘insert coin’! Not that we could insert coin. We have no coin. Once we had coin, but now Aoi has smooshed all the coin. Coinnnn.”

“Why did they never make a console port?”

“BAD MOVE, SPACE CAA-DET.”

“But the one thought none of them spoke out loud was - could Lettie reattach a head?”

“Hey, Arthur! Arthur! Arthur! Arthur! Arthur! Dahh, you missed it.”

“Eleanor? Are you there? Can you - can you give my brain a hug please? Thank you.”

“We’re getting a little too excited, let’s step it down, step it down before we get the blue cracklies. In one two out one two.”

“Oi’m Quincy. Oi’m gonna blow out yer kneecaps. Mashup in yer chip shop alright.”

“Ungh! This violent video game is influencing my emotions! Societal norms… eroding! Morality… subsumed! I MUST KILL!”

“This place used to smell so good. Coffee. Cookies. Fresh clean socks. Now it’s just rust, pain, and old socks.”

[haveyouanytime]

jonathan crane taking care of you when you're sick

completely self-indulgent and probably not my best lol!! wrote this in an hour bc i'm sick as a dog

౨ৎ daily click to help palestine 🍉

One night, your throat began to feel sore. It should’ve been a sign, but you simply thought it was your allergies and the cold weather coming together to kick your butt for one night. 

But as the night grew into early morning, you couldn’t sleep as the sore throat added on a headache, aching muscles, chills, and sweats. After having the worst chills, making your entire body even more sore-- you were now flushed, warm to the touch, and beginning to sweat. 

Luckily for you, your boyfriend was a walking freezer. 

You lay beside Jonathan on your shared bed, tucked into his bare chest in just your tank top and underwear, after you had stripped off your clothes following your sudden sweats. Jonathan had done the same, lying beside you in just his pajama bottoms. It was a complete 180 to just moments before, with you layered up and wrapped in two or three blankets to fight off your trembling chills. 

All those winter nights you spent pawing at his chest, trying to put as much space between you and his icy hands as possible were far gone; instead, you grabbed his hand and placed it atop your head as a makeshift cold compress. 

He chuckled, holding his hand to your forehead as he sat up on one elbow beside you. “Remember not even an hour ago when you told me to not touch you?” 

“That was before I felt like I was put in an oven.” You responded, your voice weak with your fatigue and discomfort. Your brows were furrowed, and he wiped away the forming sweat forming at your hairline. 

Unbeknownst to you, your boyfriend had a secret side-- he secretly liked seeing you writhe and in some state of pain. He looked down at you, watching as you showed visible discomfort while curling into him, caught in his imagination of what it would be like with you under his fear toxin. 

That was, until, your soft mewl of discomfort pulled him from his thoughts. He gave you quiet, comforting shushes, running his cold hand through your hair. He readjusted himself so he laid down, resting your head on his bare chest. His skin was cold to the touch, consoling your body as your body fought against your flu. 

“I’m sorry.” You broke the silence, your voice weak and scratchy as your eyes stayed shut due to your relentless headache. 

His brows scrunch together, his crystal blue eyes flickering down to look at you lying atop his chest. “Sorry for what?” 

“For getting sick, and keeping you up.” You weakly answered, placing your hand atop his chest. “I know you’re tired from work, and you’ll be tired-”

“Shush. I’ll always take care of you.” He answered, wrapping his hand around your wrist. “You’re mine.” 

You let a small smile grow on your lips despite your discomfort, nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck. “I’ll take the day off, don’t worry. I’ll stay home and take care of you. Just try and sleep, darling.” He whispers, letting go of your wrist to hold the back of your head. He watches as you slowly slip into sleep, pushing the wispy hairs back from your hairline and placing a soft kiss onto your forehead.

[euphoricfilter]

hearts for dinner

pairing: yandere! taehyung x devil! reader

genre: fluff || smut || non-idol au || established relationship || yandere au

summary: how to wake up the devil

word count: 1.5k

tags/ warnings: fluff, mentions of death and murder, blood, yandere! tae, she does in fact eat hearts for breakfast lunch and dinner, eventual smut to come

notes: mother is back!!! with a mini series based off this idea!! and am fully open to questions about the au which can be turned into future drabbles :D

where you can find the rest of my work!!

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

fingers tease the ends of your hair, taehyung tugging gently.

he lays on his side beside you, head propped up by his hand as he stares at your sleep stricken face. ever so peaceful, fragile and delicate, warm, entirely unaware of the world around you.

though he supposes even when you’re awake, he doesn’t leave much room for your mind to wander.

a man having tamed the devil herself.

filing down sharp edges and dissolving her poisonous touch until you’d become nothing but soft, warm, pretty gooeyness. tooth rotting sweetness. a heart wrenching loveable being hidden in human form.

tucked away from people. tucked away from civilisation, kept between the walls of the cottage with everything you ask for.

your own crafted paradise, taehyung the creator of your world. the pinnacle of your mind, the core of every thought and feeling.

your life solely his to keep, held in calloused hands, stained in the blood of hundreds. though those lives of everyone who passed, had a new purpose. the purpose of feeding you— taehyung’s only reason to live.

to keep you alive. happy and alive.

<3

you briefly register the ghost of a touch over your cheek, a loose strand of hair tucked behind your ear before warm, soft, lips press over the supple skin of your neck.

you turn, sheets tangled around your waist, noise of question catching in your throat as you slowly slip into consciousness. a gentle slide into the waking world.

“sweet dove” taehyung murmurs against your skin, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder.

goosebumps prickle the skin of his arms as the scent of you sinks into his pores, the taste of you dancing across his tongue.

“hmm” you tug the blanket up higher, knees curling into your chest. utter warmth surrounding you.

he coos, “my little dove, i have breakfast for you”

you breathe out a long sigh, hands blindly reaching out for him, fingers pressing over his chest, trailing up his arms until your reach his neck, deft fingers curling around the necklace that dangles over his collarbones. your initials locked around his neck. a forever promise that he will never take off.

“can’t you smell it?” he brushes a knuckle down the line of your jaw, “i thought you’d enjoy it warm today… got too cold on the way home”

you peek an eye open, tongue wetting your bottom lip.

“you were gone all night” you croak, trying to pull him closer. quick to throw the blanket over his body to keep the warmth in.

“and how would you know that” he hums, “what time did you go to bed?”

you press your face into the pillow, words muffled, eyes slipping closed, ready for you to slip back into your own little dream world.

“i asked you a question, dove” he presses, arms slipping around your waist.

“6” you mutter.

“A.M. i assume” he presses on.

“mmhmm” you nod, “my gaming console died and i couldn’t be bothered to get out of bed to get the charger…”

a low rumble of laughter vibrates his chest.

“breakfast, then, i’ll tuck you back into bed for a nap. how about it?”

your eyes peel open, “okay” you nod, hands fumbling around under the blanket, looking for his hand.

your fingers wrap around his wrist, bringing it up to your face. you sniff, nose scrunching up at the onslaught of smells. apparent why’d he been gone so many hours of the night. because no matter how much he scrubbed his hands after, the sweet tickling scent of blood will never be missed by you.

“how many?” you wonder, and he smiles a toothy grin.

“enough to last you the week… that’s why i was gone for so long” he leans down, gentle kiss presses to your cheek in apology.

you sigh, leaning your cheek into his open palm “i missed you”

“oh darling” he croons, pulling you closer, face pressed against his chest.

you can feel the steady beat of his heart, the gentle rush of blood slipping through his veins.

“i think i may have missed you more” he whispers, words sweet like nectar as they drip off his tongue, “but i’m here now, just like how it should be”

“and you won’t leave?” you murmur, fingers grasping at his shirt.

“never”

“promise?” you swallow.

“you are my life” his fingers slip into your hair, tugging your head upwards to look at him, “we are forever. there is no end to us until the day our bodies decay, and even then you will never get rid of me. i am yours for eternity”

you nod, smile tugging at the corners of your lips “okay. what if i wanted to travel”

“then i’d follow” his answer is quick, no hesitation.

“and if i wanted to get married?”

“i am all yours”

your fingers skim over his cheek, “what if i wanted the stars?”

at this, he smiles, “i would venture far into the galaxy to pick you the most perfect stars, and name a constellation after you on the way”

“i would want to come with you” you tell him.

his fingers rake through your hair “i wouldn’t ever leave you behind”

you look up at him, silence stretching out between the both of you.

“what about—“ you start, though taehyung’s boisterous laughter cuts you off.

“anything. anything you ask for, it is yours. but first you need to eat, my little dove”

he peels the blanket off the both of you, whine of protest bubbling up your throat as the cool air of the bedroom caresses your skin.

“poor thing” he frowns, arms wrapping around you, pulling you up and off the mattress, “i’ll put the fire on while we eat” he hums, footsteps heavy as he trudges down the stairs, your arms wrapped around his neck

“hold on for a moment” he tells you, hoisting you up a little higher as he pulls out your chair at the dining table. gentle as he sits you down.

your bare feet touch the cold tiles, recoiling to press against your chest.

taehyung scuttles out of the kitchen, quick to grab you, your favourite blanket from the couch, wrapping it around your shoulders as he flitters around the kitchen.

your gaze wanders, eyes catching sight of the outside world. the vast forest seems never ending, darkness lurking just beyond the safety of the house.

“we can go out for a walk later if you like?” taehyung hums, “i have a new coat for you to try”

you turn to look at him, voice soft “i’m okay, thank you though”

he looks over his shoulder at you, holding eye contact. you feel your breath catch in your throat.

he tilts his head, turning back to the pan on the stove, “alright. tell me if you change your mind”

it’s only second after that he’s turning back to you, plate in hand.

you look at the heart, perfectly seared, puddle of blood still coating the plate even though cooked.

“let me know what you think” he smiles, taking the seat opposite yours.

you don’t bother with cutlery, fingers digging into the muscle, wet squelch of blood dripping down your palm, ever so warm. the tantalising smell of it enough to have yourself hungry.

“thank you” you look up at taehyung with a smile, and he simply grins, motioning for you to eat.

you bring the human heart up to your lips, tongue pressing against the muscle before your teeth sink into it.

you chew at it, molars tearing at the meat, swallowing down the metallic blood as it coats your tastebuds.

your fingers tighten around the heart. frown slowly pulling at taehyung’s lips, noticing how your cheeks don’t go rosy, he can tell your bloodlust is not nearly sated.

you drop the heart back onto the plate, not bothering that blood splatters onto the tablecloth.

“what’s wrong?” taehyung stands, taking the plate from in front of you.

“not good” you look up at him, bottom lip pulling into a pout.

“my dove” he kneels down before you, hand running over your cheek, “here—“ he stars, standing.

he moves towards the freezer, pulling the door open, then tugging the biggest drawer open.

“pick which one smells the tastiest, yeah?” he motions for you to look. freezer packed with individually wrapped hearts, the smallest shelf saved for his own meals.

“then i’ll cook you a nice breakfast, better this time” he starts, “then we can stay in bed for as long as you like, yeah?”

you nod at him, from still pulling at your lips, “please”

he smiles.

“i want something sweet for breakfast” you tell him, “something younger than the old piece of shit i just had”

“i should have known you wouldn’t like him… he was more my own indulgence than your dinner” he admits, “horrible man” it comes out barely above a whisper.

“taehyung” you call out to him as he rummages through the drawers.

he perks up, “yes, dove?”

“i love you”

and he can’t help the grim that stretches his cheeks, heart beating rapidly, locked away in his ribcage though so close to bursting through his skin. a heart full of awfully delicious love, ready for you to consume.

“and yet, i might love you more” he tells you.

[icanwriteitblindfolded]

Written in the stars: Eddie X (Fem)Reader.

Summary: soulmates, astrology, and tarot were all silly in your mind. You scoffed at the idea of someone being out there for you and the “universe” having a special purpose for you. There’s no such thing and it’s all a hoax, right?

*************************************

Slow burn, strangers to friends, friends to lovers, reader is not from Hawkins and bonds with Eddie and his gang. Just two idiots who don’t realize they’re falling in love. Eventual smut but it’s going to be a long and slow build. ❤️‍🔥

Part One:

Prologue:

Silly, ridiculous, foolish; there weren’t enough adjectives to describe the situation you were currently in. Somehow your Saturday night with the girls had gone from drinks at a bar none of you would remember in the morning to them spontaneously stopping off at one of those hole in the wall psychics that charges you $35 to read a few cards.

Becky decided to do this as the outing was a way of cheering her up after her boyfriend cheated on her the week before; she needed to get out and do something but you were not believing your eyes when she decided this was the best thing to do. You were even more stunned the others all going along with the idea and even seemed giddy about it.

You stood in the doorframe near the exit while each of your friends had their “next relationship” told to them via a deck of cards and a lady who took the entire thing too seriously. The room was dressed head to toe in purple and red tones, quite gaudy to look at; she had the whole incense smoke burning and the beaded curtain dividers you seen in the movies. She even dressed the part with her head covered in a large scarf, her hand dawned with rings and her wrist jangling with every movement from the metal bangles on them.

As Becky learned of her next boyfriend who was to be very sweet and nothing like Jackson, Angela learned her next boyfriend was someone she worked with, and Brittany learned her soulmate wasn’t on this continent and that she would most likely marry someone who she doesn’t love; you nearly reached the end of your sanity. “Hey are we ready to go; it’s nearly 9:30 and I don’t want to be dealing with those creeps that get in there to pick up the drunk girls and get all handsy.”

“You! Sit down!” The psychic motioned for your attention, you groaned and rolled your eyes. “Come on child.” She crooned, “What exactly is this hurting? Humor me for a moment.” You disobeyed every instinct in your body to flee and did as the lady asked. After all you stood there for almost an hour and a half as she talked to each of your friends and even consoled them through the process.

You sat across from her and crossed your arms over your chest looking off to the corner, while you were willing to offer her your time you were not happy to be stuck here on a Saturday night. “You don’t believe these things do you?” She asked, you smirked and leaned in, hovering over her crystal ball and cards. “No I don’t. I think you prey on vulnerable people who come to anyone in times of distress and charge them more than this should be worth to feed them a bunch of delusional nonsense and laugh while you count away the money you swindle.”

She smiled and looked you up and down, you turned away from her gaze to focus on your friends who had made themselves comfortable in the waiting area and sipped on the complimentary tea. “You’ve never had a boyfriend have you?” She asked bluntly, you turned and nearly knocked the crystal ball off its stand. “I’m sorry what?” “Boyfriends, you’ve never had any. Not a date to a school dance, not one night stands, you’ve had none of it. You watch your friends go through the ups and downs of dating and say to yourself that “I’m better off if I don’t experience this, saves me a lot of trouble.”” You clenched your fists in the tablecloth feeling the soft fabric nearly break your skin.

“I’ve had guys, a few actually.” She laughed. “A crush doesn’t count sweetie, nor does flirting with random men who eventually become interested in someone else. And I can also guess you had a guy ask you out but you turned him down because he was with someone else and you didn’t want to be the next girl he did this to.” You felt your throat dry up and every swallow you took felt like swallowing glass and sandpaper. “What does any of this have to do with you telling my so called future?” She smiled and grabbed the cards. “Plenty as a matter of fact. Cause I can tell you why and also if there is someone for you.”

She shuffled her deck and placed a card on the left of you, shuffled more and placed another in the center, and did this once more. You looked at the three cards she sprawled on the table and tried to figure out what the cards meant. “So what is the message here?” “That first card is you, and how you go through life. It’s the Queen of cups. She’s known as a nurturing mother; always tending to others and trying to take care of them before tending to herself. You have a lot of love to give dearie, but you never let yourself feel loved.”

The sting of realization that you did have a tendency to take care of your friends and family and thinking of them before thinking anything of yourself, fuck this was not at all what you expected. She tapped the next card and snapped her fingers to bring your attention back. “This next one here, this is the three of swords. This means in life you seem to suffer a lot of pain and heartbreak, maybe you don’t have a relationship but you long for one and it’s hurting you that you always get burned even before you try.” You nodded and took in a deep breath, “What about that last card there?”

You looked at the card with a rider on a horse triumphantly holding a chalice and approaching a river. She had the biggest smile on her face as she leaned forward to tell you. “This is the knight of cups, this is one of the best cards to get on this matter. This is your future for love, and this represents a great love coming your way. Think of him like the knight in shining armor, this person may in fact sweep you off your feet and you’ll have what feels like a fairytale romance.” You snickered at the idea, the tarot cards were silly enough but now this lady was telling you that you were going to have a fairytale romance? “Can you tell me more about this “Prince Charming” I’m supposed to meet?”

She took the cards back into the deck and shuffled them again to place three more cards out. Her eyes grew wide and she grabbed another deck to lay out one card and then another deck for another single card. You looked at the spread before you, five cards and each seemed rather dull to you. But so did the other three. “So anything good?” She leaned back in her chair and took in a deep breath. “I’m going to guess your zodiac is a cancer correct?” You nodded, not thinking that had anything to do with the reading. “Well this is definitely a great match. This person is a Scorpio, another water sign but very dark and mysterious. Most people think Scorpio’s to be wild and scary in some cases, but under that dark exterior is a soft soul who will be content just being loved, and as I said before you have a lot of love to give out and this person needs that just as much as you will need theirs.” You nodded thinking how a sweet person wouldn’t be a bad thing to look forward to one day.

“They pride themselves on storytelling and arts; this card,” she tapped a card with a single stick, “ace of wands means they have a lot of creativity.” You assumed this person may be a writer which you definitely wouldn’t mind, you always loved that yourself. “They also have been through hard times as they have the five of cups, they don’t see much of themselves as being desirable or anything. They may in fact look down on themselves at times. And again the knight of cups for their future love life, this person and you both had this card; meaning you both will appear as a savior to the other and be very caring towards each other.”

You nodded your head and pointed to the final two cards; “What about these two?” She leaned in to explain the pair. “This card just means their zodiac as I said before that’s a Scorpio.” You examined the card with a scorpion on the front and nodded along. “This card I pulled for your meeting them, and it’s a travel card. That means you may meet them on a trip.” You smiled coyly catching the woman in a lie, you knew a trip would never happen for you because your mom and you never went anywhere together as she feared going on a trip. But humoring the woman you smiled and outstretched your hand to thank her for her service and paid the fee.

“Good luck with this one child, they seem like a real find.” You smiled as you and your friends headed for the exit, for five minutes it was fun to assume you had a great person waiting for you, but you knew these things were too good to be true.

****************************************************

Two years later

“Please slow down!” Your mom squealed as you merged onto the highway. She closed her eyes and prayed silently for this to end soon. In reality you were driving no more dangerously than she was. But she liked to be the one in control, however she hated driving to places she didn’t know and instead held the map crinkling it under her grasp every time you shifted the car or increased speed.

“Mom! Calm down, I’m doing the same as I always do and we’ll be there in a few more exits.” Which one am I looking for again?” She scrambled to find the answer on the map and winced when a nearby car honked its horn at another who cut them off. “270 East. You take that and should be able to get to the town.” “Great.” You looked ahead and seen it was thankfully two exits away and promptly changed lanes much to your mom’s horror. You were upset by the circumstances especially with why you two were here in the first place and would’ve rather been anywhere else but the minute you get to Hawkins Indiana the better you will feel.

You both arrived at the address aunt Jackie gave you over the phone and were just as perplexed as your mom. You assumed Forest Hills would be a little bit nicer not a trailer park. Your mom clutched her purse to her chest and ran to the door. Even though she would never admit it your mom was not one to be seen in places like this even if her so called Christian ethnics told her to be kind to everyone. You glanced around more confused as you assumed it was going to be a suburban subdivision and took in all the other occupants of the park. Kids and their parent, elderly, even what looked to be a few couples your own age; it was sad actually. Because none of them could afford the luxury of the homes in the small town.

The reason for your visit wasn’t exactly something to celebrate; Uncle Mark had a heart attack the other day and died. Your aunt called your mother immediately as she had no idea what to do and you both were here to help with the funeral arrangements. It wasn’t foreign territory for either of you, it had been a decade since your father passed away and you had been living with mom because she couldn’t hold down a job and your dad usually paid the bills. Aunt Jackie however had no kids and no fellow family who would help aside from the two of you.

Her trailer was cozy but not spacious and it was clear the two of you would probably be staying at the motel you passed on your way into town. She had a table strewn with documents that needed to be signed and examined, the will which was left by the attorney and also the paperwork for the funeral itself. Your heart ached as you seen your aunt collapse onto the couch and begin to cry.

“Mary, I don’t know what I’m going to do. Why did he have to leave me now? Why? If I had been the one instead he could’ve been just fine but me, I don’t think I can do this!” She clutched your mom around her waist and buried her face in her blouse to wipe the tears away. Your mom patted her head and tried to soothe her, she motioned you to get some tea and you headed to the kitchen with no luck in finding any. You returned and shook your head. “There’s a grocery store in town, go get some and maybe a few other things we could use. I’ll stay here and help Jackie with all this, you probably don’t even know the forms and all.” You nodded and headed out to the car, taking a quick glance back at the trailer door and hesitated, you should be there and helping out but this was what you had to do. You got in the car and seen a young guy with long hair hop into a nearby brown van and speed past you without warning. The sudden pain of seeing your aunt was suddenly replaced with anger towards the punk who nearly sideswiped your car. “Asshole!” You murmured as you drove further into the town.

Hawkins wasn’t much different from home really; you lived in a small town and could see the similarities between the two despite being from a state away. The town was behind on most things in ways of fashion so thankfully whatever you wore you wouldn’t look like an outsider, they had only what appeared to be two police cars and a joined building for the police station and government office. They had a new luxury though, a local mall that had almost all the shops anyone could ask for, you felt a little envious of that.

The supermarket wasn’t different from the one back home thankfully, you pulled in and your smile faded. The damned brown van that nearly caused you to die sat there in the lane beside you. You got out and very nearly keyed the driver door but stopped yourself by remembering how the conditions of the area were and also the state of the van itself; it looked like it had been repaired by the owner over a period of several years, there was duct tape on the rear view mirror to hold it in place, a slew of cassette tapes on the passenger seat and what appeared to be a lot of black boxes in the back. You had no right to damage this guys car, he technically didn’t damage yours, he just scared the hell out of you.

You walked in to the door and began the peruse the aisles for tea and other things. You managed to grab a couple of boxes of herbal tea and one black just in case. Then you headed over to the frozen food section to grab some frozen pizza so you all had something to eat tonight. When you reached the aisle you stopped dead in your tracks, loading up on pizza rolls was the guy. He stuck his tongue out as he concentrated on the different flavors and seemingly weighing the bags in his hands. You walked behind him cleared your throat purposefully; he jumped at the sound and moved out of the way to let you get to the freezer. You reached past him and grabbed a box of cheese pizza before looking back at him.

“So this is the big emergency you cleared out of the trailer park for?” You snarked. He looked back confused as he dropped his arms that held the pizza rolls. “I’m sorry?” “You were in a big hurry and nearly killed me in my car.” He stared at you wide eyed, his eyes were a soft brown and seemed to darken when his pupils dilated within them. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t think I was near anyone.” You nodded and looked back at him. “Yeah I was at Mark and Jackie’s trailer, the black Chevy.” He grimaced as he recalled the foreign car that he assumed was unoccupied. “Oh shit, I am so sorry about that. I didn’t realize.” While part of you wanted to scold him further you could tell this guy was genuinely sorry for his actions and you also felt sorry for acting like this. You held up your hand to stop his groveling. “It’s okay, just try to drive better.” He nodded and smiled nervously.

“Tell her I’m sorry; about Mark not the car thing.” You sighed recalling why you were in town in the first place. “Yeah, I’ll tell her. Um what’s your name, I started this interrogation without even asking that.” He chuckled. “It’s Eddie. She’ll know who I am.” “You crash that van into her porch or something?” You joked and he gave a smile, not a real one but just to make you feel better. “Or something. And you who are you exactly? I know you’re not from here.” You smiled and held out your hand to introduce yourself to him. He took it and took note of your name. “So just here for the funeral and helping her out huh?” “Yeah, grim stuff but I’m no stranger to it.” He began to wipe his hand on his jeans, “You an undertaker or something?” You chuckled, “Or something. I’m her niece.” He relaxed and leaned on the freezer door.

“Well in that case I’m sorry to you as well. Mark was a nice guy. My uncle and I really liked him. Whole town will probably turn up for the service so don’t be surprised if you get probed with a lot of questions from the older woman in town.” “Oh? Should I be worried?” He smiled and tossed his head back, a lock of his hair sticking to the condensation on the door. “If you’re unmarried and don’t have kids yes I’d be worried. Even though you’re here for a short time they will pride themselves on trying to get you married off to one of their many eligible bachelors.” “Yuck, thanks for the advice. I’ll try and wear a ring on my hand and tell my mom not to give me away.” “Won’t work.” You raised an eyebrow. “Your husband needs to be here, so you are fucked.” You groaned and Eddie chuckled. Reaching an arm out to reassure you. “Just tell ‘em you have a guy back home and he didn’t know your uncle so you came alone. They’ll understand that.” You nodded and took the mental note.

“Anything else you can tell me about this place?” “Yeah.” You leaned in, taking in his features. His eyes were a color that reminded you of leaves in the fall, his face plastered with faint freckles, smile lines deep in his cheeks from years of laughing, full lips, soft lashes and his hair an unruly mess of dark curls. You couldn’t help but think he looked like Jon Bon Jovi’s long lost twin brother and if this hadn’t been under the present circumstances you’d be thinking about this guy for years like you had with all your other crushes; short term or long. They were there like art in a museum to you, all look but don’t touch. Keep your distance, do not get too close. They’re pretty and nothing that would ever be accessible to you.

“Get out as soon as you can.” He said it with such force and broke you from the heavenly trance his looks put you in. “Oh? That bad huh?” “To me it is. At least you can leave.” You smiled and put the pizza in your basket and left walking backwards. “Okay, thanks for your advice and sorry for the trouble.” He held his hand up mirroring your previous response. “I should be the one to apologize. It was not polite and I would’ve never done that had I known you were in the car.” You blushed and waved a hand at him. “I guess I’ll see you at the service then.” He nodded and waved back.

****************************************************

“Okay I got the tea and some pizza for later.” You told your mom. She nodded as she stood up to stretch herself as she left the paperwork. Aunt Jackie had made herself a cup of coffee and sat by the window to watch some neighbor kids play. “Oh and Eddie sends you his sympathies aunt Jackie.” She sighed and smiled into her coffee cup. “That’s sweet of him, he’s such a sweet boy.” “Who’s Eddie?” Your mom chimed in. “I think he lives over here, he nearly hit the car when he also headed to the store. I went to confront him about it and he sent his apologies for both that and uncle Mark’s passing.” “Oh no, F/N are you making trouble for your aunt here?” “He’s a bit of a reckless driver Mary. It’ll do him some good to have an outsider tell him so. Good kid but yeah he’s not the best with that van of his.”

You snorted as you thought of how bad he must really be to earn such a mark. You put the kettle on the stove and waited while Aunt Jackie sat in her spot. “You know F/N he’s single.” “Aunt Jackie, please. I’m here for the funeral not to hookup with some random guy who you know.” “I didn’t think about you hooking up with him. But you may actually like him.” You sighed and walked over to her, pulling a dining chair and sitting on it backwards, a habit that irritated your mother. “Why is that?” She sat her coffee on the windowsill and rested her head against the glass. “Well he writes music, and he does drawings. So he’s very sensitive. And as grim as this may sound he lost his mom at around the same age you lost your dad.” You sighed, losing a parent wasn’t exactly something you wanted to share as a common thing for a date. “What about his dad?” She rolled her eyes and looked off, perhaps towards Eddie’s trailer. “He was a deadbeat, serving time for stealing cars when Eddie was ten. He’s been living with his uncle here ever since.” You nodded and felt a twinge of regret for scolding him about his actions earlier when his life was far worse than yours was. “He looks like the guy to avoid but I tell you, he’s the sweetest kid on earth.“

She wasn’t wrong, while you admit Eddie was attractive; he definitely looked like the guys you and your friends would try to avoid at a bar. The kind who would be yelling at the bar and dumping a flat beer over his head in a drunken state of anger. “He’s definitely that tough on the outside but soft on the inside.” She said before leaving to get the kettle off the stove, your ears oblivious to the whistles as all you heard was her last remark. “Tough on the outside, soft on the inside.” You heard that somewhere before, something that gnawed at your brain to remember. “I should thank him, after all he was the one who found Mark and tried to help.” Your face grew pale, Eddie was the one who found your uncle dead? Now you really felt like an asshole.

[backtothefanfiction]

Not That Easy | Mandalorian x Reader Imagine

Summary: When Din realised he was starting to have feelings for you, he got scared. Snuck away before sunrise and left you stranded on Nevarro. When you catch up to him on Tatooine, you have a few choice words for him.

Length: Short

Warnings: angst!

A/N: just a quick before bed drabble so I can have a nice fantasy to go to bed to. also I never write for Mando like I should and desperately needed an angst outlet. enjoy!

He had been gone for an hour, two tops. Just a quick stop in to the only person he trusted to work on the Razor Crest in these parts. Or so he had thought.

“Hey Peli?” He asked as he stepped back down from the ship towards her office, “How come my hyperspace drive-“ He didn’t get a chance to finish his question. It wasn’t Peli sitting behind the console in the office- it was you. Legs up on the console, the missing part needed to fix his hyperspace drive being used to play catch in your fingertips, as you pretended to ignore him.

“Shit.” You heard him mutter through the modulator in his helmet. You turned to see his gaze drop, head shaking, knowing he’d fucked up. He knew he shouldn’t have left you. He knew that you’d be pissed. But he didn’t realise you would be so pissed that you’d come all the way to Tatooine to wait him out and have it out with him.

“Yeah, I’d say so,” you huffed angrily as you stood, pushing past him and out of the door.

“Y/N- please, just hear me out.” He tried to say as he followed on your heels, but you were having none of it.

At first when you laid eyes on his shiny coat of beskar you had become angry, remembering the hurt of waking up to find him, the kid and the Rasor Crest gone. Not even a note left but a relayed message from Greef Karga of all people. ‘Something came up. He had to run. Wanted you to be safe and take a break.’ What utter Bantha crap.

If you were angry then, you were enraged now. Fed up of his excuses and hiding, you whirled on him, stopping him dead in his tracks. “NO! No more excuses. You- left- me!” You enunciated. “I trusted you- and you left me!” You screamed in his face. “Uhhhgggg!!! If you didn’t have that-stupid- helmet on, I’d really smack you across the face right now.” You settled for shoving him backwards. He rocked slightly, but barely moved. So you pushed at his chest again. And again. And again. Until you were just drumming your fists on his shiny metal chest, getting all of your frustration out, as you huffed and grunted and groaned in frustration.

When you finally ran out of steam, your palms hesitating, resting flat against his breast plate, unable to meet his visor, body heaving with both emotional and physical exhaustion, he tried to wrap his arms around you. To pull you into an embrace. Comfort you the way he had done all those times before he left. Shit, he knew he shouldn’t have left.

As you felt his arms began to tighten around you, your body growing tight. You may be exhausted, but you were still angry. “No.” You said, pushing him away.

When he looked into your eyes, he saw just how much damage he had done. If only you could see his, you would know how much damage you had done to him too.

It was only supposed to be the kid. He made a vow. It had been the only other living thing to really get under his skin. To make him feel… Make him care. But then there came you. The kid was so attached and you were fantastic with him. The way your giggles travelled around the Razor Crest. How could you not melt what was left of his carbonite frozen heart. Soon he found himself offloading things to you he hadn’t told anyone. He would return with wounds and you would patch them up without batting an eyelid. You looked at every place you travelled to together with wonder, and made him see those worlds in completely new ways too. How would that not scare him. Especially when his job was so dangerous. He couldn’t risk it anymore. Couldn’t risk you.

There was a faint coo from the doorway of the Razor Crest, the kid having stirred at the sound of your voice. You both turned your head to look at the kid, who tilted his head with a smile and babble in your direction; and it eased your heart.

Turning back to Mando, you said, “You didn’t think getting rid of me was going to be that easy? Did you?” You asked, as you heard the kid begin to climb down and begin to make his way to you.

“I’m sorry-“ he tried to say, before you cut him off.

“You will be.” You threatened, before turning away from him and back to your little green friend, picking him up from the ground and pulling him into your arms with the biggest smile, “Hello, little one.” You cooed loudly and sweetly- and just from the tone of your voice- Mando knew he wouldn’t be living this one down for a while.

“Hey-“ you quickly said, turning with the kid in your arms, back in his direction- his fingers rubbing at his brow over his helmet. You silently tossed him the part you had dismantled from his ship to stop him from trying to get away again. He quickly caught it, before it could reach the ground. “Put that thing back where it belongs and let’s get out of here.” You commanded. “I’m thinking somewhere nice,” you began to babble to the kid, carrying him back inside, “somewhere with sand- and crystal clear waters,” you say enthusiastically, laying it on thick so Mando can hear, just how you wanted him to make things up to you. You won’t catch-him- trying to run out on you in a hurry again.